Page 33 of Always a Bridesmaid
“Dude,” Addie said, drawing out the word. “Look at us. ’Sides Lexi, none of us ever dress up to go to the bar. Trust me, no one will care.”
With that, Violet had run out of excuses. Besides, one drink wouldn’t kill her. Then she could head home and murder her sister. With love, of course.
Judging by the way Ford bolted for the Old Firehouse, not bothering to check if she was coming, he wouldn’t be asking her to stay longer anyway.
…
“What crawled up your ass and died?” Easton asked as Ford ordered beer for the table.
Ford picked up a red straw and stuck it between his teeth. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
Easton leaned an elbow on the polished wooden bar. “I’m talkin’ about how I’ve known you forever, so don’t bother bullshitting me. I thought you’d be happy Violet tagged along. You’ve talked about her enough.”
“I mentioned heronce. And if she doesn’t want to even be friends, that’s fine. No skin off my nose.”
“Aww. Did someone get his giant ego bruised?” Easton punctuated the question with a jab to Ford’s shoulder.
“You’re about to get your giant mouth bruised, asshole.”
“Which is it? Mouth or asshole?” Easton contorted his body, aiming his butt at him as he batted his eyes over his shoulder. “I need to know which one to pucker.”
Ford glanced to the heavens. Almost every single one in the group had a big mouth, but he and Easton talked the most shit by far. Usually Ford would give it right back, but seeing Violet again had thrown him off his game. Not football, because he’d dominated on the field. But all week, out and about in town.
He’d caught glimpses of her, mostly when he walked past the bakery and accidentally on purpose peeked inside. He’d thought it would be trickier to avoid her, but evidently she was evading him right back. Possibly even enlisting help, the way she’d done to escape the Hursts, and that chapped his hide.
Maybe even bruised his ego.
If that were all there was to it, he could forget about the woman easily enough. But calling Trouble’s name made him think of Violet every damn time. Of catching her feeding the puppy a treat in spite of never reaching the scent pad—the dog still hadn’t, either.
Of the moment she’d fallen on top of him, her amazing laugh, and how she gave as good as she got. For a woman he’d only interacted with a couple of times, she was proving difficult to kick out of his head.
Addie wiggled between him and Easton, calling to the bartender to please add orders of wings and fries. Then she whirled around, her back resting against the bar. “Did I hear correctly? Easton’s finally made his intentions clear about kissing your ass?”
“Kicking,” Easton corrected.
“In your dreams,” Ford said.
Easton grabbed a glass from the tray that’d been placed in front of him and downed a gulp. “Ford got his ego bruised. Now he’s all mopey.”
“By who?” Addie’s eyes widened. “Violet? I thought I was doing you a favor by asking her along. In the bakery the other day, you sounded our escape call and left with her, and today she was makin’ eyes at you, so I assumed it went well.”
“She helped me with a puppy-training exercise. End of story.”
Addie scooted the tray toward Easton, bumping the edge into his arm. “Take those to the table, will ya? Ford and I will wait for the food.”
Easton saluted her, bold with the sarcasm—but he took the tray and left him and Addie alone, as requested.
Addie squared off in front of him, and Ford groaned. “Murph, don’t say what I think you’re gonna say.”
“Tough titties, McGuire, it’s happening. Ever since that hurricane last fall, you’ve been off. Hell, you’ve beensad, something you hardly ever are, and that worries me. I get that you went through something big. I understand, too.”
Besides a handful of members on the Lower Alabama Search and Rescue team, Addie was the only person who’d heard the whole story. Late one night after the two of them had made their way through a six-pack of beer and a blurry amount of Jack, she pushed.
Out it came, one word at a time.
Addie’s fingertips on his arm managed to soothe and goad him at the same time. He’d seen plenty of bad shit go down. Had witnessed death. Wished he’d gotten there sooner. Felt helpless as the life bled out of a person he’d done his utmost to save.
Why did a mission involving a cheery old lady have to be the one that messed with his head?
