The Love Wager by Lynn Painter

            And I was not the reassuring kind. Back pats and handkerchiefs were not my thing.

            I just needed my money and to get the hell out of there.

            On a side note, who the hell doesn’t have Venmo or PayPal?

            I heard a noise just before the door flew open.

            “The Objector!” A blonde in a Red Hot Chili Peppers T-shirt that went down to her knees grinned at me. “I’m Emma. We talked on the phone . . . ?”

            Ah, yes. The bride’s best friend. “So you’re Tom’s sister.”

            “Yes!” She grinned again, and I realized she was totally buzzed. “Come in!”

            She held open the door and I followed her inside what was obviously the bridal suite. Huge living room, bedroom to the left that appeared to have rose petals everywhere, and a silver bucket on the coffee table with a bottle of champagne inside.

            Typical.

            I shifted my gaze to the right and saw the bar, with an open bottle of tequila in the center and two shot glasses on the surface.

            Less typical.

            “You were amazing,” she squealed, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe it as she went right over to the bar and grabbed that bottle. “Tommy told me to trust him, but I had no idea that you’d be such a professional.”

            I smiled and muttered a thanks, but I was never sure how to respond to that. It wasn’t like I was proud of my performance. I wasn’t an actor looking for good reviews, for fuck’s sake.

            It was just something I occasionally did for money.

            At that moment the balcony door flew open and the bride—Sophie—ran in, saying to Emma, “I need one more.”

            At least it looked like the bride.

            Walking down the aisle, she’d been stunning. Her dark hair had been tidily piled on top of her head, accentuating her bright green eyes and long, graceful neck. She’d looked like everything I imagined a bride would want to look like on her wedding day.

            Her hair now, though, was everywhere. Technically a lot of it was in a messy bun on top of her head, but long strands of curly hair hung all around her face like she’d just wrestled a bear. She was no longer wearing any makeup, which made her look like a teenager, and she’d switched out the wedding gown for a Celtics jersey and leggings.

            She stopped in her tracks when she saw me, and then a big smile slid across her face. “You. Are. My. Hero.”

            I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off with an index finger. “Gimme one sec. I have to finish a project.”

            I watched in disbelief as Emma tossed her a Hostess Twinkie, and then she disappeared back out onto the balcony.

            “Do I want to know?” I asked, my eyes still on the sliding door.

            “Twinkies won’t hurt the Volvo’s paint, so it’s a harmless crime,” she said, turning to look at the bottles of liquor on the shelf behind the bar. “That’s all you need to know.”

            I contemplated just exiting the hotel room at that moment, because I didn’t need the hassle of whatever this was, especially when it was just past seven and I was starving.

            But when I saw the bride pull her arm back and launch that snack cake off the balcony like a professional quarterback, I decided to stick around for another minute.

            “Want a drink?” Emma asked, looking ready to pour herself a tequila shooter.

            Before I could answer, the bride came back inside, saying as she closed the sliding door behind her, “We need to switch to something else.”

            “What? Why?” Emma asked, pouting. She held up the bottle of tequila and said, “Jose is our friend.”

            “Nope.” The bride shook her head and said, “As much as I want to get ripped, I don’t want to end up with my head in a hotel toilet. Pretty sure that’s how you get dysentery.”

            Pretty sure that isn’t right, I said under my breath.

            “Schnapps, maybe?” Emma asked.