Page 54 of The Backup Groom

I snorted. “Hey, Scotty! Good to see you.”

He grinned. “You, too.”

I hadn’t been a fan of surprises lately, but seeing him always seemed to put me in a good mood. Especially after the fun I had with him on the tennis court last night. I would much rather be having dinner with Scotty than Rectum Ryan, but that wasn’t an option.

“Glad you made it, amigo.” Pablo smiled and pulled out the chair for Scotty. “What can I get you to drink? A margarita? How about a shot of tequila?”

“Oh . . . I . . . uh . . .” Scotty glanced at me. “Sorry—are you expecting someone?”

I wrinkled my nose. “I am, actually.”

His smile waned, and his shoulders dropped. “No worries. It’s always a pleasure seeing you.” He was about to turn to leave, but I didn’t want him to go.

I surprised myself when I reached for his hand. “Don’t go.”

Scotty glanced down at his hand in mine, his eyes wide with surprise and curiosity. It reminded me of how I felt when he’d reached for both of my hands and held on to them last night on the tennis court. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t enjoyed it, if I hadn’t felt something, whatever it was. Maybe it was something I realized I sincerely wanted more of, even though I knew it wasn’t possible.

Still, the apprehensiveness that I’d had while waiting for my date to arrive was suddenly replaced with an overall sense of calm, regardless of giddy butterflies in my middle. I felt relaxed, happy even. I was actually wishing Rectum Ryan got called back to the hospital for an emergency butt cheek replacement.

“Why don’t you join me until he gets here?” I eyed the chair across from me. “He’s running late. It could be awhile.”

The invitation seemed to brighten Scotty’s mood, his eyes lighting up. “I’d love to.” He turned to Pablo. “A margarita sounds great. Oh, and some guacamole, please.”

“Of course,” Pablo said.

Scotty took a seat and scooted closer to the table, his gaze on me. “Another thing we have in common, Lois. Margaritas.”

I smiled. “And Mexican food, Clark.”

“Taco Tuesdays are like a national holiday for me,” he said. “I was thinking of trying to find a flag with a taco on it to hang in front of my house every Tuesday.”

“That will certainly get your neighbors talking,” I said. “Or maybe they’ll start forming a line in front of your door.”

I loved how much more relaxed Scotty was today, although I have to say that his nervousness on the tennis court was absolutely adorable and flattering.

I was a sucker for a down-to-earth, vulnerable man. I admit I could easily fall for a man like Scotty. Not that anything romantically was ever likely to happen between me and the sweet hunk sitting at my table, but at least I could enjoy his company. Maybe we would end up becoming good friends. I’d have liked that very much. But even with friends, authenticity was very important to me. Sure, we all have our little secrets, but Scotty appeared to be one of those what-you-see-is-what-you-get type of guys, from what I could tell.

Pablo returned a few minutes later with the chips, salsa, guacamole, and margaritas. Then he surprised us by setting two shots of tequila on the table, one in front of me and one in front of Scotty. “Compliments of the manager.” He tilted his head in the direction of the man near the tortilla station. “Enjoy.”

The manager saluted us.

We waved to say thanks, then glanced down at our tequilas.

“This was unexpected,” Scotty said, a hesitant look on his face.

“I’m guessing he sent them over because my ad agency did the marketing for their grand opening celebration,” I said.

“Confession: I’m a total lightweight with alcohol.” He raised the shot of tequila in the air. “I’ll be dancing on the table before you know it.”

I lifted my shot glass. “Lucky me—I’ve got a front-row seat. I’ll get my dollar bills ready.”

Scotty chuckled and clinked my shot glass.

“Cheers,” we said in unison.

As if we were on a synchronized tequila-shooting team, we both slammed our shots, grimaced, gasped, and bit into the lime wedges. Then we took huge swigs of our margaritas to chase down the tequila before it burned a hole in our throats.

“Wow.” I shook my head and tried to imitate fish lips with my mouth. “That was strong.”