Page 48 of Bridesmaid for Hire
“Nah, it’s okay. The quicker we get to the bar, the better, right?”
“Yes,” she says as she takes a seat. “After that dress fitting, I feel like I need some alcohol.”
Maggie met up with Haisley shortly after lunch for a dress fitting to make sure she could fit into the best friend’s dress. Thankfully it was some sort of empire waist thing, whatever the hell that means. From what Maggie mumbled, it was really tight in the breast area, and they needed to make some serious adjustments. I can only imagine how much fun that was.
I wanted to see what Hudson, Hardy, and Jude were doing, but I didn’t want to impose on their time together, so I came back to the bungalow and skinny-dipped in the plunge pool.
It relaxed me just enough before we decided to get ready for dinner.
I drape my arm behind her and press the pedal of the golf cart.
“Haisley invited us to play some beach games tomorrow, if you’re interested. I told her I’d have to talk to you. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do, this whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing excluded.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say, realizing that she’s more subdued than normal. She’s been like that since lunch. I glance over, missing that fiery spirit. “You know, you’ve been sort of quiet. If you want to talk about the workaholic thing—”
“I don’t,” she says, looking in the other direction.
“Okay, but it just seems to be bothering—”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it, Brody. So just drop it,” she snaps.
Okay…she doesn’t want to talk about it, which means either her comment struck a nerve, and she doesn’t know how to process it, or she’s embarrassed about what she said. I’m guessing it’s the first thing, because I can still see the look of surprise on her face when she said it.
As we approach the golf cart parking lot, I try to change the subject and jokingly say, “Do we need a reminder of the rules of this engagement?” I put the cart in park.
“No,” she says as she steps out of the golf cart and starts walking away.
“Uh, hello,” I call, catching up to her. “You can’t storm off—people will think we’re fighting.”
“I’m not storming off. I just want to get a drink and you’re too slow.”
“Hey.” I tug on her hand, forcing her to face me. “Seriously, Maggie. I know you resent me, as you stated at lunch, but if there’s something on your mind, you can talk to me.”
“Brody.” She places her hand on my chest and whispers, “You’re thelast person I’d want to talk to about this.” And then she takes my hand in hers and leads me down the path toward the bar.
Okay, so that’s how it’s going to be tonight. Got it. And to be honest, that’s fair. I’ve put several boundaries in place over the years to avoid showing my attraction to her. Indifference. Disdain.Warm and a good listenerare two attributes she’d never associate with me. Fair call.
Together, we walk into the already crowded restaurant and head straight to the side of the bar where Maggie takes a seat on one of the stools. She straightens her shoulders, puffing her chest out and grabbing the attention of pretty much every man in the surrounding area, including the bartender.
“Good evening,” he says, setting a napkin down in front of Maggie. “What can I get you?”
“I’d love a mai tai,” Maggie says.
The bartender looks up at me, having the decency not to stare at Maggie as I say, “Whatever pale ale you have on tap.”
He nods and gets to work. That’s when Maggie turns on her stool to face me. She crosses one silky leg over the other and leans back against the bar, the neckline of her romper dangerously testing the power of her cleavage. I can actually see her sternum and the whole inner side of each breast. Gary would have a fit if he saw her in this.
“Tell me,” she says, looking me up and down. “What are your go-to moves?”
“Huh?” I ask as I shift in my sandals. I chose to wear a pair of gray chinos and a white, short-sleeved button up with the faintest print of palm leaves. Not something I’d wear normally, but it works for where we are.
“If I were at the bar and you saw me and found me attractive, how would you approach me?”
“Uh…I don’t know,” I say, confused. Where is this coming from?
“You don’t know?” she asks as she slips her finger into one of my front pockets and pulls me closer to her. “That seems unlike you. I’ve seen youat a bar before. Remember my twenty-first birthday? Who did you go home with again?”
I wished it was you.
