Page 3 of Maid of Dishonor
I just smile wider over my shoulder at him as I saunter away and toward the soda fountain at the bar.
Once I’ve filled our cups, I wrestle the lids back in place. I don’t know why they make it so hard to take these things off and put them back on; this shouldn’t be a full-body workout. I’m finally just getting mine done, though, when I smell something…off. I wrinkle my nose, trying to place the smell, and then I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I whirl around.
And look. I try not to judge people based on appearances—books by covers and all that. But standing in front of me is a man I can honestly call gross. He’s attractive enough, I guess, and his hair is blond and styled, but there’s a look in his eyes I don’t really appreciate. There’s something slopped down the front of his preppy polo; it looks like it might be beer. He has a dazed, cocky sort of smile, but it brings to mind vacant immaturity rather than happiness or kindness. With every sweep of his eyes he sends off major frat boy vibes.
Likes: Axe body spray, energy drinks, girls named Tiffani and Ginger. Dislikes: feelings, commitment, emotional vulnerability of any kind.
His name is probably Chad.
I’ve just noticed an intriguing mole on Chad’s chin when the smell hits me again, full force this time. I hold back my gag. A grown man should not smell this bad. There are showers for these situations.
Okay, maybe I’m getting a little judgmental. Some people are smellier than others, and maybe he has a good reason. But even so…this is unmistakably BO, heavy cologne, and the sour stench of too much beer.Waytoo much, judging by his slightly glazed look.
The way Chad’s gaze rakes over me makes me roll my eyes, and for a second he just stands there, looking at me. When he finally speaks and the smell of his breath hits me, I’m overcome with a fresh wave of nausea.
“Hey,” he says, grinning and nodding at the drinks I’m carrying. “You drinking alone?”
Mytwocups would indicate not, but I don’t say that. “Just getting some refills,” I say lightly, trying to sidestep him, but he moves, blocking my path. He steps closer, and I instinctively move backward until my back is pressed up against the bar.
“Let me buy you one.” His words slur as he speaks, and I’m frankly surprised he’s intelligible at all.
“No, thank you,” I say.
“Such a pretty girl shouldn’t drink alone,” he says, and now he puts one hand on my waist, dragging it up and down my side—completely without permission.
I jump at the unwelcome contact and slap him away as well as I can while carrying sodas, cringing. “I’m not drinking,” I repeat. I’m past annoyed now. “And I’m not interested. Please move.”
“I—”
“She asked you to move.”
I sigh with relief at the sound of Carter’s steely voice. He’s behind the guy in front of me, so I can’t see him, but I know the look that goes with that tone; right now there’s undoubtedly a muscle jumping in his jaw, and his eyes are probably shooting daggers.
Chad stumbles backward as Carter pulls him away, blessedly taking that stench with him. Carter steps neatly around him, moving to me and slipping an arm protectively around my waist. I ignore the stupid butterflies that take flight.
“My girlfriend and I were just leaving,” Carter says to the man. His words are polite, but his tone is not, and I see that I was right; there goes the twitching muscle in his jaw, right along with the death glare. Then Carter turns his gaze back to me. “Ready, babe?”
“Yep!” I say, smiling brightly, handing Carter his refill and wishing that I really were his girlfriend rather than the girl he’s forced to save from creeps.
He nods once, decisively, and then leads me away, his hand on the small of my back.
“Ugh,” I say once we’ve pushed through the front doors, waving vaguely over our shoulders at the hostess who’s just told us to come again soon. “I attract theworstguys.”
Carter nods, his brow furrowed. “He looked familiar, actually.”
I shrug. “I’ve never seen him. But what is it with the guys that hit on me?” I say, looking at Carter. “Is it something about the uniform?”
Carter shakes his head, grinning once more. “It’s the hat.”
“The—what?” I say, stopping to frown at him.
“The hat,” he repeats, tugging on my arm to get me to start walking again.
“What part of a baseball hat says ‘I’m looking for a creepy man’?”
Carter laughs. “Not necessarily creepy men. I think you just remember the weird ones. But the backward hat…” He shrugs. “It’s kind of hot.”
My heart gives a little leap. “Huh,” I say with interest, pulling my hat off and looking at it. It’s old and worn, the red and blue faded from countless hours spent in the sun. “The hat? Really?”
