Page 24 of Wicked Pickle

“Well,” Marietta says, and I can tell she’s feeling her champagne. “We’re the four whores of the apocalypse.”

“That’s quite a name for good girls like you,” Diesel says.

“We’re working on living up to it!” Marietta says, lifting her empty glass into the air.

Diesel chuckles. “Well, four whores, I think we’re about to have company.”

Several people approach to comment on my speech. I nod and smile, occasionally looking over as Bailey hugs her guests.

My conversation with Diesel is a revelation per minute, but it doesn’t tell me what I want to know. Did Bailey take us to theLeaky Skull on purpose? Was I bait to get the lost Pickle at her wedding? It’s quite the coup, if so. Bailey likes a good coup.

I might not get to ask her anything today. Or for almost two weeks, as they’ll be gone for their honeymoon. They’re taking a cruise, and those are notoriously impossible for staying in contact.

Servers roll out carts with plates of salad. It’s time for dinner. I watch the guests settle into their seats. Nobody approaches Diesel directly, but a lot of eyes are still on him.

“At least the food will be good,” Diesel says. Then he leans in close to my ear. “It will tide me over until I get my just desserts.”

My pulse revs up.

I should have known the main course on his menu would beme.

CHAPTER 8

DIESEL

God, it’s fun making this woman uncomfortable.

And so easy.

The salad course drags, but at least the music starts by the time the Beef Wellington comes out.

I haven’t eaten like this in a while. There’s not a lot of fine cuisine in rural Florida. Just diners and Dairy Queens.

I’m tempted to stab the meat with my knife and eat it like Symphony probably expects, straight off the blade.

But I don’t, mainly because she’s avoiding looking at me, like a mere glance might make her clothes fall off. They better.

The newlyweds leave their table to wander the crowd. What does Bailey know? And what information is she going to spill? The location of my bar has been a prized secret. Merrick and I formed a private company through a lawyer to keep our names off the public records.

And one shitty rideshare driver wrecked it all by dumping them into my parking lot.

Ifit were a coincidence. I’m not convinced.

“Where were you all actually headed when you ended up at the Leaky Skull?” I ask.

All three women turn to me. The other two glance at Symphony as if they need her permission to answer.

“A wine bar,” Symphony says. “We’d just had dinner.”

“Where’s there a wine bar in the middle of nowhere?” I don’t know of one.

“I have it in my phone,” Jenna says. “I was the one who called for the ride.” She looks down as if it’s by her. “Oh, we left our phones in the dressing room to avoid them going off during the ceremony.”

“Where were you comingfrom?” This is making less sense by the minute.

But Bailey herself swoops up. “What are you all talking about?”

I’m about to ask her myself when Symphony smacks my leg. Right. I promised to avoid upsetting her. Today, anyway. Fine. “We’re trying to guess what song you’re dancing to,” I say easily. “My money’s on Ed Sheeran or Lewis Capaldi.”

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