I was probably on my fourth glass of champagne when Spencer and the other guy, Dallon, came up to me, their little breast-pocket-bouquets already wilting in the harsh sunlight. Spencer clapped me on the back, hard, and I started choking on my drink, coughing loudly and obnoxiously. Wiping my mouth, I glared at him, a little bit tipsy. And irritated. Pretty irritated.
"Hey, Ry," Spencer said, a glass of—was that water?—in his hands. I nodded at him, admiring his attempts to sober up. He had started spiraling into addiction when I left—I was happy that he was slowly climbing out of that hole. I'd seen people close to me who'd gone down that path and it wasn't pretty.
Dallon looked at me strangely, gears turning in his head as he tried to identify me.
"Ry—wait. You're Ryan Ross. The Ryan Ross. The milk fic Ryan Ross?" Dallon mused, a smirk on his face. I had the sudden urge to knee him in the balls.
"Um..." I started, blushing at his mention of the milk fic. It was embarrassing that anybody would want to write that. It's embarrassing that so many people read it. It's embarrassing that I read it, and actually kind of liked it.
"Shut up, Dallon," Spencer commanded, barely hiding a grin. "That's disgusting." Dallon laughed out loud, shaking his head.
"I'm kidding, dude. Nice to meet you, by the way. I'm Dallon, in case you didn't already know," he said, and I nodded again, not wanting to speak, because I was sure I'd slur out something I'd regret saying. God, why'd I have to get drunk, again?
"So, we're here to tell you that Brendon wants to talk to you," Spencer said, sipping his water. Dallon nodded, snatching a champagne flute from one of the waiters and mimicking Spencer.
"Really?" I asked, sounding eager. Too eager. Dallon raised an eyebrow.
"Why not? You were part of the band, once," he replied, crossing his arms. Somebody's getting snarky, all of a sudden. Confused, I nodded. Did something ever happen between Brendon and Dallon? Couldn't be, he met Dallon after he met Sarah. And he was fucking smitten with Sarah.
"Yeah, I mean, where is he?" I managed, somehow keeping myself from slurring out my words. This is not a good idea. I really shouldn't go to him in this state.
"Follow me," Spencer said, putting his now-empty glass onto one of the waiters' trays. I did the same, trailing reluctantly behind him, my head spinning a little from all the alcohol. We came upon a little clearing, shaded by a bunch of trees and accompanied by a wide cobblestone road. An old-fashioned car was parked on the path, its white surface polished and gleaming. Brendon and Sarah posed for pictures in front of the car, and I flinched a little when he captured her lips in an affectionate kiss. The camera went crazy, all flashing lights and snap, snap. Sarah pulled away, adjusting her hair a little bit, a silly grin on her face.
"We done?" Brendon inquired, hugging Sarah to his chest. Sarah sighed contentedly, relaxing against him. I looked away, examining the rough bark of one of the trees instead. This is hard. This is really hard.
The cameraman nodded, a self-satisfied smile on his face. "Yeah. Thanks, guys, you did great." Holding Sarah's hand, Brendon walked away from the car, and Spencer nudged me.
"Now's your chance," he whispered. What?
"Um, could you, maybe, like, get his attention or something?" I begged Spencer, but he had already walked away, muttering to himself about trying out the buffet—apparently, the wedding had first class catering. I wasn't surprised. I sighed, straightening my tie and doing my best to wipe the dirt and grass off of my shoes. Here goes nothing.
