Page 144 of Bridesmaid Undercover
Yup, couldn’t hear you over my own self-hatred.
“I said I can help,” he replies.
I wave him off again. “Not necessary. You go home, pop open a beer, enjoy a show or a game, and then go to sleep knowing the dips are taken care of and everything is on the up and up for the party. Okay?” I pat his shoulder. “Have a good night.” I start to turn away, but he grabs my arm again, stopping me.
“Everly, I can help.”
“Yup, heard you loud and clear, and I appreciate your insistence, but as I said, totally under control, shouldn’t have even bothered you with this dip emergency. But I need you to know it’s all handled and the dips shall prevail.” I raise my fist to the sky, hating myself.
He studies me.
Truly studies me.
Those blue eyes are searching, trying to find something—I’m not sure what, possibly the lie that’s making my feet sweat—but I will go to my deathbed holding this lie close to my chest.
No set of crystal blues is going to unleash the truth from me.
“Okay,” he finally says.
“Okay?” I ask, surprised that he’s giving up.
He nods. “Yup. Okay.”
“Well, then…okay.” I smile. “So, uh, have a good night.”
“You too,” he replies, so I nervously turn away from him and head toward the parking garage again, but as I take a few steps forward, I realize I’m not alone.
I glance over my shoulder to see him following right behind me.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Going to my car.”
“Oh, right, because you drive. You’re a grown-up and you drive, so why wouldn’t you go to your car? Silly me.” I bonk my forehead with my palm.
Yeah, keep it up, Everly, you’re not humiliating yourself in the slightest.
I walk into the parking garage, Hardy still following behind, and I head up to the second floor. When I hear him climb the stairs with me, I say, “Oh, second floor as well?”
“Yup,” he replies.
“Cool, yeah. This is…this is like one of those moments where you say goodbye, not realizing you’re going in the same direction, so you have to awkwardly walk next to each other.”
He doesn’t respond so I just zip my lips and move forward. When I see my car over in the distance, I point at it. “Thar she blows.” His brow raises, and I nervously laugh. “Not sure why I put it like that, in an old-timey sailor voice, maybe I have the Fog Horns on my mind. Are you a, uh, a fan of football? Do you like the old rough and tackle?”
I wince because…rough and tackle? Where the hell did that come from? Someone who should be committed, that’s where.
“I like the Fog Horns,” he says.
“Oh cool, yeah, well…Oooooooooo, uhhhhhhhhh,” I say in the classic Fog Horn chant. Of course, that makes him pause in his path to his car.
“Did you just make a foghorn noise?”
I did, and now I want to stick my head under the hood of my car and slam it down a few times.
“Yes.” I swallow. “Was that, uh, was that not the impression you were looking for?” I’m sweating. I’m actually sweating so terribly that my shoes are about to fall off. It’s like a slip and slide inside the soles. “If not, I have other impressions, uh…like a crow.” I clear my throat. “Ca-caw. Ca-caw.”What the fuck are you doing, Everly?“Real lifelike, right?”
I swear if I put a quarter between his brows right now, he’d be able to hold it there. “Yeah, really lifelike.”
