Slow Ride Read Free

slice, one of her very least favorite flavors ever. There was good, there was bad, and then there was coconut. Her mouth automatically opening in horror, she looked around for a napkin, the flavor invading and offending every single one of her taste buds. Feeling like she might gag from the texture, she worked the cake forward with her tongue, debating just chucking it out of her mouth and into her champagne glass.
    A hand shot out in front of her mouth and Evan said, “Just spit it out.”
    She only paused for a second before depositing the vile waxy coconut hunk into Evan’s hand. “Oh, my God, thank you. Coconut. Ick. That was so freaking gross—”
    Tuesday forgot the rest of her sentence when she looked up and realized that it wasn’t Evan next to her. It was Diesel Lange. Retired driver. The man she had cried on at her father’s funeral.
    And the man she had now just spit chewed-up cake into his outstretched palm.
    Oh. My. God. She felt heat flood her face as she stared at him, trying to think of something, anything to say. “Sorry,” was the best she could manage. “I thought you were Evan.”
    It was a lame explanation, but how did you really explain regurgitation onto total strangers?
    His eyebrows furrowed. “Why would you think I was Evan?”
    “Because I was meeting Evan.” Tuesday licked her lips, still tasting the coconut, still feeling like an ass. “I don’t usually just spit out food into random people’s hands, you know.” Food she realized he was still holding. “God, that’s so gross, I’m sorry.”
    She reached out and grabbed the cold, mushy, spit-filled blob off his hand. It left a slimy smear across his skin. “Crap, sorry.” She was tempted to lick it off, but figured that would make it worse. A lot worse. She didn’t imagine any man wanted a woman to just lick them at a wedding reception.
    Then again, maybe men did.
    The oven her face had become burned a little hotter.
    But he just gave her a lopsided smile. “Quit apologizing. I’m the one who stuck my hand out. I don’t like coconut either, so I’m glad I could help. The texture makes me want to hurl.”
    She felt slightly better, or at least she would when that saliva trail across his hand was gone. First she’d snotted on his dress shirt at the funeral, now she’d spit on him. Classy.
    “Let me get you a napkin.” Which now that she was glancing around, she saw they were plenty on the corner of the table, but they were blending into the tablecloth, which had created this moment of horror for her. “Here.” Grabbing several off the top of the stack, she scrubbed at his hand with it. “I can’t believe I spit on you.”
    His other hand reached out and stilled her, wrapping loosely around her wrist. “Stop. A little saliva never killed anyone.”
    “I don’t have any communicable diseases, just so you know.” Oh, God, did she really just say that? Tuesday downed the rest of her glass of champagne.
    Diesel burst out laughing. “That is good to know. But I wasn’t worried.”
    Then he just . . . looked at her. Tuesday wondered if he remembered who she was. Wondered if she was supposed to acknowledge that she had cried on him. But what if she said something and he didn’t recognize her? She glanced ruefully into the bottom of her empty glass.
    What was the most disconcerting of all was that she had never been the type of woman who worried about things like this. She was no stranger to voicing her opinion, and she had never lacked for confidence. You couldn’t be missing either if you wanted to be successful in the field of sports reporting. So why she was standing there wide-eyed and mute like an anime cartoon girl she did not understand. That shit had to stop.
    “I was meeting Evan at the bar. I should head on over there,” she said. “Come with me and I’ll buy you a drink.”
    “It’s an open bar.”
    She grinned. “I know. But it’s the thought that counts.”
    He smiled back, a crooked smile that