Page 57 of Wicked Pickle

Right where I want her.

CHAPTER 19

SYMPHONY

Ifell asleep.

I’m not sure what wakes me up. I glance over at Diesel. He’s out cold.

Is he a heavy sleeper? I guess I’ll find out.

I slide from under his arm and scoot across the bed, the covers tight and smooth. He could start a housekeeping channel with those skills.

I pick up my clothes as I cross the room. The lamp is on.

A gleam on his dresser catches my eye, so I pause to look at it. Dog tags, hanging on a frame. It’s a military unit, all in desert camo. I squint, but I can’t figure out which one is Diesel in the low light. They’re all wearing hats with brims that cast shadows on their faces.

Nothing else is on the dresser. He keeps his space stark and clear. No decoration on the walls. Very little out. Just a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a chair in the corner, all immaculate. No clutter. No loose clothes.

Army to the core.

I get dressed. I’m not sure of my next move. He drove me here. My phone is dead in my jeans pocket, so I don’t even know what time it is.

I unlock the door carefully and head into the living room, letting out a short “Eep!” when I see a figure on the sofa.

It’s Marietta. But she’s asleep.

Then there’s another sound.

It comes from a figure in the side chair.

“Eep!”

“You guys done?” I recognize the rumble. It’s Merrick, Diesel’s brother. “About time.”

“Sorry. We fell asleep.” I wrap my arms around my waist. This is mortifying. I wonder how long he’s been here.

Merrick gestures toward Marietta. “I found her in the truck and got her in here. How much did she drink? All I saw her take were two shots.”

“That’s all she had. That’s Marietta for you.” I sit at the end of the sofa next to her bare feet.

“I can take you back to your car when you’re ready, unless you want Diesel to do it.” His eyes glint when the hall light catches them, but otherwise, he’s a shadowy form, a slightly different version of his brother.

I pick at my jeans. “He’s out cold. Does he always sleep like the dead?”

“No. He’s gone soft since we retired from the Army.” He stands. “I’ll get her.”

He lifts Marietta without so much as a grunt.

“Do you know where her shoes are?” I ask.

“Still in the truck.”

“Did you carry her in here?”

“No, she followed me inside.” He leans down to open the door, a real feat while holding a half-out-of-it woman.

“I’ll get that.” I swing the door aside.