Page 13 of Wicked Pickle

The door to the room opens, and we all jump.

It’s Bailey’s dad.

Shit, right. The wedding.

“My gorgeous girl!” He holds out his arms.

Bailey hurries over to him, and the photographer clicks shots. Marietta and Jenna drag themselves away from the window.

But I linger for a second. It’s nice watching him when he doesn’t know I’m looking.

He shoves a keychain in his pocket, examining the building as if he’s searching for the door.

His face turns this way, then, oh, shit, I think he sees me!

I press myself against the wall.

My chest heaves as I wait and wait. But when I finally peer back out, he’s still there, a funny grin on his face. He waves, then heads for the door.

He saw me!

Nobody’s paying any attention to me, not with the wedding so close. Bailey links her arms through her father’s. The ring bearer and the flower girl are ushered in by their mothers.

Jenna and Marietta pick up their bouquets, bending down for one last check in the mirror.

But I’m totally beside myself.

He’s here! He came!

Diesel!

Holy shit!

CHAPTER 4

DIESEL

Good thing that woman is hot, or I’d be hightailing it far away from this Godforsaken wedding.

I can tell from the building alone that this event is going to be wastefully posh. The beer will be imported. The liquor high end. Servers in black. Plated dinner.

I did this shit as a kid before Merrick and I blew out of town.

But here I am.

I’m the only latecomer squeaking in at the last minute. The parking lot is filled with Lexus, Mercedes, and BMW. Not my scene. Give me a Ford F-150. Or a Harley. Hell, I’ll even suffer a lame-ass Yamaha over this show-off class.

The front door is heavy and ornate. I pull it open, still grinning over spotting Symphony spying on me. Maybe this will be fun. I can be the rogue element. I don’t know these people.

I couldn’t drag Merrick along for the life of me. He insisted he had to watch the bar, given it was a Saturday night, and I’ll be tied up until who the fuck knows when.

It’s all right. I can raise a lot of hell on my own.

The building is an old mansion. When I step inside, the entryway is glossy with marble. Stairs curve up to a second floor.

A sign that reads “Wedding Guests” points to French doors in the back. They’re thrown open. I guess that’s the entrance to the ceremony.

There’s a hall on the same side as the window where I spotted Symphony. Probably the dressing rooms. She’ll come out from there.

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