The Window Seat (badLuckbrides #1)

Chapter 17

Kathlyn

"Really, Kathlyn. I'd never jeopardize our good time like that," Aspen tells me, standing in front of me as she tucks the straps of her heels under her arm. "I know that would ruin everything tonight, I wouldn't do that."

"Did you tell Simon where we would be?"

"Well, yeah I might have mentioned it the other day—"

I hand her my drink as I hop off the barstool. Simon's easy to spot out and I storm over. Knowing him, he's probably only had one drink and was hardly affected by it.

As soon as he's in arms reach, I scrunch the back of his shirt in the palm of my hand.

He looks at me with a smug smile, like he's unfazed that I'm here. Like he already knew I was here and wasn't surprised. But still he has the nerve to ask, "What are you doing here?"

"You know exactly what I'm doing here. What kind of asshole are you?"

"What? What do you mean?" He holds his hands up as I release him from my hold, frowning at him.

"You planned this. Why?"

"I did not, Kat—you're paranoid." He shakes his head with a laugh. "Have a drink, enjoy your night." I watch him take a sip from his, looking away like he was expecting me to end it there.

"You're unbelievable."

"What are you all stressed out about?" His cheek lifts. "You should be happy. You're getting married—"

There's a loud crash and we both jump back as the group comes backward.

"How many drinks has James had tonight?" I ask, loudly.

"I don't know—his friend Carl's been keeping him in full supply though."

There's another loud thud and a glass smashes.

I shove a few of the men out of the way. I already knew who was behind it. James has such a low tolerance for alcohol and he's probably wasted and about to embarrass both of us. "James!"

He's hunched over, almost fallen to the ground. Looked like Carl had caught him before he was down. Carl and another guy drag him to one of the boxy sofas, where he falls into a slump.

I kneel beside him. "James, hey—" Tapping his cheek with my palm, I receive no response other than his eyes rolling open and then falling closed. I look up at Simon. "What kind of fucking friend are you?"

He scowls, hitting his chest. "Me? How's this my fault?"

"You should know he can't handle his alcohol!"

"That's not my responsibility!"

"Simon, maybe you should take him home?" Aspen says, placing a hand on his arm.

"No, I'm taking him," I say, glaring up at them all.

He laughs. "And how the hell are you gonna carry a hundred and eighty pound man to your car?"

"You can't leave, this is your night," says Aspen. "Just let Simon take him, they'll be fine."

I refuse and before I know it Simon's under one arm, I'm under the other, and we're hauling James on what felt like an endless walk through the huge parking garage, until we finally found Simon's rental car. His memory is just as poor as ever.

The drive was quiet, Simon was behind the wheel while I kept James from jumping out of the back seat. He needed a little more than just the child safety locks on. He kept trying to climb into the front seat, spewing nonsense about how much he loved Simon and saying repeatedly how pretty I was while pinching my cheeks. He was an easy drunk, a slightly crazy one and it didn't take much to get him there.