After several near-misses with much smaller cars—
because you could practically see the Brit working to flip left and right around in his mind—we pulled up in front of the cleaners. Max glared at me as he put the van in park.
“Oh, God, somebody let me out,” Will groaned. I climbed down and opened the back door, watching as Will stumbled from the cargo area, and immediately moved to throw up in the bushes. Apparently, my point had been made.
The dry cleaner was a small, nondescript business nestled between a Chinese food restaurant and a comic book store in the center of a strip mall. Max motioned for me to lead the way and we paused at the front door, gazing up at a neon sign reading Satisfaction Guaranteed buzzing overhead.
“Bit unfortunate, that,” Max mused under his breath.
Thank God the clothes were ready. We opened each bag to make sure everything was accounted for—six dresses, eight tuxedos—and proceeded to carry them out to the van. Max made sure to keep his promise to my mother, and kept me far from Chloe’s wedding gown.
“There’s no way you’re driving us back,” I said to Max once the last bag had been loaded.
“You still going on about that?” he asked
“Did you see yourself out there? After he puked, Will was practically kissing the ground.” I reached for the keys, managing to snag them from his hand.
“Like you could do any better? My gran’s a better driver than you. She’s eighty-two and has glaucoma.”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of the police helicopter and the warrant for your arrest,” I said, and swore as Max grabbed the keys back from me.
Will stepped between us, snagging the key ring and rubbing his temples. “Will you two just shut the fuck up? If I have to go back to the hotel and run from those women all night, I am not putting up with your bullshit, too. Ben? You drive,” he said, pushing the keys into my hand again. “Max? Play nice and wait your turn. My cab is here. I’ll pick up the rings and meet you back there.” He looked between us, waiting for some sort of protest.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Fine,” Max sighed.
“Good. Now try not to kill each other on the way back.”
I entered the address for the Del into my phone and waited for the directions to appear. Max sat silently in the seat next to me.
“Thanks,” I said, and started the engine. Although we’d barely made it to the dry cleaner’s alive, Max had handled the entire morning with his trademark calm and optimism. I had to admit I’d be drunk and firing employees that weren’t even mine in the hotel lobby if he hadn’t stepped in and taken charge.
“You’re a dick,” he said back. I smiled as I pulled out of the parking lot.
Saturday afternoon in San Diego meant traffic, a lot of it. We’d been lucky enough on the way in, but it had definitely picked up by the time we pulled on the freeway. Max was insisting I was going the wrong way when his phone rang.
“Yeah, Will,” he said, and then paused before putting it on speaker. “Go ahead.”
“Which one of you two idiots was supposed to close the van door?”
“What?” I asked, and then looked up to the rearview mirror. Sure enough, one of them had been left open and was swinging back and forth on its hinges.