Page 2 of Crash with Me

Frowning more fiercely, he snaps up his drink and leaves with a huff. Once he’s out of earshot, we both burst into laughter. The more she laughs, the more I laugh, and vice-versa.

My sides are hurting and I’m gasping for breath by the time we stop.

Stacey accepts a cocktail napkin to carefully wipe the tears from her eyes. “Thank you. And sorry about Jim.”

“Oh, it’s no problem.”

“You probably deal with guys like him all the time.”

“All the time,” I agree, taking her glass and topping it off with fresh chilled Prosecco. She’s been nursing the same glass most of the night while flitting around to welcome guests and whisper with the wait staff. “Your dad is the groom.”

“Yeah, he is.” She releases a heavy breath. “This is his fifth wedding. His fifth marriage.”

We turn our gazes to her dad—the groom—and his much-younger bride-to-be. The buxom blonde is clinging to his arm and beaming up at him like he’s the man who invented the smart phone.

Stacey sighs again. “He swears this one will stick.”

I make a sympathetic sound. “Well, he’s lucky to have your support.”

“I’m not supporting their marriage or relationship.” Something flashes in her eyes. “But he’s my dad. And, well… He hasn’t been the same since my mom died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” A lump lodges in my throat. “That had to be hard.”

I hand her a fresh cocktail napkin as fresh tears fill her eyes.

“Thank you.” She carefully blots her eyes again to avoid smudging her make-up. “It happened a long time ago, but…”

“But time doesn’t mean you don’t miss her, or the life you all had before, any less.”

“That’s right.” Her bottom lip quivers but she catches it. With a shake of her head—and a short humorless laugh—she takes a breath and straightens her shoulders. “Anyway, thank you for that. And thank you for understanding. You’re really good at that.”

“I’m just doing my job. Pouring drinks”—I hold up the bottle—“and playing part-time therapist.”

She giggles again. This time, it reaches her eyes and sounds genuine. “I bet you hear all kinds of thing—from all kinds of people—in your line of work.”

“I do. It’s part of the fun.”

“It’s good you can find enjoyment in that.” She looks over my shoulder and winces. “Oh, crap. It looks like our favorite groomsman is trying to work his charms on the wedding coordinator. I’d better go rescue her.”

“Here.” I hand her a shot of a pre-mixed pink cocktail I’d made at the bride's request. “To take the edge off.”

“Thanks.” She throws it back, flinching only a little. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” I call after her as she gently pushes her way through the crowd. “You’re doing God’s work.”

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” a deep voice asks.

I turn toward the voice. My heart hitches as my gaze lands on a tall, broad-shouldered man in a fitted suit. His beard is trimmed, and his dark brown hair is messy. As if he’s been running his fingers through it.

He tugs at his tie, as if it’s strangling him. He might not look comfortable in what he’s wearing, but he looks good—too good—wearing it.

He looks so good, I seem to have lost the power of breathing, let alone speaking. I just nod my head dumbly as I find it impossible to break my gaze away from his dark, serious eyes.

“Okay, thanks.” He takes a deep breath. “This is going to sound weird, and there isn’t time to explain it. But… will you please go along with everything I say in the next few minutes.”

I nod again, still incapable of using my words.

Have I ever seen eyes so full of power and mystery? Also, I wonder what cologne he’s wearing. It’s kind of woodsy, with a hint of something rich and intoxicating. A musk that’s maybe uniquely him, but should be bottled up and sold to men everywhere who want to smell both rugged and powerful.

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