Parvati looked over her shoulder as the dude walked away. “Or we might find a Prince Charming in need of rescuing. If you see a hot guy with a broken arm or leg, a branch through his eye, a perforated gut, or even just a twisted ankle, text me.”
“You’re such a romantic.” Zara couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her tone.
“Romance is overrated,” Parvati said. “I work eighty or ninety hours a week. I don’t have time for flirting and long dinners. I don’t want to waste valuable hours gnawing on an overcooked, overpriced steak in a dimly lit restaurant when all I really want is to get down and dirty.”
“Even if he’s injured? His performance might be impaired if he’s in pain.”
“I’ll save him, heal him, and then I’ll take him to bed.” Parvati opened the door to the party room. “The grateful ones are the best. So eager, compliant, and willing to please.”
“Cake is here.” Zara smiled at the twenty women seated around a long table covered with a white plastic Be My Bachelorette tablecloth.
“I thought you’d never get here.” Stacy gave a dramatic sigh and took the box from Zara. By some incredible twist of fate, Stacy had managed to “find” a brand-new perfectly sized pomegranate chiffon dress at the thrift store. With a waist-cinching bodice and elegant plunging neckline, the “secondhand” dress accentuated her slim figure and set off her beautiful auburn hair.
Zara gave Maria a quick hug before joining Stacy at the refreshments table where oblivion was waiting in the form of a five-gallon Box-o-Chardoneigh garishly decorated with pictures of galloping horses. She filled two glasses and gave one to Parvati before drinking hers in one gulp, shuddering at the bitter, acrid taste. Maybe the pictures of horses on the box were a hint that the liquid inside wasn’t actually wine.
“Oh. My. God. Your dress!” Stacy slapped a hand over her chest like the shock of a stained dress that was imminently going to be splattered with paint pellets might actually stop her heart. “You’re all wet.”
“I hear that a lot,” Zara said dryly. “And never as a complaint.”
Parvati choked on her Chardoneigh. Maria laughed out loud. Half-Portuguese and half-Spanish, Maria had gone from street kid to award-winning food-truck chef and was one of the most hardworking people Zara knew. After meeting Maria at her food truck one sunny afternoon, Zara had hooked her up with Tarun. Six months later they were engaged and Zara added another win to her matchmaking scorecard.
Not to be outdone, Stacy grimaced. “What’s on your arm?”
“I met Chad Wandsworth at the ice cream shop when I was picking up the cake . . .” She paused, waiting for the information to sink in. Timing was everything both onstage and in court. “He autographed me.”
“Well.” Stacy huffed. “It’s a good thing you’re not a bridesmaid. You’d have to wash it off.”
Zara mentally marked Stacy as her first target once she got the paintball gun in her hand. “This autograph is forever. I’ll be going strapless at the wedding reception so everyone can see it.”
“Say good-bye to your chance of meeting someone.” A woman in a formfitting strapless green dress with a delicate chiffon skirt and nary a frill or puffed sleeve in sight gave her a tight smile. With big blue eyes, her blond hair pulled up in a perfect bun, she looked like a fairy, all ready to flutter her way into somebody’s heart. “No guy will want to compete with Chad Wandsworth.”
“Maybe not, but our aunties will be there.” Parvati sipped her wine, smiling as if the vile liquid hadn’t just scorched its way down her throat. “Nothing can put them off pairing up all the young South Asian singles at a wedding. They have a competition every wedding season to see who can make the most matches. The only way to escape is to secure a quick hookup at the singles table or show up with a plus-one.”
“You make it sound like it’s easy to find someone.” Stacy expertly sliced the slightly melted cake into even pieces. “I mean, really . . .”
“When you’ve got five hundred or a thousand guests it’s easy to find someone—or even a dozen someones—you’ve never met before.” Zara finished her wine and followed it with a spring roll chaser. “Multiply that by at least five or six weddings during the summer season plus the same number of prewedding parties. Add the lovey-dovey atmosphere of single people all dressed up and eager to get out there and have some hot sex, and the hookup possibilities are endless.”