Page 7 of Baiting His Bride

It’s a beat until he opens his mouth, but before he can answer, the woman in front of me turns to go and the bartender greets us. “What can I get for you two?”

I spin and place both hands flat on the bar, offering the uniformed man with a thick beard a smile. “How about a Bend Over Shirley?”

His bushy eyebrows knot while at my side, Carson hides a muffled cough behind a fist.

“Come again?”

“A Bend Over Shirley. Have you ever heard of that?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“No problem,” I purr, relishing my win. “It’s just a Dirty Shirley with Raspberry Vodka, which, I’m glad to see, you have on hand tonight.” I gesture to the bottle of ruby-red alcohol.

“Hand-crafted raspberry vodka lemonade is one of the signature cocktails of the evening,” he explains, reaching for a glass.

“You don’t say,” I breathe, leaning on the bar.

“You knew that, didn’t you?” Carson murmurs, sidling up next to me with an air of suspicion.

I lift a shoulder, brushing it against his. “I may have had an idea, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t successful.”

“No,” Carson agrees, “this time, the point goes to you.”

“And why is it you don’t mind losing to me?” I ask again, curious to hear his answer.

“Because with you,” he replies, holding my gaze, “even when I lose, I win.”

The bartender sets my drink on a cocktail napkin in front of me on the bar.

“Enjoy,” he says as he drops a maraschino cherry into the glass. The sight of the lush red fruit and its long stem gives me an idea. So when he turns to Carson and says, “What can I get you?” I reply for him.

“Actually, my friend here will have a Bend Over Shirley, too.”

The eyes under the bartender’s bushy eyebrows flit between us, but Carson holds up his hands with a smile. “If that’s what the lady’s ordering for me, I’ll take it.”

The bartender reaches for another glass. “Of course.”

“I’m not really a raspberry vodka kind of guy,” Carson murmurs at my side.

I spin to face him. “I’m not really a pretend I’m someone else for the weekend kind of girl, but there’s a first time for everything.”

He stills. An enigmatic smile curls the corner of his lips. It piques my curiosity but also spells bad news. Then, with a mysterious expression, he leans closer. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Carson

We step away from the bar, fruity red drinks in hand. I’m adjusting the monogrammed cocktail napkin to catch the condensation already sliding down the side of the glass when a woman, engulfed in a cloud of expensive perfume, sidles up to my side.

“Carson,” the blonde drawls, her generous chest brushing my arm. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you coming down the aisle. I haven’t seen you in soooo long.”

Polite company demands I greet this woman and acknowledge her presence. But her fingers climb my tie, and Mallory inches away with a cryptic expression I can’t quite decipher.

To hell with my manners. I grasp Mallory’s elbow before she’s out of reach and extricate myself from the scented blonde, who I can’t for the life of me remember.

“It’s been a while,” I reply, offering the woman with bright-red lips a cursory glance before slipping my arm around Mallory’s waist to lead her away. “But if you’ll excuse us.”

An audible huff sounds behind us as we weave through the guests toward the string quartet and towering ice sculpture at the far corner of the patio.

“If you’d rather…” Mallory starts, tilting her head back toward the woman.

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