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You wince as bitterness hits your tongue. Although it could also be the coffee you were enjoying, most likely it was the sight of the newlyweds―your best friend and his lovely wife―sharing their second kiss in front of all the wedding guests. You’re slightly grateful your speech as the best man was long over, or else you wouldn’t have kept your wits and ended up confessing. In their wedding reception. You wouldn’t ever wish that to happen, not on their special day.
Instead, you turn to the dance floor, looking for a worthwhile distraction from the way your heart aches. One that could make you forget your pain, even just for a night. Then there she was—the maid of honour, looking downright gorgeous with her silver skintight dress. Her long, auburn hair sways at her waist, the curls wilder from the bun she sported when she walked down the aisle. She's dancing slow, gloriously tipsy from the open bar, swaying her hips with her girl friends as they whisper about people that caught their eye, people they would be willing to sleep with.
(They all had their sights on you, but one outright staked her claim in the bridal shower.)
She notices your stare, does a surprised blink before tilting her lips in a smile. Then by the next beat of the bass, she holds your gaze with her every move, seductive and beckoning. A minute before, her attempts wouldn't have worked. You were too busy focusing on the groom, yearning for his attention, pining for him like a man who had lost everything he loved, but still hoped for a happy ending to his story. But it does work , because you wanted it to, giving in to the promise of pleasure those eyes offered.
So you stand and head to the bar for drinks. Carrying two glasses, you approach her and hand over her preferred drink, to which she responds with shocked silence. But when she sips from the glass, an appreciative smile curves her mouth and you return it, raising your glass in a mock toast as your free hand holds her waist. You start to dance with her, matching every motion.
The pace of your conversation is torturously slow, skirting around the subject of both your purposes, plying each other as much as alcohol allowed. You joke with her, you dance some more, and when one’s attention strays to the high table of the newlyweds or to the table right in front, the other gently steals it back with a well-timed grind or a playful hold on the chin.
You both stay near the bar to ease the flow of alcohol, though you hold back after your third glass. On an unwise shot of very strong concoction, a memory cuts through the alcohol-induced haze: Eddy's voice, laughing while he takes a video of you counting with one hand, the other gripping a bottle of beer ( lightweight Bretty, always coming back for more, hey?). It sobers you enough to stop the room from spinning, and your dancing partner laughs at your grimace, mistaking it for the dislike of her order.
All the foreplay ends with you and her slipping out of the reception, aided by the dim lighting of the hall and the mostly-inebriated states of the guests. They’ll only notice after half an hour, but they’re already late: you’re on your knees with her legs around your neck as she thrashes on the sheets of your bed, muffling her pleasure by screaming in your pillows. You chuckle and hum against her skin, almost making her rip the pillow cases from her grip.
You both know who you’re thinking of as you fuck her in the bed, but have grown used to moaning out the correct name while still keeping the respective persons in mind. She sees it in your eyes, you with hers, and you share a sardonic smile between the two of you. She finishes for the third time that night, and you follow seconds later with your first and last.
At her request, you walk her to the unit she shares with another friend, giggling with her as she expresses her gratitude with a soft kiss and a complaint that she’ll be out like a light once she hits the bed. You close the door for her, then search around for a mirror to make yourself presentable as much you could. Luckily, the marks left are easily hidden by the high collar of a fresh button up, but the state of your suit jacket isn’t salvageable, not without a proper dry clean.
With your composure hanging by a single thread, you attempt to pull yourself together by the reminder that you are the best man . You have to go back to the riot of a party to fulfill your duties. So, you reenter alone with feigned nonchalance. You’re immediately greeted with catcalls and raucous cheers when you sit down on the table with your friends, a glass of wine pushed at your direction as they ask question after question, only for you to smirk and carefully sip. Eddy is beside you instantly, matching your grin with one of his own, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. You snort at his face and avert your eyes, internally sighing at the abrupt end of your afterglow.
“Had fun?” he asks, nudging you with his arm to the eager hush that fell on the table.
You shake your head in amusement, taking another tiny sip and letting your silence and the quirk of your lips to speak for you. A stunned pause before the cheers return with renewed vigour, and a chorus of congratulations is offered, much to your embarrassment. People begin to be drawn in your conversation, peeking and shamelessly turning their chairs to catch the gist of your conversation. You attempt to wave them off, and Eddy snickering right beside you does nothing to help the situation.
“Love, come here,” Eddy calls, when the teasing reaches the other end of the hall, making the said person brighten up in blatant interest. She hurries over, lifting her gown and effortlessly running in high heels. She’s a vision, you think, as you sneak a glance at Eddy smiling when your thoughts are mirrored in his face.
“What is it, honey?” She places a hand on Eddy’s shoulder, leaning over to peer at them both with a grin, far too used at your antics. Eddy covers her hand with his, while you breathe through the spike of pain in your chest and the sting in your eyes. Eddy drawls, “Guess who’s missing?” She looks around, then slaps you on the shoulder.
The group laughs as she stares at you, rolling her eyes when she’s done processing. “I hope you know you just took out”—the others’ snickers accompany her words—“the only person to help you with the cleanup?”
Yeah, you realized that. “I don’t mind,” you shrug. “I have a feeling I won’t sleep tonight, anyway.”
Scandalized gasps and two slaps from the couple makes you explain. “I’m not sleeping with her again!” You duck the aggressive poke from Eddy. “I’m just too restless right now.”
Restless, huh. You turn that excuse over and over in your mind, hoping it’s enough to convince you it was the real reason, rather than the slow agony eating you up, having gone through the hellish months of wedding preparations, getting involved as the right hand man of Eddy. You put your chin on the palm of your hand, watching the employed help tidy the venue. The dull task of watching gives you time to go over your last interaction with them.
“Go home as soon as you can, Brett,” the glowing bride commands, patting your cheek. “As early as possible,” she amends as you angle your body to the mess of a hall after everyone left it.
“Of course.” You kiss her on the cheek, then pull away to receive the hug from Eddy. You hold and hold and hold on until you can’t, and you let go. You escort them to the entrance with your hands on the small of their backs. “Sleep well. Or not.” With that, you go back to the reception hall to escape their flustered denials.
As an inaudible sigh escapes your mouth, the thread holding you together finally snaps. Without the danger of anyone seeing you, your shoulders slump and the deadpan expression crumples, shatters into a thousand pieces. In the comfort of the shadowed part of the room, the sweeping and clinking of utensils becoming background noise, you bury your face in your hands.
There’s something you weren’t able to say the entire night, other than uttering a broken phrase or two to imply it. This time you’re sure coffee has nothing to do with the bitterness on your tongue as it falls from your lips.
“Congratulations on your wedding, Mr and Mrs Chen. I’m happy for you.”