Page 79 of Cream and Punishment
After McBride finished his instructions and the “before” photos were taken, the men and women split up to don their gear. Lex and I tied our curls back to fit the masks on our heads easier. By the end, we resembled what I imagine an apocalyptic wedding party would look like, assuming the only clothes to survive the apocalypse were wedding dresses. With my mask and paintball gun, though, I felt pretty awesome. Not even my bubbly skirt could dampen my excitement.
Once the bride tribe was outfitted with pink stripes of duct tape on our gun muzzles and the groom squad received their strips of blue, we lined up for another photo. Since Kris and I were the tallest girls, we ended up closest to the line of guys in the back.
The blond version of Colt leaned in toward me, his voice slightly muffled from the mask. “You’re the maid of honor, right? Lex’s sister?”
“Yep.” I smiled at him, though I wasn’t sure he could see it through my mask. “I’m Dekker.”
He nodded at me, maybe smiling behind his mask, too. Hard to say between the equipment and the fact that we were still staged for the photo. “Nice to meet you. I’m Booker, the best man.”
“Ah, like the peanut farmer Booker T. Washington.” I forcibly stopped myself from facepalming. Who says stuff like that after introductions?
He chuckled, sparing me a glance before returning to face the camera. “I’m pretty sure that was George Washington Carver.”
Great. Not only was I awkward, but I was also wrong. Apparently I needed to brush up on my peanut history.
“Oh, right. The other Washington.”
Queen of eloquence, that’s me.
Somehow he must’ve found that funny, since he laughed. Or he took pity on me, which was the likelier option. “Maybe I should’ve been named Washington instead and just covered all my bases.”
I sighed dramatically. “Such a wasted opportunity.”
“Tell me about it.” He held still as Hattie snapped another photo and set the camera on a timer so she could be included. “You know, we should get together some time and talk over some of the details for the wedding.”
Oh, right. That was probably what most maids of honor and best men did, huh? I was pretty sure we were the ones who were supposed to spearhead the tasteful vandalism of Lex and Colt’s getaway car after the reception.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I replied, inclining my head in his direction.
“Awesome. Does Tuesday night work for you?”
“Oh, uh.” How did I break it to him that I had the bedtime of a toddler? “As long as it’s before seven, that should be fine.”
Yes, very good. Make it seem like I had a busy nightlife instead of a date with my pillow.
“How about six, then? We can meet for dinner at Giovanni’s, if you like Italian.”
LikeItalian? Ha! If only he knew. Italian food was the closest thing I had to a boyfriend.
But I kept my cool. Or as much cool as I had, anyway, which wasn’t saying much. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
He nodded at me as we finally dispersed after the last photo. “It’s a date, then.”
I blinked stupidly after him, frozen in place. A date? Did I just agree to a date? Surely he didn’t mean it was a real date. I hadn’t been on one of those in forever, since dinner at the Dominican restaurant was never adate. It was just a phrase, right? We were just meeting to go over wedding details, that was all. That was what any good maid of honor and best man would do.
“Staying out past your bedtime again, Chef?” Max asked, casting Booker a long look over his shoulder.
I hoped the mask would distort the redness staining my cheeks. Though Max had been at the end of the line of men, he’d witnessed my entire awkward interaction with Booker. Awesome. And now he knew I had a date with Booker on Tuesday.
Why I felt guilty about that fact when Max had been the one to flee after our kiss, I had no clue. We weren’t an item. I could date whomever I wanted. So what if the only person Iwantedto date didn’t want to date me back? Nothing I could do would change that, so my attention would be better spent on a man who did. Or might. I still wasn’t sure about the nature of the date.
“There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for some good Italian food.” I shrugged. Besides, I’d taken a nap,anda five-hour energy shot today, so I could practically see sounds. Future late bedtimes had nothing on me.
He looked toward Booker again and hummed in reply, though it was lower and more gravelly than normal. Nearly a growl even his mask couldn’t swallow. “How about a wager?”
I cocked my head, trying not to read into his behavior. I’d been wrong too many times to count. “I’m listening.”
“Loser makes dessert tomorrow.”
