Page 10 of Wicked Pickle

“Just say yes, Diesel,” Bailey says. “Door opening to the cameras in three, two?—”

“Fine, okay,” I say, not that I care if I go viral with a chick’s leg around my waist. There’s probably footage like this out there already. But I don’t want it to happen toher.

“Good,” Bailey says. She bends down and reaches between us. “I’ll unhook this skull. It’s got sharp little pointy parts.”

I feel a tug, then Symphony’s leg drops.

“My arm,” she says.

Bailey jerks on Symphony’s elbow and frees her trapped arm.

“Thank God,” she says. “My muscles were on fire.”

I step back. “You ladies got this now?”

“I still have to pee,” Symphony says. “And this spandex is rolled up into something stronger than steel.”

Her red dress has fallen back over the white garment, but I spot the roll around her waist.

“Let me see it,” I tell her.

Symphony glances over at Bailey, who shrugs.

She lifts the dress, revealing her thighs in white and the roll of the contraption.

I unsnap the top of my holster and break out my Bowie knife, useful for snapping the plastic ties off cases of booze and threatening anyone who needs encouragement to vacate my premises.

Symphony’s eyes get wide. “What are you going to do with that?”

I grasp the stretchy fabric at the base of her thigh and slice through it with a quick clean swipe, right through the roll.

It falls to the floor.

Symphony stands in shock for a moment, then drops her skirt and snatches up the cut fabric, holding it in front of her dress. “How did you do that?”

I sheath the knife and snap the holster closed. “A handy skill with idiot patrons and women who take too long to lose their clothes in my bedroom.”

Both the women drop their jaws.

That got them. “When’s the wedding?” I ask.

Bailey blinks. “Uh, two weeks. Saturday the first. The Victoria House in Miami.”

“What time?”

“Four.”

I open the door, blocking the view of the women waiting outside. “I’ll be there.”

The women try to surge forward, but I close the door behind me.

One of bachelorettes grabs my arm. “Is Symphony okay?”

“She’s fine. Bailey is helping her with a wardrobe malfunction.” I muscle my way back to the bar, still picturing how the fabric fell away from Symphony’s body.

My dick twitches again.

Stand the fuck down.

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