“Will you please shake a tail feather over there? Moss is gonna start growin’ under your feet if you move any slower!” she griped impatiently as Devil shoved a foot into his pajama bottoms. “He’s waiting!” she added while she shoved her foot into some comfy slippers. “And he sounds horrible,” she muttered when she cracked open the bedroom door and Mannie’s wails become substantially louder. Reaching for her phone on the dresser, she quickly sent out an emergency text to the wedding posse. It appeared it was time for them to circle the wagons around Armando.
“He’s gonna feel worse when I get my hands around his scrawny neck,” Devil vowed grimly, his words a little muffled by the black tee shirt he was pulling over his head. “It’s freakin’ midnight, Molly. His meltdown couldn’t be postponed until morning? I mean, really, if the wedding is off now, I’m willing to bet it’ll still be off at say, eightish.”
“You better get down on your knees and pray to whatever dark deity you’re currently worshiping that isn’t true, Devil. I just prepaid the seafood shop for three hundred cracked lobsters yesterday and I can assure you that deposit is non-refundable!” Molly hissed, glaring at her husband as he stormed toward her.
“Molly, may I remind you that we served crab cakes at our wedding. Not fucking lobster! Would you like to explain that to me?” Devil asked, eyes narrowing.
Molly’s lips twitched as she watched Devil try to remain calm. The muscle in his jaw was jumpin’ and that vein in his forehead was throbbing, but she’d give him credit. He was doing a remarkable job of modulating his tone. She should really try and be nice. She knew that.
Of course, that just wouldn’t be like her at all.
“It’s simple, honey,” Molly replied sweetly. “I like Armando and Nick much better than I like you.”
“Clearly,” Devil retorted, reaching for the silver door knob and jerking their bedroom door open before gesturing for Molly to precede him.
Molly led the way down the upstairs hallway to the staircase, Mannie’s sobs growing shriller with every step. Grimacing at the earsplitting noises, Molly barely heard Devil’s groan behind her.
“Good God, Mols. That attention whore is gonna get every damn dog in the neighborhood howling at this rate. If you think the neighborhood association was hard on the two of us when Coco and Chanel got loose to terrify the villagers, imagine how hard it will be to spring Armando from the pound. Do something!”
She wanted to scream at her husband for his insensitivity, but he had a point. They had paid hell when their Pekinese dog and Siamese cat had decided to paint the subdivision red a few months ago. And they’d almost never convinced those animal control people that their persnickety pets were perfectly harmless. So instead of arguing with her headstrong hubby, she lifted her robe, picked up her pace and called, “Mannie, we’re coming, sweetie! Just hold on a sec!”
Hurrying down the stairs, Molly skidded to a halt as she reached the doorway to the living room. Her jaw dropped as she got a look at her best guy friend. “What the hell happened to your face, Mannie?” she shouted, her gaze glued to the huge set of raccoon eyes that hadn’t been there when he’d left earlier in the night. “Oh, my God, did somebody hit you?”
“Forget his face; what the hell happened to his clothes?” Molly heard Devil ask from behind her.
“Devil,” Molly hissed in warning, sparing a second to glare at her husband.
“What?” Devil yelped indignantly. Waving his arm at the bright orange ‘Frankie Say Relax?’ tank top, slouchy grey sweats and battered flip flops Armando wore, he continued, “I might be straight, but I’m secure enough in my manhood to be comfortable saying that ensemble is without a doubt a fashion don’t.”
“I’m going to kill you, Devil,” Molly informed her husband threateningly.
“No, no, he’s right, Molly,” Armando whimpered brokenly, tears still running down his handsome swarthy face. “I know I look like mierda. I was in such a hurry to get out of Nick’s apartment, I put on the first thing I grabbed.”
“Does your future husband only wear clothes from 1984?” Devil asked dryly, eyeing the dated tank top critically.
Smacking Devil’s arm, Molly growled, “Seriously, Dev. Yours will be a particularly bloody death. I’ll make sure of it.” Turning her attention back to Armando, she took a half step toward him and lifted a hand to point at his eyes. “What about those bruises? What happened there?” she questioned worriedly.