You May Kiss the Bridesmaid - Camilla Isley Page 0,22
and woo the missus. Instead, I keep quiet as she continues, “But you did plan this wedding, right?” And before Tucker can reply, she raises her hands, adding, “And before you tell me your entire life’s history again, this is a simple yes or no question.”
Tucker pouts. “Yeah, I’m planning this wedding.”
“There you go.” Feisty Curls smiles. “I’m Christian Slade’s PA. I’m sure you’re aware he’s on the guest list and will be in attendance over the weekend.”
“Yes.” Tucker grits his teeth. “I can read RSVP responses.”
“Good for you.” Her smile widens. “Anyway, I need to review a few security adjustments with you.”
The elevator dings open behind us, and Tucker takes a step back inside. “Well, next time you need someone’s help, I suggest you try not being rude to them.”
My friend gestures for me to come into the elevator. I do, and am as surprised as Feisty Curls when he pushes the button to our floor without another word.
The woman is too stunned by his reaction to block the closing doors, but we can still hear her protests as the elevator climbs up. “What? I wasn’t rude! Hey, you can’t just leave… We need to talk… Come back…!”
The rest of her recriminations are muffled as we get past the first floor.
I low-whistle to my friend. “Man, that was some attitude.”
Tucker is universally acknowledged as the friendly teddy bear type. I swear, in all our years of friendship I’ve never seen him react this way to anyone, no matter how nasty the person.
“Well, could you believe her? She drops some famous person’s name and expects the entire world to fall at her feet. Not gonna happen.”
“Good for you.” I jokingly punch him in the shoulder. “Show her who’s boss. And a word of advice, if I may?”
Tucker glares at my sarcasm.
“You should bed the lady, she’s a hottie.”
Tucker snorts. “Yeah, as if that is gonna happen after our sweet meet-cute. Can you believe she didn’t even introduce herself? Just name-dropped her boss. Rude.”
“Dude, I can’t believe how much she has you worked up with a five-minute conversation.” The elevator dings open to our floor. “You should explore that chemistry.” I exit, making a military salute. “See you downstairs in a bit.”
We walk down the corridor to our respective doors.
“Don’t be late,” Tucker says, pausing on the threshold. “I’m keeping a fifteen-minute grace period, but then we leave.”
Mock-grave, I nod and unlock my door. Tucker shakes his head and disappears inside his room.
After a quick shower, I stop in front of the closet mirror and feel a little girly as I debate how to dress to better impress another feisty lady. Is Summer the loose, light sweater kind or a fitted T-shirt lover?
Since I’m her first beard, I decide to make the fantasy complete for her and opt for a subtle lumberjack look: faded jeans slightly loose on the hips, boots, tight-fitting black T, and an unbuttoned flannel shirt.
Irresistible and ready to rock.
Pity the sight that awaits me downstairs couldn’t be any less rock ’n’ roll if it tried. Outside the main hotel entrance, a bus is parked with its engine running while small groups of wedding guests pile in. Okay, I guess I’ve suddenly turned eighty and am going on a trip with my fellow assisted living inmates. I’m half tempted to flip the bus the finger and take the bike; but, to be fair, we’re going wine tasting, so maybe being chauffeured around—no matter how uncool the vehicle—has its merits.
A hand slaps me on the shoulder, followed by Tucker’s voice. “Come on, buddy, let’s hop in. We don’t want to be late.”
I follow him inside, craning my neck to check where Summer is and what she’s doing, but all I can see is a glint of blonde hair at the rear end of the bus. The lady is doing her best not to look up, and I can’t even tell how she’s dressed. She’s seated in an aisle seat, the window one left empty, a clear message that she wants to ride alone. Regretfully, I’ve no plausible excuse to disrupt that plan, or even pass by to say hello. When Tucker takes a window seat halfway down the bus, I’ve no other choice than to sit next to him.
The bus fills up quickly, a mixed group of personalities. The academics are easy to pick out, and not just because I know some of them from past expeditions. They’re a distinctive bunch, and mostly fit into the serious, bespectacled stereotype.