Slow Ride Read Free Page B

limped, she imagined it was because he was in pain.
    Yet he always looked so calm.
    Suddenly confused, her emotions pinging in multiple directions, Tuesday turned to the bartender. “Can we get a Coke, please?” She took the shot of whiskey Evan was holding out to her. God knew the last thing she needed was to throw back some Jack, but the truth was, she felt a little afraid of the direction her thoughts and feelings were going in. Maybe the liquor would take the edge off.
    “Are you sure your wife doesn’t want a shot?” Tuesday asked Evan.
    “Are you kidding? Kendall can’t hold her liquor. She’s not drinking at all tonight because she doesn’t want to wind up trashed and doing the worm on the dance floor in her wedding dress.”
    Tuesday sniffed her drink. “So that’s what you have me for, right? I’ll be the one making an ass out of myself in a few hours.”
    Evan grinned. “We can only hope.”
    Unfortunately, given the way she was feeling, Tuesday thought that might not be that far from the truth. For a split second, she hesitated. Maybe the whiskey was a bad idea on top of the champagne. But then Evan lifted his glass and tossed it back and she was just competitive enough that she had to follow suit, taking it cleanly and quickly. As the burn raced down her throat, she tried not to wince.
    Diesel raised his eyebrow, his soft drink lifted to his lips. “You don’t play around.”
    No, she didn’t. And she wasn’t going to let this night descend into melancholy for her. It was Kendall and Evan’s wedding, for crying out loud. New beginnings, a celebration of hope and love and the future. She needed to shake the sadness off.
    “Hell, no,” she told him. “You have to take drinking seriously, you know. You want to dance?”
    He shook his head. “No.”
    It was amazing how fast alcohol could loosen her limbs. She ought to be worried, but the truth was, she was glad the knots in her shoulders had unfurled just a bit. “What? Well, that’s just rude. Why wouldn’t you want to dance with me?”
    “I can’t dance.”
    “Pfft.” She looked at Evan. “He can’t dance, and he does it anyway.”
    “I can so dance. I own that dance floor. If Lange won’t dance with you, I will.”
    Tuesday would rather spend more time with Diesel, but he was shaking his head. She ought to be offended, but there was something about the way he looked at her, she just couldn’t believe it was that he didn’t want to be with her. There was that something . . . there was a word for it but she was starting to suspect she was drunk because she couldn’t figure out what it was.
    “Okay. Let’s polka.”
    “But they’re playing Donna Summer,” Evan protested.
    “Perfect. We’ll polka and hustle at the same time. It’s all about creating your own path, my friend.” Tuesday leaned over the bar. “Another champagne, s’il vous plaît.” Oh, yeah, she was drunk. Busting out high school French was always a sure sign of that.
    “See you later,” she said to Diesel, taking her drink from the bartender. “Stay away from coconut.”
    Did that make sense? She wasn’t really sure, but he just nodded. “Have fun.”
    “Always.” Not exactly true, but if she stated it often enough, maybe it would become true.
    Fun. Yeah. That’s what she was having.
    Tuesday grabbed Evan by the arm and went to prove it.
     
     
    DIESEL watched Tuesday head out onto the dance floor with no small amount of regret. He had thought about her a few times since her father’s funeral, wondered if she was okay, felt compassion for that grief he knew all too well. She was a gorgeous, vibrant woman, a daughter her father had spoken very proudly of, but she had Diesel curious. He suspected that she was very close to the edge of cracking at this wedding, and he didn’t imagine that a shot was going to prevent that from happening.
    Dancing was probably good for her though. Leaning on the bar, Diesel discreetly bent his knee to ease the