Page 23 of Wicked Pickle

The youngest brother is a picture, like all of them, if you prefer the clean cut, corporate type.

Which I thought I did.

But I steal a look at Diesel’s face. His gaze holds mine. No, this is what gets to me. Dark gray eyes. Heavy brows. Thick stubble bordering on a real beard. I imagine running my hand over it, then how it might feel across my chest, down my belly, and?—

“Symphony, you’re up!” Jenna nudges me.

Oh, God, Axel was fast.

My heart hammers, the lusty images still in my head as I walk around our table to take the microphone. I should have spent that time summoning my speech.

I can’t remember the opening. There was something about a class assignment and Rhett interrupting a study session. It was modestly funny.

But now it’s totally gone.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” I say shakily, pulling the mic away from my mouth when a hum of feedback begins. “Isn’t Bailey the best?”

There’s a general murmur of agreement and a smattering of applause.

I feel like a stand-up comedian who has used a terrible opening line. I glance at the girls. Marietta makes a circle with her hands to tell me to keep going.

“We’ve all been studying together. And Rhett likes to interrupt.” No, that’s not funny. He sounds like an ass. “But all in good fun.”

The silence thickens.Come on Symphony, pull it together.“But even though he’s been known as a sourpuss, we know he’s nothing but sweet to her.”

There’s a collective awwww, and I gain a little confidence. “Bailey is one of the smartest, most analytical people I know. So, if she’s figured out Rhett is right for her, you can bet your spreadsheets, she’s run the numbers.”

This gets a bigger laugh. Okay, I’m all right. Just bring it home.

“So, tonight, we celebrate a pairing that we all know definitely adds up to wonderful. Here’s to Bailey and Rhett!”

A chorus of cheers follows the lifting of my glass. I take a sip and leave the mic on the main table before hurrying back to my seat.

“Perfect,” Marietta says. “Please do the speech when I elope with my biker.”

Jenna shakes her head. “I don’t think you have bridesmaids when you elope.”

“Iwill,” Marietta says. “We’ll get married at city hall, and everyone can rev their engines on the street as we go down the steps. Speeches will be at the Leaky Skull.”

Diesel leans forward at that. “Do you have a groom picked out?”

“You had a lot of possibilities at your bar,” Marietta says. “Please tell me some of them are single.”

“Probably all of them.” He huffs out a laugh.

“I’m Marietta, by the way,” she says. “I’m not sure we introduced ourselves that night.”

Jenna holds out a hand. “I’m Jenna. Marietta was too busy hanging on to two old bikers to tell you our names.”

Diesel shakes it. “I remember. Low Joe and Chain.”

I turn to him. “Do any of you have normal names?”

Diesel shrugs. “Military types tend to go by whatever they got called during active duty.”

“You were Diesel?” Jenna asks.

“Play on my initials. D.S.” He leans back in his chair.

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