Page 22 of Wicked Pickle

She huffs. “I’m a woman ofmyword.”

I relax. Fucking fine. As long as I sit up front with the bridal party and avoid the Pickles, this might be endurable, especially if there is the promise of alone time with this woman.

“All right, then.” I drag her against me and put my arm firmly around her. “But don’t make me wait too long.”

I expect her to cower. She doesn’t know me, other than I have wicked skills with my Bowie knife.

But her chin tilts up like she’s the one in charge. “You’ll wait as long as I say.”

“Oh, really? You sure?”

“This is going to be good,” she insists.

“You trying to convince yourself, or do youknow it?” I ask.

She squares her shoulders. “You better be good orelse.”

I laugh.

She’s got fire.

I like it.

CHAPTER 7

SYMPHONY

Bailey was totally right. I needed a date.

Sitting in front of everyone with this gorgeous biker who somehow makes a suit look badass is a serious goose to the ol’ ego.

Servers pass through the tables with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. They leave glasses and small plates for us at the table.

I catch half of the women in the crowd ogling him, especially once he ditches the coat and tie. His arms and shoulders fill out the black shirt in a way that makes mereallywant to touch him and see if he’s as chiseled as he looks.

Bailey’s father stands in front of the parents’ table, tapping his glass with a knife. “As we prepare for the meal, I’d like to make a toast to the wonderful couple.”

God, I almost forgot. The toasts. I’m slated to give one, too. Marietta and Jenna practically faint at the prospect of public speaking.

Diesel leans back in his chair, draping his arm along the satin-lined top of mine. He’s completely chill despite being so angry earlier.

I glance at Bailey, wondering if she’s sitting on some big secret about this family reunion. But she’s all smiles at her father, who picks up a microphone from her table.

“I know Bailey’s mother would love to be here today, and I think she’d say, ‘Be well, my darling.’ But I know youarewell, of course, you are, surrounded by such lovely people.”

Diesel’s hand brushes my back, and I can’t pay a lick of attention to the speech anymore. Fire races across my skin.

I want him to do it again. I’m tempted to lean back onto his arm. Feel the strength of it. I imagine him drawing me close, kissing my hair. I turn, and his lips take mine?—

Applause breaks out. Damn it, I’ve missed another part of the day. Diesel is rubbish for my concentration.

Rhett’s father takes the mic, clearing his throat to launch into what a sourpuss his eldest son always was until Bailey came along. The crowd laughs.

I fidget with my hair. I didn’t think too hard about how I would give a speech not only in front of Bailey and all the guests but also in front of Diesel.

I memorized a funny anecdote and some kind words, but I swear all of it has been erased from my brain.

Everyone claps again, and I look over at the other bridal party table. Rhett’s brother Court is pushing Axel forward.

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