Page 34 of Bridesmaid Undercover
“What?” Everly looks up.
“Oh fuck.”
“What?” Everly says, her panic rising with my reaction. “Do you see Maple?”
“No. That’s…fuck, that’s JP Cane.”
“What?” she says. “Where?”
I lean in close to Everly, feeling like I’m on full display, and whisper, “Over there, off to the left. He’s the one in the red shirt, leaning on the fence.”
She looks over in that direction and then squints. “Ohhrrrr narrrr, are you sure?”
I chuckle at that fucking accent. “One hundred percent positive,” I say. “Fuck, what if he recognizes me?”
“Hardy.” Everly turns toward me. “I don’t believe your own brother would recognize you right now.”
“Are you sure?” I tug on my ponytail. “I thought I was disguised but now…now I feel very exposed.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks. “I barely even recognized you. I feel like I’m at the zoo with the man from the pier who feeds the pigeons.”
“Really?” I ask, my eyes shooting wide. “Fuck.”
“What do you mean, fuck?”
I grip her shoulders, speaking in all seriousness. “JP would focus his attention on me if I look like I toss bread to the pigeons. He loves pigeons. He knows everything about them and if I look like a pigeon lover, fuck, he might want to start up a conversation. Ask me if he’s seen me down by the pier. And if he recognizes me? How can I begin to explain what I’m doing? Shit, this was not a good idea. We should leave.”
“Hold on a second,” Everly says, stopping me from backing up. “You’re telling me that you’re more afraid to see JP Cane at the zoo than your ex-girlfriend?”
“She wouldn’t recognize me—it’s been ten years. But I saw JP the other day. He’d know me. He’d smell me.”
“Ew, smell you?” she asks, a scrunch to her nose. “Do you think you give off some sort of recognizable pheromone?”
“I don’t know…do I?” I ask, leaning in so she can smell me.
“No!” she says in an exasperated tone. “No one can pick up your scent.”
Just then, a strong wind bursts through the air, kicking up my ponytail and blowing in JP’s direction. His head lifts and he looks directly at me.
Holy fuck.
He can smell me.
I stand there, shocked, unable to move.
“He sees me,” I say through a stiff, pursed mouth.
“What do you mean he sees you?” She turns to look but I stop her.
“No, don’t look at him. He’s looking at me. If you look at him, he’ll know we’re talking about him, and he can’t know that we even recognize him.”
“Then why aren’t you looking away?”
“Because I think…I think he can smell me.”
“Dear God, Hardy, he can’t smell you.”
“Phillip!” I whisper-shout. “Use my betrothed name, you fool.”
