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“Thanks for the tip.” She wiggled her fingers at him in a wave and went back to fiddling with the heels now tipped over in the grass, their shiny white surfaces gleaming in the moonlight. They seemed somehow familiar.
His throat tightened around the question he nearly asked. Are those the shoes you wore to our wedding? But it didn’t matter, so he swallowed it down and waved back before walking away.
Hollie was no longer two-stepping with Aunt B, and his parents had disappeared to parts unknown. Many of his other friends had already split. The last ones he’d seen leaving together were Sadie, Joel and Oakley, and they were the types to help close the place down—well, at least Sadie and Oakley were. That meant it was getting late.
Time to put a period on this day and sleep to get ready for the next.
Upon reaching the haphazard parking area near the secluded country road that led to his parents’ farm, he shook his head. Jesus, people had parked every which way on the grass. Good luck getting out of there for some of them.
Not his problem. He had enough to deal with at the moment, like finding his new black pickup truck.
In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have bought a new vehicle a couple of days before a wedding where he’d fully intended to get plastered. His current state of inebriation probably wasn’t helping his ability to find his black truck in a sea of them. They weren’t exactly rare in Quinn.
Next time he was getting a purple Prius, for fuck’s sake. At least then he’d be able to find it.
He tugged out his clicker and aimed into the fleet of dark trucks, hoping he’d get some cosmic help. He was overdue, wasn’t he? But not a fucking blink of headlights to be found. Where the hell was it? He couldn’t hang around and wait for the rest of the guests to clear out.
A yawn caught him off-guard. He covered his mouth with his hand and cursed as his stupid key fob went flying to the gravel.
Goddammit. If he didn’t have bad luck, he’d have none at all.
He got down on his knees to try to find his clicker. After five minutes, he gave it up as hopeless and stood. More guests would be leaving soon. A lot of the attendees were ranchers and kept the same early hours he did. Celebration or not, they’d have to start packing it in soon.
It wouldn’t be that much longer.
He backed up and circled around another dark truck, peering into the tinted windows. Could that one be his? It was a newer model Ford F-150 quad cab. His fob hadn’t worked on it, but maybe his angle had been screwy. Or else the blasted thing didn’t work right. Figured.
Circling around the back, he peered at the license plate. Shit, what was his again? He was pretty sure he had a B in there…
Then again, he knew someone else with a truck like his—that redhead he couldn’t quite get out of his head, no matter how he tried to dislodge her.
Had to be because he’d seen Paige at the wedding. She’d smiled and talked and generally flitted around Char as any maid of honor should, but more than once he’d seen her frowning when she thought no one was looking. He’d also seen her beeline for the bar. Not that most everyone else hadn’t done the same damn thing.
He sighed. Forget it. Even if this was Paige’s truck, he was just going to plant his ass here and wait until she showed up. Maybe she had a flashlight in her glove compartment so he could find his damn clicker, since he sure as hell wasn’t hiking back up to the house. He’d escaped once. Twice wasn’t guaranteed.
Besides, it was a nice night. Slice of moon overhead, warm breeze, with the humidity that caused his dress shirt to cling to his stomach.
A shirt he so didn’t have to wear anymore, since the wedding was over. His part at least.
He shucked his dress jacket, tie and shirt, tossing them over the tailgate before he hopped over it and sprawled on the flatbed. Nope, definitely not his truck, because he didn’t have a plaid blanket back there that smelled like—he lifted the fleece to his nose and took a healthy sniff—something heady and sweet, like hyacinths or night-blooming jasmine. He didn’t know much about flowers, but this belonged to a female…or else the lucky bastard male owner had a woman back here on the regular.
Something he needed to do himself, damn soon. Preferably one who smelled like this.
Paige. Had to be frigging Paige. No other woman smelled quite like she did.
He folded the blanket and leaned back, pressing his cheek into the soft material. He’d just rest his eyes for a few minutes.
* * *
Paige Wilcox stopped beside her truck’s front bumper and frowned at the pair of cars blocking it in. What the hell was wrong with people ’round here? Didn’t they know how to park?
Nah, why would they? Everyone was buddies. If someone got hemmed in, a quick run back to the reception and a few hoots and hollers and the guilty parties would come right out and fix the problem.
Except she didn’t feel like going back to the party. She was all partied out, truth be told.
She glanced down at her fussy blue maid-of-honor gown, studded with pearls and featuring a big poufy thing that wrapped around the fullest part of her hips. Shamu hadn’t yet summoned her back to the great sea, but she expected to hear his mating call anytime now.
Normally Charli had great fashion sense. What was it about weddings that made people go completely nuts? Must be love warped your ideas of what actually would look good on your…curvaceous best friend.
