A Very Dirty Wedding (28 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Caulter

It turns out that there were plans for a bachelor and bachelorette party after all, encouraged by Ella, I'm sure.

"You dickheads better not be taking me to Vegas or something," I say, as I'm pushed into the back of a limo.  My friends – my best man, three groomsmen, and a couple of guys from Boston – are crammed inside, drinking beers and being loud and obnoxious.

"What, do you think I'm made of money?" My best man, Bryan, asks.  I met him when I was backpacking through Borneo, and he moved to Boston last year to work at a non-profit.  "We're not taking you to Vegas, man."

"Strip club!"  One of my groomsmen, Joe, shouts, and inwardly I groan.  When you're being let into bars and strip clubs when you're a teenager, the thrill kind of wears off by the time you're an adult.

I never thought I'd say this, but seeing tits gets old after a while, especially since I've been spoiled by Kate's.

"We have something better than tits," Bryan says.

"
Nothing
is better than tits," Joe yells, his drunken voice loud in the limo.

"Shit, Joe, ever heard of volume control?"  Scott elbows him.  "I'm going fucking deaf in one ear and I can still hear you."

"What's better than tits?"  I'm almost afraid to ask.

"Shots!"  Joe yells.

Bryan reaches into the cooler in the limo and pulls out two bottles.  "Edward Fortyhands is better than shots," he says, laughing.

Before I can protest, the bottles are duct-taped to my hands and they're chanting "drink, drink, drink." 

I take a drag on one of the bottles and nearly gag.  "God, how do people drink this shit?"

"I don't know, buddy," Ken says.  "But you're going to drink up before we get to Boston.  Those forties aren't going to drink themselves."

"We're going to Boston to watch strippers?" I ask, warily.

"No, man.  Your father-in-law got us courtside Celtics tickets," Bryan says.

"Courtside!" Joe echoes loudly, pumping his fist in the air.  "Fuck, yeah!"

"Seriously?" I ask, downing more of the malt liquor from the bottle attached to one of my hands.  Courtside Celtics seats.  The Senator is really trying hard to step up.

Those tickets are definitely a point in his favor.

"Drink up, buddy!"

So I do, even though the alcohol is probably the most foul shit I've ever tasted.  I'm warm and everything is slightly fuzzy by the time we get to Boston, because I’ve finished drinking both bottles.

I pull out my cell phone to drunkenly text Kate.

R u wrng panties?

A few minutes later, she texts back.

LOL.  Are you wasted?

I type my response.  I mean to type yes, but it comes out
"yras"
since Joe grabs the cell phone from me.

"Are you texting your wife at your own bachelor party?" he shouts.

I reach for the phone.  "Shut up, asshole.  She's pregnant."

"Whipped, so
whipped," someone says, imitating the sound of a whip cracking.  "You can't keep your cell on you at your bachelor party.  It's the rules."

"Seriously," one of the others says.  "Confiscate the phone."

I protest, but the phone disappears, until I get a chance to slap Joe and take it back.

So I'm whipped.  So what?

Kate is pregnant.  What if there was an emergency?

My buzz wears off by the end of the first quarter of the game, and I text Kate again, but she doesn't respond.  She's probably too busy stuffing dollar bills down the G-string of a stripper, most likely a female one, if Libby and Bailey have anything to say about it.

I look at my friends in their jerseys, drunkenly waiving green foam fingers in the air and hollering loudly ("Come on, ref, don't you have eyes?" "Kill the referee!").  We're definitely the most obnoxious group of fans, which is saying something because there are some total crazies here tonight.

I don't even notice who's near me, until a girl walks over and sits down, leaning forward to talk to me and placing her manicured pink nails slides on my thigh.

"Caulter Sterling," she says.

I turn to look at her, vaguely recognizing her but not recalling her name.  We used to date in Malibu, before I was shipped off to Brighton.  Well,
dated
isn't exactly the word for it.  We never did much outside of the bedroom. 

She looks the same as she did back then, except that everything has been augmented – bigger boobs, bigger lips, and bigger hair.  She has that L.A. plastic surgery look going on, and it's definitely not a turn on.

"Your hand is on my leg," I say.

She laughs and leans forward, sliding it down further.  "Debra Atwood," she says.  "Tell me you don't remember my name."

I shrug, taking her hand and placing it back on her lap.  "No offense."

"After all of the things we used to do together, Caulter?" she asks, pouting her lower lip.  "I hope you at least remember that."

God, I hate that pouting bullshit.

I don't answer, looking back out at the game in progress.  Debra was always clingy, even though we were never a couple.  When I left for Brighton, I got love notes and packages in the mail from her for months until she got the fucking hint that I wasn't interested.

She's always given off a crazy vibe, and the fact that she's suddenly shown up somewhere I am makes me slightly concerned she's seriously going all stalker here.

"I followed you in the news for a while," she says.  "Until you ran off to Southeast Asia and I was dating a Wall Street guy.  We were going to get married, too.  I tried to get in touch with you when I got engaged, get your permission.  But I couldn't, so I called off the wedding."

"My permission?" I ask.  "Why the hell would you need my permission?"

"Oh, you're so sweet," she says.  "The way you always let me spread my wings and fly, gave me some space."

Okay, this girl is completely batshit.

"So when are you out in Malibu again?" she asks.

"Never," I say curtly.

I wonder if she's on meds.  Or has just been released from a psych ward.

"This is my friend, Amber," she says, gesturing to her friend, a mirror image of her, blonde and over-enhanced and made-up like crazy.  She leans in close to me, reminding me that she's always been into men and women.  "Amber and I are in a hotel here, if you want to play."

"I'm getting married," I say loudly, over the noise of the crowd.  "This is my bachelor party."

Right about now, sirens are going off in my fucking head: Psycho Alert!  Psycho Alert!

I turn away from her, focusing intently on the game, but she doesn't take the hint.  She puts her hand back on my leg.  "Well, if you'd like to celebrate your last night as a bachelor, we can help you do it right."

The offer of a threesome.  The old Caulter Sterling would have walked out of the game right then and there with both bimbos draped on his arm – crazy bitches or not -- and fucked them outside in the limo.  It's not like I haven't had my share of threesomes.

The problem is, I'm not that guy anymore.

Completely repulsed, I remove her hand from my leg and drop it back in her lap for the second time tonight.  "I doubt my
pregnant fiancé
would like that very much," I say, standing up and walking down to the other end of the group.  I send Joe to take my seat, and the two bimbos give me dirty looks across the crowd.

Total psychos.

CHAPTER NINE

Kate

"Oh my God, did you guys send strippers?"  I ask in response to the knock on the door.  Bailey organized my bachelorette party in a hotel suite at one of the hotels near the lake house, but I have no idea what they're up to.

"I don't know," Bailey says brightly.  "We'll have to see!"

"Trust me, sweetie," Libby says, putting her hand on my leg and patting it.  "The last thing I want to look at is greased-up and spray tanned men shaking their hot dogs in front of my face."

"Gross."  The thought of a hot dog makes me want to vomit.

"You're telling me," Libby says.

My girlfriends, buzzed on margaritas and fruity cocktails, answer the door, squealing loudly for the woman who walks inside armed with giant tote bags.  “She’s not a stripper,” Bailey yells.

Several of my bridesmaids boo loudly.

"I thought there would be strippers," Janet says.

"I have something better," the woman says, holding up a dildo.  "Sex toys."

"Oh, I love sex toy parties," my friend Amanda squeals.  "Mama needs a new vibrator."

"I've never been to a sex toy party," I say, feeling practically virginal as the girls grab seats in a circle around the woman who introduces herself and passes out catalogs.

"You've never been to a sex toy party?" Libby asks.  "That's appalling.  Really.  You'd better stock up for your honeymoon, girl."

Soon, the room is filled with giggling as the woman who introduces herself as "Linda, the Sex Toy Goddess."  Before I know it, I'm laughing along as we play a game she calls Fake An Orgasm Bingo, which is like regular kind except instead of numbers the board is filled with words like anal beads, dildo, handcuffs, butt plugs, and lube, and instead of yelling the traditional phrase, the winner has to fake an orgasm.

When Libby whoops loudly, her hand in the air, waving, Linda the Sex Goddess stops her.  "We need to hear your best orgasm!"

Libby clears her throat and gives us all a look that says she's delighted to be the center of attention, before closing her eyes and faking the longest, most ridiculous over-the-top porn star orgasm I've ever heard in my life.  When she finishes, the group bursts into applause before another wave of giggles overtakes us.

"Damn," April mutters under her breath.  "I think I might have a girl crush.”

"Libby is a lucky girl!" Janet calls out.

We play three more rounds before Linda The Sex Toy Goddess thinks we're sufficiently warmed up to move on to talking about the sex toys.  For the next two hours, we pass around samples of every sex toy imaginable, including some I didn't even realize existed.

"Is this what I think it is?" I ask, holding a cylindrical object with what looks like a mouth in an "O" position on the end.

"That's in case you get sick of giving Caulter blow jobs," Bailey says loudly. 

I furrow my brow, passing it to Andrea, sitting beside me.

"Yeah, that's not a problem," I say, picturing him standing in front of me, the head of his cock against my tongue, my hand wrapped around the base of his huge dick.

Get sick of having Caulter's cock in my mouth?  I don’t think so.

Several of the girls whoop.  "Caulter must have a big one," Janet says.

"I don't like them big," April muses, and one of my other bridesmaids elbows her.

"What's wrong with you?" Andrea asks.

"I don't!  It's like that saying,
it's not the size that counts
? Right?"

"That's just what you say to guys with small dicks," Hailey chimes in.

"No, I swear, I'm perfectly happy with a small one," April says.

"You should hook up with my ex-boyfriend Greg, then," Hailey says.  "He's definitely about the right size.  I'll give you his number."

"Ladies," Linda The Sex Toy Goddess interrupts.  "The next set of toys I'll pass around are for anal play."

"Anal play," April says, her face turning bright red.  "Nothing's going up my butt, thanks."

"I love it in the ass," Andrea says.  "Seriously, if you haven't done it, you don't know what you're missing."

"She's right," Janet says as she scrutinizes a pink butt plug like it’s a diamond.  "It makes everything more intense."

“I like it,” I say softly.

“Then you need to buy these,” Andrea says, tossing a vibrating butt plug at me with one hand, while she waves a cocktail glass in the other.

“But you’re pregnant!” April says, her face ashen.

“So?” Janet says.  “I did it all the time during the third trimester during my last pregnancy.  Jason said it was better for the baby."

"Better for the baby?" Bailey says, snorting loudly.  "Yeah, I think Jason just wanted to stick his dick in your ass."

"No, I swear it is!" Janet insists.  "Because you're not poking around the cervix."

"Pfft," Bailey spits out her drink.  "I'm pretty sure regular sex is fine during pregnancy too."

“She’s right about the cervix thing, though.  At least, that’s what Caulter claims, too,” I say, laughing.

“I’ll take one of those butt plugs,” Libby says, winking at Bailey.

"I'm so getting lucky tonight," Bailey says, laughing.  Then she looks at me.  "What’s Caulter doing for his bachelor party?"

I shrug.  "No idea.  He’s probably motor boating a stripper right now.  He texted me earlier that he luffs me," I say, holding up my phone to a cacophony of "awes."

"Who knew that Caulter Sterling would be such a doting finance?" Sara asks.

I laugh.  Sara was my roommate at Brighton.  She remembers Caulter the way he arrived at Brighton Academy -- a rebel against everything, angry at the world, and eager to get between the legs of any hot girl who threw herself at him.  Which happened a lot.  "He's doting in his own way," I say.

A way that involves hiding my panties even now, and calling me Princess when he comes on me, and breaking my bed in my father's house because he's fucking me so hard.

I guess that can be considered
doting
. 
Right?

"I'm sure he'll come home tomorrow covered in stripper glitter, sporting a tattoo he regrets,” I say.

"Speaking of glitter," Linda The Sex Toy Goddess says, "here's your very own edible glitter body dust."

"Glitter!" Libby says.  "I'm sold."

One glow-in-the-dark butt plug that vibrates, three kinds of flavored lube, a dildo, a new vibrator, and a pair of handcuffs later, I'm ready for my honeymoon.

But, not before we play a relay race, which involves passing a giant dildo down the line of girls standing beside me, using no hands. 

Somehow I even manage to stay awake past ten p.m., before crawling sleepily into one of the hotel suite beds, listening to the laughter of my friends in the suite.

And I sleep until ten in the morning, which about now is a freaking holiday miracle.  I don’t even get up a hundred times during the night to pee!

It’s not until I've tiptoed to the bathroom, past the snoring bodies of my hung-over bridesmaids, and brushed my teeth that I come back to bed and open my phone.

I don’t recognize the phone number attached to the text message.  It's just a link to a gossip website and a message that repeats the headline on the website:

Oh my.  Is that former bad boy, soon-to-be-married Caulter Sterling with a very hot, very not-his-fiancé girl draped all over his arm?  Looks like they were cozy at the Celtics game last night.  Does a leopard change his spots? Or is it once a bad boy, always a bad boy?  Comment below, readers.

I read the comments, my heart sinking, even though I know I shouldn’t.  Readers are overwhelmingly certain that Caulter Sterling is definitely still a bad boy.