Page 5 of Wicked Pickle

“Diesel.”

Damn. Now, that’s a name for a man in a biker bar.

“I’m Symphony.”

“Sounds like music someone could spend all night listening to.”

Holy shit.I’ve been made fun of all my life for this name. But now, I love it.

Despite three yards of skin-tight spandex holding in my lady bits, I feel them yawning.Open for this one, they say. He’s a hot one.

God, I sound like Marietta.

His gaze drops to the glass.

I pick up the sixth shot. I’m feeling the first one. The others will be close to follow. But I don’t back down from a dare, so I lift the glass and down it.

“Symphony, what’s going on?” Bailey comes up behind me. “And why is Marietta hanging onto two old men?”

I turn to look. She’s right. Marietta stands between the stools, one arm on each man’s shoulder.

“We better get her,” Jenna says.

I look back at Diesel. “Six good enough for you?”

He gives a slow grin. “I’m pretty damn impressed.”

His words slide over me like warm water. “Good.”

“Hey!” Marietta cries out. “What are you doing?”

Jenna pulls on her arm. “I called a ride. It’ll be here in five minutes.”

Diesel meets my gaze. “My bar isn’t good enough for ladies like yourself?”

Jenna looks up from where she’s trying to extricate Marietta from her suitors. Yeah, that drink is hitting. Marietta looks like she’s suddenly made of bread dough.

Bailey watches me, a gleam in her eye. She doesn’t seem the worse for her puking. “Jenna, cancel that ride. The gentleman is right. This is as good a place as any to spend the bachelorette.”

Diesel lifts that eyebrow again. “Bachelorette? Who’s getting married?” I don’t miss that his gaze shifts to me for a split second.

Is he hoping it’s not me?

“I am,” Bailey says, scooting between stools to put her elbows up on the bar. “Can I get a glass of water? I had a little too much booze earlier.”

“Certainly.” He fills a glass for her, then a second one, passing it to me. “I recommend one-to-one booze for water.”

That’s practical for a place like this.

I plan to take a sip, but realize I’m parched and down half the glass in one go.

The spandex tightens down, and suddenly, I have to pee. Urgently.

I’d rather stay and flirt with Diesel, but I might be one sneeze away from a tsunami wave in my Spanx. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Bailey.

I hurry along the bar stools to the outhouse, assuming I’ll enter a big room with stalls.

But no, it’s just one tiny space with a toilet and sink.

---