His drink

She looked at him for a long moment, and he felt the tension between them heat up again. What exactly had he meant by that? Whatever she wanted it to mean, he guessed. Finally, she reached for his hand.

"Deal. Now, let's find some food to soak up all of this alcohol so that you don't have to pour me in a cab at the end of the night."

They followed a waiter to the corner of the room where they loaded up plates of puff pastry pockets and crostini with prosciutto. As soon as their hands were full and they couldn't move, they were surrounded by bridesmaids.

Though the bridesmaids circling them all had perfect pink lip-glossed smiles, their hostility to Mike and curiosity about Stella was very clear. She got it, though—if any of her girlfriends' exes had showed up at their weddings, she probably would have smiled big while dropping poison in their drinks. Not enough to kill them, mind you. Just enough to make them humiliate themselves.

At that thought, she glanced down at Mike's drink, but he'd already drained it. Probably for the best.