Page 97 of Wicked Pickle

“I think we should.”

My phone dings.

Jenna: Bailey says the Pickles went to the bar yesterday.

I knew it! I show the text to Marietta. She pumps her fists in the air with anger.

Me: Does she feel guilty about this at least?

Jenna: Doesn’t seem to, but IDK.

I’m so mad. So mad.

Marietta sits up. “We definitely should go out there. Maybe Diesel has his phone off to avoid family.”

She’s right. He might have.

“Okay, we’ll go.” I decide not to tell Jenna, who might tell Bailey, who might tip off the Pickles.

We’re all splintered over this.

We have some time before the bar opens, so we primp a little, curling Marietta’s hair and sorting through outfits.

I go with a knee-length skirt and cropped T-shirt. Marietta sticks with jeans and a black tube top.

We’re still too early to go out there. Without knowing Diesel is getting my messages, there’s no way inside that locked fortress until regular business hours.

“Do you think Diesel told him about my cherry status?” Marietta asks.

“I don’t know. They don’t seem like the chummy, talkative type.”

She pulls out a bright red gloss. “If he did, these lips will remind him.” The wand turns her mouth a vivid ruby. “It even smells like cherry.”

There’s no way to rein this girl in, and I’m done trying. “You have condoms? And if you actually achieve your aim, you’re gonna bleed.”

“Right. It’ll be fine. I can stuff paper towels in my underwear on the way home.” She rubs her lips together. “I’m a woman on a mission.”

I feel dubious about her success with this, given the arrival of their family out there. They might be long gone for all we know.

But I don’t discourage her. I want to see Diesel with my own eyes, be assured he’s still around.

Because I really don’t know.

When it’s less than an hour until opening, we load into my car. Marietta nervously checks the mirror every three minutes. I’m worried we’re both in for a terrible disappointment.

When we arrive, motorcycles are lined up out front, but not much else.

“It looks open at least,” Marietta says. “I was worried they might have taken off completely.”

“Me, too.” But I should have more faith. Diesel is tough, and he definitely was willing to tell the men of his family to bug off at the wedding while still being kind to his grandmother.

Marietta and I stand by the front of the car, straightening our outfits and preparing ourselves for whatever may be inside.

She takes my hand. “They’ll be there. Diesel will apologize for ignoring you while trying to get a break from his family.” She squeezes my fingers.

“And Merrick will jump your bones,” I tell her.

This gets a smile. “We’ll both get what we want.

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