Slow Ride (9 page)
“No shit.” She smeared something on her face and worked it around with her fingers. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you go to this brunch with me.”
The hell he would. “You’ve mistaken me for someone stupid.”
“Oh, come on. You’ll get a good meal out of it.”
“I’m wearing jeans.” Not that he was even considering it. He didn’t want a bunch of women grilling him on how he knew Tuesday.
“So what? Come on . . . please?” Her voice took on a wheedling quality that set off alarms in Diesel.
He was helpless against women when they did that, got all soft and needy and pleading. He chanced a glance over at her and her eyes were big and beautiful, the dark circles under them still evident. Damn it.
He was going to give in. He could feel it. But he was getting something out of this himself. “I’ll go to the brunch if you go to night at the races at church with me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You drive a hard bargain, Lange.”
“Saturday night. You in or out?”
Tuesday looked away, checking her reflection in the mirror again. “Fine. I’ll go.”
It wasn’t the most normal way to go about getting a date, but Diesel had to admit, he was strangely thrilled at the thought of spending more time with Tuesday, even at a wedding brunch and a church fund-raiser.
Which meant he was one hundred percent certifiably insane.
CHAPTER
FOUR
FOUR
TUESDAY
was feeling a little smug about securing Diesel as her date, aka old lady deflector. Her plan was to leave him at the mercy of the elderly aunts while she plowed her way through six plates of food and a gallon of coffee to rid herself of the final hangover remnants. Which was probably more than a little selfish of her, given that Diesel was being supersweet. How many guys would have shown up with coffee the morning after they’d turned down your drunk offer of sex?
was feeling a little smug about securing Diesel as her date, aka old lady deflector. Her plan was to leave him at the mercy of the elderly aunts while she plowed her way through six plates of food and a gallon of coffee to rid herself of the final hangover remnants. Which was probably more than a little selfish of her, given that Diesel was being supersweet. How many guys would have shown up with coffee the morning after they’d turned down your drunk offer of sex?
She had to admit, she didn’t even know what to make of it. Was he just not attracted to her? Was he a supergood Samaritan? She wasn’t sure.
But she was really grateful for his sexy ass standing next to her when she walked into the room later than could possibly be socially acceptable, all eyes turning and scrutinizing her. Her hair was still wet in a ponytail and her makeup was half-assed at best. But it was the best she’d been able to do in ten minutes or less.
“I feel really self-conscious,” she murmured to him.
“Just smile. You look great.”
A glance up at Diesel showed her he didn’t look even remotely nervous. But then again, he wasn’t a bridesmaid who had let her best friend down. Tuesday knew that she hadn’t done anything horrible. She hadn’t puked at the reception or blown a groomsmen in the bathroom, but she still felt bad.
That seemed to be the story of her life lately. She managed to forget or escape briefly, then she crashed back down to reality, feeling worse than she had before. Her stomach churned and she found herself edging closer to Diesel. She didn’t want to be judged and found lacking. She had always prided herself on her strength, on her ability to keep her emotions private, and since her dad had gotten sick, that had been nearly impossible to do.
Now, standing here in front of all these put-together women, both young and old, her hair wet and her makeup jacked up, totally late and hungover, she suddenly felt raw and exposed. Vulnerable. And Tuesday hated that feeling.
“You’re a liar,” she told Diesel. “But I appreciate the effort.”
She really couldn’t figure his deal out. No guy was this nice without some ulterior motive. It just didn’t happen.
Or did it? Her dad had been that kind of guy. So when had she started assuming no one would ever measure up to him?
Diesel said, “Do we have assigned seats or what?”
She shook her head no, but the truth was, she wasn’t really sure. About anything.
When she would have stood in the doorway indefinitely, struggling to get her shit together, Diesel took the lead. He took her by the hand, literally, and drew her into the room, choosing a table that had two empty chairs side by side.
Her hand in his felt wonderful, big and strong, like him, and for once she was grateful to have a man taking charge because she wasn’t sure she could have walked into that room by herself.
“Are these seats taken?” he asked an ancient relative in a blush pink pantsuit.
“No. Have a seat, sweetie,” she told him, patting the chair next to her.
Tuesday swallowed hard as she sat down in the other available chair, smiling to the ladies at the table and struggling to remember any of their names. Her head was pounding again and she felt the inexplicable need to cry. What the hell was wrong with her? Why was she so weepy all the damn time?
“I need to go say hello to Kendall,” she told him, dropping her purse on the floor. “And I’ll get you a drink. What would you like?”
“Coffee is fine.” He smiled at her. “Thanks, babe.” Then he reached out and touched the tip of her nose with his finger.
That stopped her urge to blubber. Really? Did she look like a woman who wanted her nose tweaked? She was too tall, too independent, too . . . uptight.
She’d never thought of herself as uptight, but the truth was she was a control freak. And wasn’t the one just a synonym for the other?
But she should be grateful he didn’t know her well enough to recognize that nose tweaking was a mistake, because his action had prevented her from embarrassing herself any further by crying. She couldn’t help but make a face at him as she stood up. Diesel just grinned, like he knew full well that wasn’t her style.
Kendall was surrounded by well-wishers, but she extracted herself and said, “Let’s get a drink, Tuesday.”
Tuesday found herself whisked away to the bar, which was being used to serve juices, coffee, and mimosas. “Sorry I’m late,” she told Kendall. “I didn’t hear my alarm.”
“Did you sleep with Diesel?” Kendall asked, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “What’s he look like naked?”
“Kendall Holbrook Monroe,” Tuesday said with a grin, suddenly feeling better. “Why do you care what he looks like naked? You’re an old married woman.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m not curious. He’s really tall for a driver, well over six foot.” She paused, glancing around the room, and dropped her voice even lower. “Is he, you know, proportionate? Because I’d hate to think that all that height doesn’t translate. It’s not fair that we can’t judge men’s penis size by looking at them. I mean, they can see what our bodies look like, how big our breasts are, but we have no clue until we’re confronted with it, and by then it’s too late.”
Tuesday eyeballed a mimosa and debated whether hair of the dog made sense or not, totally amused by Kendall’s speech. “I completely agree with you. We need those scanners they have at the airport so we can gauge his size before we go home with him. But if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were lamenting Evan’s lack of stature.”
Kendall hit her in the arm. “Of course not! Evan has a perfect . . . one. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t encounter a tiny one or two along the way.”
Unfortunately, Tuesday knew about that all too well. “Yeah, no kidding. For awhile there, I felt like I was strolling through the Munchkinland of penises. Not good. No matter what they want to claim, size matters.” She went for the mimosa. One wouldn’t hurt. In fact, it might help.
After taking a sip, which tasted like a little bit of orange juice heaven, she then lifted a mug and pulled the spigot to fill it with coffee for Diesel. “But sadly, I can’t tell you if he’s hung or not, because I never saw it.”
“You never looked?” Kendall’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “You must have been drunker than I thought.”
“Oh, I was plenty drunk, trust me.” Trashed. Bombed. Shitfaced. Whatever you wanted to call it. “But Diesel turned me down. Apparently sloppy drunk women don’t do it for him.”
Glancing over, she saw he was politely chatting with Pink Pantsuit. Hungover women probably didn’t do it for him either, yet here he was, forced to make painful conversation simply because she’d asked him to. “I can’t figure him out. If he wasn’t interested in getting laid, why is he here with me? Why did he drive me home?”
Kendall shook her head. “It’s amazing how blind we can be about our own relationships. Sweetheart, he is interested, he’s just too nice of a guy to take advantage of you loaded. And I’m sure he wants you fully conscious, not flopping around like a rag doll.”
“How do you know he’s interested?” She snuck another glance at him. Damn, he was cute, with his shaggy hair and chin scruff.
“Because he’s at a freaking wedding brunch where he only knows about five people and almost everyone in the room is a woman over the age of fifty. Hello. Of course he’s interested.”
Tuesday wanted to believe that was true, but she wasn’t convinced. “I think he just felt sorry for me.”
“And I think you’re nuts. If you felt sorry for a guy, would you go to his family’s Thanksgiving dinner?”
Tuesday made a face. “No, of course not! Ew. Those are totally awkward and then everyone would think we’re dating . . .
ooohh.
” The light went off in her head. She got where Kendall was going with this. “You’re right, people are totally going to assume he and I are a couple. Hell, if he was here with anyone else, I’d be writing about it in my gossip blog.”
ooohh.
” The light went off in her head. She got where Kendall was going with this. “You’re right, people are totally going to assume he and I are a couple. Hell, if he was here with anyone else, I’d be writing about it in my gossip blog.”
“Exactly. So I say check it out. Go out with him and see what happens.”
“You just want to know about his penis.”
Kendall grinned. “Maybe. But really, I think you might actually enjoy yourself. He’s a good guy, a good fit for you.”
Tuesday didn’t know enough about Diesel Lange to make that kind of conclusion. She wasn’t even sure
she
knew what was a good fit for her. Her last three relationships had ended with the guys all concluding she was too successful, too independent, too driven. Apparently the modern man wanted a woman up in his shit all the time, as best she could figure. That wasn’t her. She had no interest in texting someone eight hundred times a day and spending every free second she had with him. She wanted a partner, an equal, someone whose company she sought because she enjoyed it, not because she was desperately trying to cleave to him so he didn’t leave her.
she
knew what was a good fit for her. Her last three relationships had ended with the guys all concluding she was too successful, too independent, too driven. Apparently the modern man wanted a woman up in his shit all the time, as best she could figure. That wasn’t her. She had no interest in texting someone eight hundred times a day and spending every free second she had with him. She wanted a partner, an equal, someone whose company she sought because she enjoyed it, not because she was desperately trying to cleave to him so he didn’t leave her.
It didn’t seem that complicated, but maybe it was. And while she had no clue what Diesel would look for in a relationship, she did know that thus far he’d treated her with kindness and respect, and that was no small thing.
In fact, it meant the man deserved the cup of coffee she was holding for him. “Well, whatever he is, I should get back to him, and you back to your guests.”
“Good point. Call me later. You know, after Diesel drives you home.” Kendall grinned.
“I feel like ass. I’m definitely not sleeping with him today. If I’m going for it, you can be damn sure I’m going to be in top form.”
“Oh, so it matters to you what he thinks?”
With that comment, Kendall flounced away before Tuesday could nail her with a retort. It mattered, just not for the reasons Kendall was implying. It always mattered how people perceived her and she always wanted to do her best, no matter what it was.
Uptight. Control freak. Yeah. That was her.
Taking her seat at the table, she placed the coffee in front of Diesel. “I forgot to ask how you take it. Do you need cream and sugar?”
He smiled at her. “Black is fine.”
They just looked at each other for a second, her feeling scrutinized, him giving her a secret small smile. “What?” she finally asked him.
“You just look pretty, that’s all.”
Tuesday rolled her eyes, knowing she looked like hell, but she had to admit, she was pleased. “Thank you. Note to self: Diesel likes pasty white skin and dark under-eye circles.”
“Yep,” he said, and took a sip of his coffee. Actually, it was more of a gulp, a man-sized sip that drained half the cup.
Tuesday studied his hands. They were callused and rough, with long fingers, a working man’s hands. He might have a sizable bank account, but he was still the guy in the work boots, and she found that inexplicably hot. She found a lot of things about him hot, actually. Like his hair. His pale blue eyes. His jaw. His height. His hands.
Mostly though, she liked his kindness. The way he sat relaxed, laid back, never stressing. She was like a continuous ball of energy—good or bad. She bounced between highs and lows, having a blast and stressing over
everything
, and Diesel didn’t seem to do that. He took life in stride, and when he looked at her, she felt like he was truly listening to what she was saying.
everything
, and Diesel didn’t seem to do that. He took life in stride, and when he looked at her, she felt like he was truly listening to what she was saying.
Nor would he rise to the bait when she tried to provoke him.
The woman in the pink suit leaned across Diesel to talk to Tuesday. “Your husband is a real sweetheart, dear. He’s been letting me show him pictures of my Lottie. She’s my Pomeranian.”
“Oh, he’s not my husband.” Tuesday could have let it go, but then what if Diesel thought she was getting off on the concept? She was no marriage-minded gold digger.
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