Evan’s grin started to slip. “Are you okay?”
No, not really. She was feeling far from okay. And that feeling like she might cry at any given second had returned full force. “Yeah, of course I am. Bring it on, Monroe.” She turned to Diesel. “Do you want to do a shot with us?”
He shook his head. “No, thanks.”
Why was he looking at her like that? Those eyes just bore into her, like he was seeing something she didn’t want anyone to see. Tuesday was intensely aware of how close he was standing to her, how tall he was even though she was five foot eight. There weren’t a lot of men who towered over her, but he did. He had a presence, too, that seemed to surround her, that made her want to both lean on his chest for comfort, and strip him naked and get thrown against a wall.
Neither of which were appropriate to do at the moment.
“Don’t be a wuss.” Evan tried to hand a shot glass filled with whiskey to Diesel. “It’s my wedding and I never see you anymore, so I say you owe me.”
“Seriously, no thanks. I take pain meds and trust me, it ain’t a good combination.” Diesel shrugged. “I’ll take a Coke though.”
Tuesday thought about the limp she had seen Diesel use at the cemetery. For some reason, she had assumed that’s all it was, that there wouldn’t actually be pain anymore. It had been at least two years since his accident, if she was remembering correctly. But if he limped, she imagined it was because he was in pain.
Yet he always looked so calm.
Suddenly confused, her emotions pinging in multiple directions, Tuesday turned to the bartender. “Can we get a Coke, please?” She took the shot of whiskey Evan was holding out to her. God knew the last thing she needed was to throw back some Jack, but the truth was, she felt a little afraid of the direction her thoughts and feelings were going in. Maybe the liquor would take the edge off.
“Are you sure your wife doesn’t want a shot?” Tuesday asked Evan.
“Are you kidding? Kendall can’t hold her liquor. She’s not drinking at all tonight because she doesn’t want to wind up trashed and doing the worm on the dance floor in her wedding dress.”
Tuesday sniffed her drink. “So that’s what you have me for, right? I’ll be the one making an ass out of myself in a few hours.”
Evan grinned. “We can only hope.”
Unfortunately, given the way she was feeling, Tuesday thought that might not be that far from the truth. For a split second, she hesitated. Maybe the whiskey was a bad idea on top of the champagne. But then Evan lifted his glass and tossed it back and she was just competitive enough that she had to follow suit, taking it cleanly and quickly. As the burn raced down her throat, she tried not to wince.
Diesel raised his eyebrow, his soft drink lifted to his lips. “You don’t play around.”
No, she didn’t. And she wasn’t going to let this night descend into melancholy for her. It was Kendall and Evan’s wedding, for crying out loud. New beginnings, a celebration of hope and love and the future. She needed to shake the sadness off.
“Hell, no,” she told him. “You have to take drinking seriously, you know. You want to dance?”
He shook his head. “No.”
It was amazing how fast alcohol could loosen her limbs. She ought to be worried, but the truth was, she was glad the knots in her shoulders had unfurled just a bit. “What? Well, that’s just rude. Why wouldn’t you want to dance with me?”
“I can’t dance.”
“Pfft.” She looked at Evan. “He can’t dance, and he does it anyway.”
“I can so dance. I own that dance floor. If Lange won’t dance with you, I will.”
Tuesday would rather spend more time with Diesel, but he was shaking his head. She ought to be offended, but there was something about the way he looked at her, she just couldn’t believe it was that he didn’t want to be with her. There was that something . . . there was a word for it but she was starting to suspect she was drunk because she couldn’t figure out what it was.
“Okay. Let’s polka.”
“But they’re playing Donna Summer,” Evan protested.
“Perfect. We’ll polka and hustle at the same time. It’s all about creating your own path, my friend.” Tuesday leaned over the bar. “Another champagne, s’il vous plaît.” Oh, yeah, she was drunk. Busting out high school French was always a sure sign of that.
“See you later,” she said to Diesel, taking her drink from the bartender. “Stay away from coconut.”
Did that make sense? She wasn’t really sure, but he just nodded. “Have fun.”
“Always.” Not exactly true, but if she stated it often enough, maybe it would become true.
Fun. Yeah. That’s what she was having.
Tuesday grabbed Evan by the arm and went to prove it.
DIESEL watched Tuesday head out onto the dance floor with no small amount of regret. He had thought about her a few times since her father’s funeral, wondered if she was okay, felt compassion for that grief he knew all too well. She was a gorgeous, vibrant woman, a daughter her father had spoken very proudly of, but she had Diesel curious. He suspected that she was very close to the edge of cracking at this wedding, and he didn’t imagine that a shot was going to prevent that from happening.
Dancing was probably good for her though. Leaning on the bar, Diesel discreetly bent his knee to ease the stiffness in it. It was really giving him hell today for some reason, prompting him to take the pain meds he usually avoided before he’d left for the wedding.
“Hey, what’s up?” Ty McCordle sidled up to him. “What are you drinking?”
“Coke.”
Ty raised an eyebrow. “Boy Scout, huh? I need a beer myself.”
Diesel fought the urge to sigh. He hated explaining himself. He hated admitting that he couldn’t do certain things like dancing or drink. Not that he had ever danced before his crash, but hell, he would like the option. Now he couldn’t, plain and simple. It was annoying. But it was what it was. No sense whining about it.
“So Evan finally took the plunge. Have to say I didn’t see that coming.” When Diesel had been driving in the Cup series with Evan, he had always thought of him as a perpetual bachelor. Unlike some of the other guys, he’d never had a serious girlfriend.
“Did you know he and Kendall were an item ten years ago?” Ty took his beer from the bartender and took a sip. “Guess they were supposed to be together all along.”