Bridesmaid Undercover: An incredibly steamy, hilarious, friends to lovers, love triangle romantic comedy

EVERLY

“What is that in your hand?” Ember asks as she walks up to me, cutting through the crowd in the swanky restaurant.

My eyes snap up to hers. “Oh, nothing.”

I attempt to slip the Professor Plum token into my purse, but Ember stops me and opens my fist, revealing the game piece.

Clearly confused, she looks up at me with a crease in her brow. “Why do you have a game piece in your hand?”

“Uh, long story,” I say while I watch Trevor slip some money to the host, probably looking to get us a better table.

When Ember said she would hook me up with Trevor’s friend from work, I told her I didn’t think I could do a blind date, so she asked if I would go out with him if it was a foursome. That seemed less intimidating, so I said yes. But now that I’m here, I’m regretting that decision immensely.

I’m nervous.

I feel sweaty.

And I can’t stop thinking about the one man I shouldn’t be thinking about: Hardy Hopper.

At first, I was genuinely trying to catch him up on what was going on with Maple via email, but with every ding of my inbox, I fell into this easy rapport with him.

The joking, the teasing, the codenames. It was all so…addictive.

Then when he told me to meet him at the zoo in disguise, I was all in. Spending extra time with Hardy Hopper? Yes, please. I jumped on that opportunity so quickly, which only made this insatiable appetite I have for the man even worse.

Despite the skewering of the fake nose, the man pony, and the shirt, I can’t stop thinking about our zoo trip, how it felt to be close to him. The way he makes me feel so comfortable, how he makes me laugh, the easygoing conversations. Ugh…he was charming, fun, and sweet, someone I could see myself dating. And now I’m carrying around a freaking Professor Plum token like a freaking lovesick teenager, wanting to hold it up to my cheek and make kissing noises because it reminds me of him.

Something is seriously wrong with me.

Ember studies me while folding her arms across her chest. “Why are your eyes shifting?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, not daring to meet my sister’s gaze. “They’re not shifting.”

“Then look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” I say, staring at her shoulder.

“Look me in the eyes, Everly.”

God, she’s annoying.

I bring my gaze to hers and under the glare of her pupils, I feel myself shrinking…and shrinking…

And shrinking.

Until… “Fine,” I surrender. “The token was from Hardy. He had it delivered to me because he calls me Professor, because, you know…Professor Plum from Clue.”

Her lips purse.

Her eyes search mine.

My metaphorical tail tucks between my legs because I know what’s coming.

The lecture.

A lecture from my sister who never lets anything go.

On an irritated huff, Ember takes me by the arm and marches me over into a corner of the lobby, blocking me from our surroundings. Leaning in, she yell-whispers, “You’re carrying around a token from him? Jesus, Everly, might as well be a candle from the way you worship this man.”

“I don’t worship him,” I say, though I feel like there might be some validity to her statement. Which, if I think about it, means I’m pushing past pathetic to utterly humiliating. I don’t think I’ve ever been this far gone over a man…ever.

“I can see it in your eyes—you were thinking about him just now, weren’t you?” Ember says with an accusatory finger.

“No, I wasn’t.” I roll my eyes.

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t,” I reply defiantly.

“Then what were you thinking about?” She places her hands on her hips.

Uh…yeah, Everly, what were you thinking about?

“Uh…well…if you must know…” I pause, giving myself time to come up with something, anything, but my mind goes blank, so I say the first thing that rolls off my tongue. “I was thinking about pitchforks.”

“Pitchforks,” she deadpans.

“Yes,” I answer. “Pitchforks.”

“And why were you thinking about pitchforks?”

Nosy much? Sheesh.

“Because I heard a story about a ranch hand getting poked in the butt by one, so, yeah, I was thinking about that.” She doesn’t need to know said story was told to me by the charming offender in question.

She narrows her eyes. “And where would you hear such a story?”

This is why you should never have an older sister: because nothing gets by them, nothing. They’re too smart, too inquisitive, and too much in your business.

“From…you know, the place that tells pitchfork stories.”

“And what place is that?” she asks.

“Errr…” I look to the side and mumble, “TikTok.”

“Ah, so if I went onto TikTok right now and looked up pitchfork to the ass, it would come up? Obviously, it would have to because how else would you have come across it if it wasn’t a viral video?”

With every sentence she says, she gets increasingly annoying.

“Yes,” I say with full confidence.

“Okay,” she says as she brings her phone out of her purse and pulls up TikTok. As she types, she says, “Pitchfork to the butt.” Her lips twist to the side as she searches, and searches, and when nothing comes up, she says, “Hmm, that’s so weird, I don’t see any videos that deal with a pitchfork poking the butt. Makes me think that you were lying and instead of thinking about pitchforks, you were actually thinking about something else, or better yet…someone else.”

I roll my eyes and sarcastically laugh. “Oh, how little you know about me.”

“Everly,” she snaps, causing my innards to shrivel.

“Fine,” I say. “I was thinking about Hardy, okay? We’ve been exchanging emails, and he’s been so funny and sweet, and then he sent me this token—and I know what you’re thinking, he’s being nice because I’m helping him, and I’m sure that’s the case, but it doesn’t stop me from daydreaming and thinking about him and wondering what it would be like if he wasn’t after his ex but instead interested in a woman like me.”

Ember pinches the bridge of her nose as she takes a deep breath. “Everly, this is…this is embarrassing.”

“I know,” I groan. “I know, I don’t need the reminder. I see how pathetic I am. I look in the mirror and I point at myself, and I say, pathetic. You are a pathetic woman. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking about him, about what could be.” I lean in close and whisper, “I need help, Ember. I need you to slap me out of this.” I tap my cheek. “Go ahead, slap me, right here. Give me a good knock back into reality.” I tap my cheek again.

She stares at me with an unamused expression. “As tempting as that is, I’m not going to hit my sister, nor do I think that will work. What you need is a distraction, and we have the perfect one for you. One that will be here any second, so do you think you can forget about the freaking game token, push aside thoughts of an untouchable man, and focus on a person who is interested in meeting you?”

I let out a deep sigh. “You’re right,” I say. “You’re very right. There is a man coming here tonight who will be the perfect distraction. Timothy, right?”

“Tomothy,” Ember corrects.

“Tomothy?” I ask with a grimace. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, his name is Tomothy.”

“Do people call him Tom?” I ask.

“No,” Ember says emphatically. “God, do not call him Tom. He hates that. He goes by Tomothy.”

“Are you sure? Because when you told me his name initially, I thought it was a typo in your text. But it’s really Tomothy?”

“Yes, it’s really Tomothy. I think it’s a fun name.”

“I think it’s an old Victorian name for a kid with the plague,” I whimper, and in my best Dickensian voice, I say, “Oh, little Tomothy, about to shrivel up from the Black Death.”

“Everly,” Ember scolds on a laugh. “It is not. This is a nice name, and he’s a nice man, and you will enjoy his company—just watch. Your thoughts about Hardy will be completely washed away once Tomothy enters the chat. Guaranteed.”

I’m goingto murder my sister.

I hope she enjoys her last meal of chicken parm, breadsticks, and a side salad, because that’s it for her.

She will not be seeing another day.

And do you know why?

One word: Tomothy.

I can’t believe she set me up with this man.

First of all, he is easily seven feet tall. I know what you’re thinking, not a bad thing. Could be worse. But he’s so tall that the first thing I noticed wasn’t his eyes, or his smile, no, it was his nostrils.

His very wide and very prominent nostrils—well-kept nostrils, though, which I have to give him credit for. Sure, this isn’t a great example as to why my sister should be murdered, but there’s something jarring about being greeted by a nostril and not a face.

And not that I have anything against tall men. I like tall men, but this man is so tall, that I would need to stand on a chair to even consider a kiss goodnight. Which would never happen because I have acquired “the ick” where he’s concerned and not because of his height or his nostrils.

I acquired the ick on multiple occasions.

First ick was when he checked his teeth in the reflection of his knife when we first sat down. He made a show of it, examining his pearly whites, moving his head back and forth to get all angles, and then swiping his rather thick tongue across the ivories, before setting his knife back down. Excuse yourself to the bathroom, sir, if you’re that concerned.

Second ick was when he picked up his napkin and made a show of flapping it in the air and then tucking it into the top of his shirt. Could be endearing, some might say, but not when he made it a point to fluff his chest hair crawling out his collar and gently smooth it over the top part of his tucked-in napkin. No one wants chest hair on full display while biting into their breadstick.

Third ick—and this is a doozy—was when he started telling me about his cat, Hoodini, which at first was sort of charming, that was until he went into great detail about how he used to lick Hoodini when he was young. Got even more grossed out when he said he liked gnawing on Hoodini’s paw because it reminded him of corn chips. The only pussy he should be licking is…well…you know—hint, it’s not a feline.

And I completely disassociated from the “date” when he discussed the complexities of the female genitalia and how it wasn’t fair for men to have to learn the ways around their pleasure. How women shouldn’t have such convoluted parts because they’re letting men down. How he thought this was a topic of conversation that would grant him a look at my “parts” I have no idea. If anything, I mentally slipped a chastity belt on and tossed the key into the Pacific Ocean.

And finally, I began contemplating my sister’s murder when he told me that I had the same bone structure as a sickly praying mantis—this coming from the seven-foot-tall, lanky man. Compare me to a bug and we’re done. Thank you, have a not-so-good day.

How on earth did Ember believe this would be the type of man that would take my mind off Hardy Hopper? This only makes me want him even more.

“And this is what my finger looked like right when I broke it,” Tomothy says as he flashes his phone toward me. Yup, we’re onto the many injuries he’s endured throughout his life. We went from a broken nose, to stitches in his chin, to a broken ankle, to a punctured hip, and now to a broken finger.

One glance and I’m gagging.

“Dear God, Tomothy,” I say as I turn away from him. “That is disgusting.”

“I know.” He smiles down at the picture as if he just showed me an image of his most prized possession—which I can only assume would be his cat’s corn chip paws. “It was quite gnarly. I can still hear the snap of my bone⁠—”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” I say as I rise quickly out of my chair. I toss my napkin on the table and turn toward Ember. “Care to join?”

“Not really,” she says, shaking her head, probably knowing exactly why I want to go to the bathroom.

“Well, too bad,” I say as I grab her arm and tug her out of her chair.

Silently, we work our way through the restaurant, toward the back, and right into the women’s bathroom. When the door is shut, I turn toward her. “What the hell were you thinking? Tomothy? You think I should be dating Tomothy? The man with the incessant need to burp every time he takes a sip of his water? What the hell is up with that?”

“Yes, I found that a touch odd,” Ember says while tapping her chin.

“A touch odd?” I whisper-shout. “Ember, he’s vile.”

“Now, now, he’s not all that bad. He brought you flowers.”

“That were half dead, and he told me he got them on a slashed price.”

“Money conscious, that’s not a bad thing,” Ember says.

“When Trevor asked him how he was doing, Tomothy said, not bad, just upset he found a hole in his undies. He said undies, Ember.”

“Some might find that endearing,” she says with a shoulder shrug.

“And when I asked him what he did for fun, he said he liked to go to the piers wearing his female body inspector shirt.”Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

Ember lightly winces. “I think that was a joke.”

“No one laughed,” I say through a clenched jaw. “Face it, he’s disgusting, and this was a horrible decision. I will never trust you, ever again, when it comes to my love life.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “I’ll give you the fact that Tomothy is not the catch I thought he’d be, but he’s better than pining after someone who’s pining after another person.”

“Listen, I’d rather be sad, pathetic, and alone, clutching a Professor Plum game piece than ever see Tomothy ever again.”

“That seems a bit harsh.”

“It’s the truth,” I say just as there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

Confused, we both turn around only for Tomothy to peek his head inside. “Ah, there you are. I’m experiencing some gas and wanted to see if you were too. Figured that was your reasoning for a quick departure to the toilets.”

I turn to Ember and mouth, “I hate him,” before turning back toward Tomothy. “I’m not experiencing any gas, thanks for the inquiry though.”

“Are you sure, because…”—he clutches his stomach—“things are happening down below.”

Oh.

My.

God.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” I say as I charge toward the door, moving him to the side. “I’m experiencing gastric distress and I need to go home.”

Tomothy nods in understanding. “I get it. I only like to deposit in my own space as well, something we have in common.” He smiles, and it takes everything in me not to lift his tie and stuff it up his very large, but clean nostrils.

“And with that, I’m leaving,” I say.

“Okay, sure, understand the rush,” he says walking after me. “Shall I call you later to check in? See how it went?”

“I’d rather you not,” I say.

“Then maybe we can plan for another date,” he replies as we walk past a few tables in the dining area.

“I don’t think that’s in our future, Tomothy.”

Not wanting to see Tomothy’s reaction, I reach our table and grab my purse. When I look over at Trevor, he has a guilty look on his face, Ember standing directly behind him. I point at him and say, “You did this.”

He nods. “I know.”

“Do not do it again.”

“Understood,” he answers.

“Blaming Trevor for your intestinal bubbling?” Tomothy tsks at me. “You’re the one who took the chance on the sausage, not him.”

“Oh my God, Tomothy, no one asked you,” I say, losing my cool.

He holds his hands up as if I’ve insulted him. “I don’t think I appreciate your tone.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t appreciate you telling me that you find the vagina too complex. How do you think you’d be able to pleasure me, Tomothy?”

“The women I’m with usually pleasure themselves,” he says as if I’m stupid.

“And that’s why you’re single,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air.

He folds his arms, his stature drawing attention from the diners around us. “And why are you single?”

“Because apparently I keep trying to date men with names like Tomothy who have impeccably manicured nostrils but like to lick their cats and gnaw on their paws.”

Tomothy huffs. “You leave Hoodini out of this.”

“Dear God in heaven.” I roll my eyes and wave to Trevor. “Good night.”

And with that, I take off, fleeing the restaurant and heading straight for my car. I need to find the nearest grocery store to buy a pint of ice cream I can drown myself in.