Page 13 of Luck of the Draw

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Cream Puff Lady said with a laugh.

Cinderella ignored her and nodded to the bar. “Okay, but I’m going to need a drink for this. Maybe two.”

“I think I will too,” I said, leading the way. Her hand was still nestled in mine, and I had no intention of letting go unless she pulled away. She didn’t though, and we walked like that, hand in hand to the bar. The line was completely clear for what had to be the first time that night, and when we reached the bar, her drink was still sitting on the counter, the one beside it only half-full.

Dave’s eyes widened as we approached him. “Damn, Dylan, you’re a legend. You’ve only been off for about a minute and a half, and you already met someone?”

That didn’t sound great, so it didn’t surprise me when she dropped my hand as if she’d learned I had some sort of skin-eating disease.

When his eyes finally focused on my companion, Dave snapped up the half-full martini on the bar. “Sorry about that, miss,” he said. “This one fell and spilled a little. Let me get you a fresh glass.”

Right.

Her cheeks even redder than they’d been a minute ago, she opened her mouth as if to stop him. But then she glanced at me again, and apparently decided she did want two, because she didn’t correct him.

“You want anything, man?” he asked me, nudging the second drink over.

“An old-fashioned.” Shooting a glance at Cinderella, I added, “And those shoes under the counter.”

Dave glanced down, his eyes widening like I’d pulled off a trick worthy of a magician at a fair, but he handed them over before pouring my drink. With a glass in each hand, Cinderella eyed the shoes a little wildly, like she wasn’t sure what to do.

“I’ll carry them,” I said. Because it was the polite thing to do, and because she probably wouldn’t run again while I was carrying the shoes. Then I accepted my drink from Dave and led the way to an empty table at the back corner of the reception. The tables around it were empty too, making it an ideal place to talk.

I pulled out a chair for her, and she sat, setting down her two martinis, one of them already half empty.

“Thirsty?” I asked, trying to break the tension, but it ended up sounding like innuendo, and she bit her lip again, drawing my attention to the luscious weight of it.

When she’d lowered into the chair, I caught sight of her simple black flats, the kind of shoes Tina wore at the bar where she worked, another reason my nonna spent so much time praying for her.

I wasn’t sure what possessed me, but I knelt down in front of her and slowly removed the flats. She had lovely feet, small and arched. I slid the stilettos onto them, and the gasp that escaped her shot straight down south.

“Thank you,” she said as I sat down across from her. “Thank you for not turning me in.”

“You’re not Victoria, are you?”

Because I really needed to officially rule that out.

“Huh?” she asked. “Who’s that?”

“Never mind. An ex of one of the groomsmen. There was some worry about her showing up, I guess.”

“Oh.” Her eyes rounded. “You’re talking about Lee’s ex-girlfriend.”

Suspicion crept in, dampening my libido. If she knew the Buchanans, then why was she crashing this wedding? They’d invited two hundred people, so it wasn’t like they’d only asked their nearest and dearest.

Was she someone else’s ex? Or maybe some other friend of Dottie’s who’d managed to escape the VIP party crasher list?

“Whoareyou?”

She considered that for a moment, then shook her head. “You called me Cinderella earlier. You can keep calling me that.”

“Not good enough,” I said, frustrated. “River”—the recognition that flashed across her face confirmed she knew him—“asked me to keep crashers out. You clearly know them, so I need to know why you’re at this wedding.”

She reached for my hand again, her touch sending a shock wave through me, and then pulled away with wide eyes, as if shocked she’d done it.

“I’m not here to cause trouble, Dylan.” Hearing her say my name was another reminder that she knew who I was, and I didn’t know the first thing about her. Misunderstanding my look, she insisted, “I mean it. I’m in this…self-help group, for lack of a better word. We challenge each other to do things, and my challenge this time was to break some rules. My friend figured it would be fun to crash a wedding. So we ended up here, and it wasn’t until we got here that I figured out I knew the bride and groom. Sort of. I’m friendly with Blue.”

A truth or dare self-help group that urged people to break the law. Sounded like Asheville, but I found myself asking, “Am I supposed to just take your word for it?”

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