Page 8

SYMPHONY

B ailey was totally right. I needed a date.

Sitting in front of everyone with this gorgeous biker who somehow makes a suit look badass is a serious goose to the ol’ ego.

Servers pass through the tables with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. They leave glasses and small plates for us at the table.

I catch half of the women in the crowd ogling him, especially once he ditches the coat and tie. His arms and shoulders fill out the black shirt in a way that makes me really want to touch him and see if he’s as chiseled as he looks.

Bailey’s father stands in front of the parents’ table, tapping his glass with a knife. “As we prepare for the meal, I’d like to make a toast to the wonderful couple.”

God, I almost forgot. The toasts. I’m slated to give one, too. Marietta and Jenna practically faint at the prospect of public speaking.

Diesel leans back in his chair, draping his arm along the satin-lined top of mine. He’s completely chill despite being so angry earlier.

I glance at Bailey, wondering if she’s sitting on some big secret about this family reunion. But she’s all smiles at her father, who picks up a microphone from her table.

“I know Bailey’s mother would love to be here today, and I think she’d say, ‘Be well, my darling.’ But I know you are well, of course, you are, surrounded by such lovely people.”

Diesel’s hand brushes my back, and I can’t pay a lick of attention to the speech anymore. Fire races across my skin.

I want him to do it again. I’m tempted to lean back onto his arm. Feel the strength of it. I imagine him drawing me close, kissing my hair. I turn, and his lips take mine?—

Applause breaks out. Damn it, I’ve missed another part of the day. Diesel is rubbish for my concentration.

Rhett’s father takes the mic, clearing his throat to launch into what a sourpuss his eldest son always was until Bailey came along. The crowd laughs.

I fidget with my hair. I didn’t think too hard about how I would give a speech not only in front of Bailey and all the guests but also in front of Diesel.

I memorized a funny anecdote and some kind words, but I swear all of it has been erased from my brain.

Everyone claps again, and I look over at the other bridal party table. Rhett’s brother Court is pushing Axel forward.

The youngest brother is a picture, like all of them, if you prefer the clean cut, corporate type.

Which I thought I did.

But I steal a look at Diesel’s face. His gaze holds mine. No, this is what gets to me. Dark gray eyes. Heavy brows. Thick stubble bordering on a real beard. I imagine running my hand over it, then how it might feel across my chest, down my belly, and?—

“Symphony, you’re up!” Jenna nudges me.

Oh, God, Axel was fast.

My heart hammers, the lusty images still in my head as I walk around our table to take the microphone. I should have spent that time summoning my speech.

I can’t remember the opening. There was something about a class assignment and Rhett interrupting a study session. It was modestly funny.

But now it’s totally gone.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” I say shakily, pulling the mic away from my mouth when a hum of feedback begins. “Isn’t Bailey the best?”

There’s a general murmur of agreement and a smattering of applause.

I feel like a stand-up comedian who has used a terrible opening line. I glance at the girls. Marietta makes a circle with her hands to tell me to keep going.

“We’ve all been studying together. And Rhett likes to interrupt.” No, that’s not funny. He sounds like an ass. “But all in good fun.”

The silence thickens. Come on Symphony, pull it together. “But even though he’s been known as a sourpuss, we know he’s nothing but sweet to her.”

There’s a collective awwww, and I gain a little confidence. “Bailey is one of the smartest, most analytical people I know. So, if she’s figured out Rhett is right for her, you can bet your spreadsheets, she’s run the numbers.”

This gets a bigger laugh. Okay, I’m all right. Just bring it home.

“So, tonight, we celebrate a pairing that we all know definitely adds up to wonderful. Here’s to Bailey and Rhett!”

A chorus of cheers follows the lifting of my glass. I take a sip and leave the mic on the main table before hurrying back to my seat.

“Perfect,” Marietta says. “Please do the speech when I elope with my biker.”

Jenna shakes her head. “I don’t think you have bridesmaids when you elope.”

“ I will,” Marietta says. “We’ll get married at city hall, and everyone can rev their engines on the street as we go down the steps. Speeches will be at the Leaky Skull.”

Diesel leans forward at that. “Do you have a groom picked out?”

“You had a lot of possibilities at your bar,” Marietta says. “Please tell me some of them are single.”

“Probably all of them.” He huffs out a laugh.

“I’m Marietta, by the way,” she says. “I’m not sure we introduced ourselves that night.”

Jenna holds out a hand. “I’m Jenna. Marietta was too busy hanging on to two old bikers to tell you our names.”

Diesel shakes it. “I remember. Low Joe and Chain.”

I turn to him. “Do any of you have normal names?”

Diesel shrugs. “Military types tend to go by whatever they got called during active duty.”

“You were Diesel?” Jenna asks.

“Play on my initials. D.S.” He leans back in his chair.

“Well,” Marietta says, and I can tell she’s feeling her champagne. “We’re the four whores of the apocalypse.”

“That’s quite a name for good girls like you,” Diesel says.

“We’re working on living up to it!” Marietta says, lifting her empty glass into the air.

Diesel chuckles. “Well, four whores, I think we’re about to have company.”

Several people approach to comment on my speech. I nod and smile, occasionally looking over as Bailey hugs her guests.

My conversation with Diesel is a revelation per minute, but it doesn’t tell me what I want to know. Did Bailey take us to the Leaky Skull on purpose? Was I bait to get the lost Pickle at her wedding? It’s quite the coup, if so. Bailey likes a good coup.

I might not get to ask her anything today. Or for almost two weeks, as they’ll be gone for their honeymoon. They’re taking a cruise, and those are notoriously impossible for staying in contact.

Servers roll out carts with plates of salad. It’s time for dinner. I watch the guests settle into their seats. Nobody approaches Diesel directly, but a lot of eyes are still on him.

“At least the food will be good,” Diesel says. Then he leans in close to my ear. “It will tide me over until I get my just desserts.”

My pulse revs up.

I should have known the main course on his menu would be me .