“Thanks.” She sat down and stretched her long, graceful legs out in front of her.
“So why aren’t you inside?” he asked.
There was a pause. “It was hot in there. How about you?”
Diesel thought about giving her the same pat response in return, but if he wanted the truth from her, he needed to give her the truth. Since he strongly suspected she needed someone to talk to, he was willing to be honest. “Some little kid ran into me and my bad knee twisted. I needed a breather.”
She winced, glancing down at his leg. “Does it hurt really bad?”
“Like a motherfucker.”
“I’m sorry. You should have one of these drinks.” She tried to hand him the glass but he shook his head.
“Pain meds, remember? Not that they’re working much at the moment.”
Tuesday set both glasses down on the floor and said, “That sucks.”
“It is what it is. I am lucky to be alive, you know.” It was true. The doctors had told him the impact he’d sustained should have killed him. So if that meant he had some aches and pains, hell, he’d take it. It was better than pushing daisies for damn sure.
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” she said vehemently.
Diesel wasn’t sure what to say to that, exactly, but Tuesday wasn’t finished.
“Death sucks. It really, really sucks. Do you know why I left that ballroom?”
He shook his head.
“Because they’re playing the father-daughter dance, and you know what? I’ll never get to dance with my father at my wedding, and that really bites the big one.” Her face scrunched up and the tears came. “It’s not fair.”
Oh, damn. Diesel felt his own heart squeeze at the sheer agony in her voice. She looked so miserable, so shocked, so vulnerable, and drunk. “No, it’s definitely not fair. Not even close. Come here.”
Diesel put his arm around her shoulders and drew her into his chest. She came willingly, burying her face in his dress shirt.
“I’m happy for Kendall, obviously. I mean, I’m thrilled for her.” Her voice was trembling, her words punctuated by sobs. “But it just hurts.”
“I’m sorry, Tuesday. I can’t tell you how much. But I think what you’re doing, planning a cancer benefit in your father’s honor, is awesome. I’ll be happy to make a donation.”
Stroking her back, Diesel tried to think of additional words of comfort, but he wasn’t sure what else he could say. Grief was hell and you just had to work it through it, step by step.
“As long as it isn’t coconut,” she said, her sobs settling down into sniffles.
“Hell, yeah, it’s going to be coconut. It’s going to be coconut cream pie with coconut shavings on top. Coconut cream pie for a year, that’s what it will be.” It was a stupid thing to say, but he was looking for anything to distract her.
“I’ll toss it in your face then.”
“Love to see you try.”
Tuesday pulled back and stared at him, her eyes searching his. Sniffling, her nose red, she said, “You’re a nice guy, aren’t you?”
Bemused, he told her, “We do exist. Hard to believe, I know.”
She nodded. “An endangered species. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in the wild.”
“Just so you know, I can be badass, too.” He wanted to make sure he didn’t come off as a total pansy.
Tuesday laughed, wiping her cheeks free of tears. “Well, that just proves you’re clearly all male. I give you a compliment and you want to make sure you’re not appearing too sensitive. Typical.”
Feeling slightly sheepish, he just shrugged. “Hey, I’m not perfect. Just very nice and extra manly.”
“Well, are you man enough to go back into that ballroom and dance with me?”
The thought made his nuts draw up into his body. He did not want to dance, under any circumstances. “It’s more manly not to dance. I’ll just stand on the edge of the dance floor and grunt while I watch you.”
She cocked her head like she was about to argue, but then she nodded. “Alright, I’ll take it. But you can skip the grunting.”
Tuesday stood up, but not before retrieving her champagne glasses, which she drained, one right after the other, in a move that reminded Diesel of movies about fraternity parties. Impressive.
“I’ll grunt if I want to.”
She burped, a no-holds-barred belch that seemed at complete odds with her slender body, elegant hairstyle, and bridesmaid dress. Diesel laughed.
Tuesday held her finger out to him. “And there’s more where that came from.”
“I can’t wait.” Diesel stood up.
She hadn’t backed up, so when he stood, they were close, his thighs brushing against her dress. From this vantage point, Diesel could see how plump and moist her lips were, how smooth her skin was, and he could smell the sweetness of her perfume. Thoughts of kissing her flooded his mind, his fingers itching to dive into her dark hair and mess up that perfect knot twisted on her head. He liked that she was tall, that she could look him in the eye without having to totally strain her neck like most women did. He liked that he could reach right out and rest his hands on her waist if he wanted to.
Those eyes were watching him now, darkening with what he hoped like hell was desire.
All he would have to do would be to lean down and drop his mouth onto hers and take a taste of those sexy red lips.
But then she jerked back, grabbing his hand. “Oh, my God! The chicken dance. You have to dance with me!”
Diesel gritted his teeth as she dragged him to the ballroom. The chicken dance didn’t excite him nearly as much as a hot make-out session did.
He who hesitates has to make an ass out of himself on the dance floor.
CHAPTER TWO
TUESDAY knew she should slow down given that Diesel had just said his knee was bothering him, but she needed to get back into the crowded ballroom. First she had needed to escape, then she needed to dive back in. Go figure. But she had been standing there, staring up at Diesel, and she had suddenly been overwhelmed by the urge to shove him down onto the bench and climb into his lap and ride him.
Not appropriate.
One, this was a wedding, and it might shock Kendall’s grandmother if the maid of honor was having sex in the hallway. Two, she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about down-and-dirty sex when her dad had just died.
So the chicken dance it was.
She was surprised that Diesel had actually followed her onto the dance floor. Then again, she hadn’t really given him much choice, given the death grip she had on his hand. The ballroom was getting warm from the lighting and all the bodies moving around, and Tuesday found a spot dead center on the dance floor that no one else was brave enough to claim.