Page 9 of Wicked Pickle

I glare at her.

“Diesel,” Symphony says. “Now, get us free.”

“I will.” But her eyes alight on me. “Diesel what?”

“None of your damn business,” I say.

“I know a Diesel,” she says. “I’ve never met him, actually. Hmm.”

Symphony huffs out a breath. Her leg is still hooked around me. I hold on to her so she doesn’t break an ankle in that shoe.

Her chest is pressed against me. She smells of jasmine and beauty products. Nothing like the women who tend to walk into the Leaky Skull.

She’s decently tall, at least in the heels, and we’re basically junk to junk. Which, the moment I think about it, makes mine twitch.

Stop it, I tell my dick.Do not enter the situation.

But Symphony’s cleavage is heaving in full view. Her arms are wrapped around me, a leg on my waist. If we were up against a wall, I could be fucking her brains out.

“I have a proposition,” Bailey says.

“Oh, no,” Symphony cries. “She’s a killer negotiator. You won’t believe the situations she’s turned around.”

“What do you want?” I ask her.

“I won’t open the door and subject you both to the bar room paparazzi, which will undoubtedly go viral and live in infamy, if you do one simple thing.”

This is why I don’t mess with women. Motherfucking games.

“And what’s that?” I ask her.

“Come to my wedding. With Symphony. She needs an escort.”

“Jesus, Bailey. Make me sound like a loser.” Symphony’s blonde hair in its chaotic updo falls against my shirt as her forehead drops to my chest.

“Why doesn’t she already have a date?” I ask.

“Because I’m a loser,” Symphony says with a groan.

“Knock that off,” Bailey says. “Because she’s too strong and independent for sniveling, insecure man-babies.”

Symphony’s head pops up. “You think so?”

“She’s beautiful, right?” Bailey asks.

“Sure,” I say.

“And smart and capable, present situation notwithstanding.”

Symphony’s head falls to my chest again.

“So, will you do it?” Bailey asks.

I reach for Symphony’s chin to lift her gaze to mine. “What’s your opinion?”

Her eyebrows draw together. “I don’t enjoy blackmailing men for dates.”

“You’re not.” I tilt my head toward her friend. “She is.”

---