Page 53 of The Backup Groom
“Protocol would be to ask a person such as yourself what you were doing back there in the woods, but I can see bright as day that you were spying on those two ladies and doing unmentionables to your particulars,” Mickey said.
I sighed. “Whoa, buddy, I wasn’t—”
He held up his hand. “Let’s just stick a sock in your pie hole for a moment there, libertine. I don’t want to hear a bunch of glorifications for your extrapolations.”
Something told me he didn’t know the definition of most of those words.
“Now, I didn’t actually catch you in the act, so I’m going to let your hide slide this time.” He tilted his head toward my tennis bag on the ground. “Now, get your stuff and beat it.” He glanced at the front of my shorts again and winced. “Poor choice of words. Just go. And don’t let me find you around here again.”
I didn’t say another word as I grabbed my tennis bag and took the long way back to my car to make sure Amber and her cousin were gone.
On my drive home, I felt like a giddy teenager, thinking about how much fun I had playing tennis with her, even though I’d been a nervous wreck. I couldn’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself that much with a woman. Probably never.
Amber was even more delightful than I could have ever imagined.
And unless I was reading her wrong, she seemed interested in me.
This changed everything.
ChapterEleven
Amber
I was seated at a table in the corner, devouring the chips and salsa with my margarita while enjoying the ambiance of the Happy Hour at a new Mexican restaurant in Pacific Beach. A live mariachi band wandered through the colorful, cactus-themed dining room playing “La Bamba,” while several customers watched a woman skillfully work her magic at the handmade tortilla station by the tequila bar. I faced the door so I could see my next potential husband arrive.
Rectum Ryan.
It was a ridiculous nickname, but Stella argued it was perfect, since he was a proctologist at Kaiser Permanente in Clairemont Mesa.
I offered a few other nicknames that were more pleasing to my ears.
Rear End Ryan.
Rump Ryan.
Rooty-Tooty-Booty Ryan.
Stubborn Stella shot them all down.
Unfortunately, Rectum Ryan texted to tell me he was running behind, pun intended. I had started the Happy Hour without him, since I was starving.
I finished off my first margarita, then scooped up some salsa from the bowl with a chip.
The waiter returned for the empty bowl. “More salsa?”
I glanced at his name tag. “You read my mind. Gracias, Pablo.”
“De nada.” He indicated the wall of tequila behind himself. “Would you like to try some mezcal or tequila while you’re waiting for your friend? We have over two hundred varieties to choose from. Some of the best in the world.”
“No thanks, but another margarita sounds good.”
“You got it.” Pablo reached for my empty margarita glass.
I studied the giant, colorful mural on the wall that featured a woman in front of a farm. “She’s beautiful. Who is she?”
He grinned proudly. “That’s Mayahuel. She’s the goddess of agave and fertility, also known as the woman of four hundred breasts.”
Scotty suddenly appeared behind Pablo. “She must have difficulty finding a bra.”
