Beautiful Beginning(51)

            “Fuck you,” I said, slugging him in the shoulder as I climbed into the seat.

            But I could hear him laughing as he rounded the front and got in, asking, “All right back there, William?”

            “Yeah, yeah,” came the mumbled reply. “You’re both assholes.”

            Max put the keys in the ignition and the engine roared to life. After grinning proudly at me he turned back and his face grew puzzled when he attempted to put the van in gear, only to be met with a horrible grinding noise.

            “That’s encouraging,” I said.

            “Would you stop being such a twat and relax? I’ve got this.”

            “Of course you do.”

            The van lurched forward and I made a dramatic point about fastening my seat belt. The tires screeched as we took the first turn and I reached blindly for the dash, anything to hold on to. Will wasn’t as lucky, and the sound of him tumbling around in the cargo area could be heard from the front seat.

            “When was the last time you actually drove a car?” I asked, bracing myself as we prepared to take another turn.

            He pursed his lips as he considered this. “Vegas,” he said with a nod, completely unfazed by the trail of blaring horns in our wake.

            “Vegas? I don’t remember you driving anywhere in Vegas.”

            He checked the directions on his phone, blazed through a yellow light at the very last minute, and nearly rear-ended a car at a stop sign. “It’s possible I borrowed a car while you boys were occupied.”

            “Borrowed? Jesus.”

            “Yeah. And actually . . . to be fair, it was a limo, not a car. But that’s not the point. I got there safe and sound in the end.”

            “And did you notice anything unusual? Maybe a few rude hand gestures aimed in your direction? Police sirens?”

            After several near-misses with much smaller cars—

because you could practically see the Brit working to flip left and right around in his mind—we pulled up in front of the cleaners. Max glared at me as he put the van in park.

            “Oh, God, somebody let me out,” Will groaned. I climbed down and opened the back door, watching as Will stumbled from the cargo area, and immediately moved to throw up in the bushes. Apparently, my point had been made.

            The dry cleaner was a small, nondescript business nestled between a Chinese food restaurant and a comic book store in the center of a strip mall. Max motioned for me to lead the way and we paused at the front door, gazing up at a neon sign reading Satisfaction Guaranteed buzzing overhead.

            “Bit unfortunate, that,” Max mused under his breath.

            Thank God the clothes were ready. We opened each bag to make sure everything was accounted for—six dresses, eight tuxedos—and proceeded to carry them out to the van. Max made sure to keep his promise to my mother, and kept me far from Chloe’s wedding gown.

            “There’s no way you’re driving us back,” I said to Max once the last bag had been loaded.

            “You still going on about that?” he asked

            “Did you see yourself out there? After he puked, Will was practically kissing the ground.” I reached for the keys, managing to snag them from his hand.

            “Like you could do any better? My gran’s a better driver than you. She’s eighty-two and has glaucoma.”

            “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of the police helicopter and the warrant for your arrest,” I said, and swore as Max grabbed the keys back from me.