A loud breath vibrates her lips, and she says, “My sister is marrying my ex-boyfriend and I’m her maid of honor.”
My cleaning halts. “Why did you agree to such a thing?” Why would someone put themself through that? Doesn’t Paisley have the word ‘no’ in her vocabulary?
“Because I’m the floor,” she wails, dramatically tossing a hand in the air.
Wow. She’s really drunk.
Paisley’s elbow connects with the bar top once again and she catches her forehead in her hand. I use the opportunity to snatch her wineglass and pour a majority of what’s left in it down the sink.
“Can I get you a ride home?” I ask.
She straightens up, squinting at me suspiciously. “Where did you go with that woman?”
I pull a face. “What woman?”
“Busty McBusterton.”
Alright. Something besides wine and lychee martinis is in this woman. She’s hallucinating.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She sends me an exasperated look. “The woman who ordered abug.”
Ohhhh. Paisley’s lower lip puffs out the tiniest bit. Is she jealous?
Busty McBusterton.I smash my lips together to keep from laughing in Paisley’s face. Ok, yes, the woman had what my mother would call an ‘ample bosom’, and anybody with two working eyes would see it because there wasn’t a lot to that dress.
“I was helping her get a ride home.”
“Sure.” Paisley crosses her arms, making a face that demonstrates how little she believes me. “You probably took her out to your car for...for...lascivious acts.” Her nose scrunches on the word ‘lascivious.’
I scoff, only to cover up my intense desire to roll on the ground and laugh until my sides ache. “Are you a fiction writer? Because you should be. That’s a great story you just dreamed up.”
Paisley looks like she wants to come over the bar and knee me in the balls. “I quit my writing career before it ever started becausesomeonetook a torch to my very first story.” She sniffs. “You ruined my career.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. I did not ruin your career.Youruined your career when you let one person hurt your precious feelings. If anything, I did you a favor. If a critique of your first story hurt your feelings this badly, you’d never hack it in the writing industry. You don’t only need thick skin, Paisley, you need calluses. So”—I step back and bend at the waist, sweeping one arm sideways and bowing—“You’re welcome.”
When I straighten, Paisley is dragging her purse off the bar and sliding from her stool. She steps away and wobbles.
Shit. Shit shit shit. That was too harsh. My bad news from Dom has me acting out.
I whip around, keying my employee number into the computer. When I’m finished clocking out, I yell to Halston on the other side of the bar. “I need to walk someone—” Does Paisley have a car here? If so, she can’t drive. “—somewhere,” I finish.
Halston rounds the curved part of the bar, eyebrows tightly drawn, hands glued to her hips. “I hate closing alone. You owe me.” Funny, it’s the second time tonight a woman has said that to me.
“Eternally,” I confirm, already chasing down Paisley.
She’s striding through the front door of the restaurant by the time I catch up to her. From behind, she looks like my type. Long blonde hair, athletic legs, and an ass that makes me want to bite my fist. Paisley sounded envious of that other woman’s chest size, but I’d take Paisley’s backside over?—
Nope. Not even going there. Those thoughts have bad idea written all over them.
She doesn’t know I’m behind her, and that makes me feel like a creep until she stumbles walking down the three concrete steps leading to the sidewalk on the main road.
One quick jump to the pavement and I’m there, catching her before she can fall. Paisley doesn’t know it’s me, so she screeches, a banshee in close proximity to my face, and attempts to hit me with her tiny excuse for a purse.
I bat away the less-than-accurate attack. “Calm it down, She-Rambo. Your face almost kissed the pavement.” I step back, but keep a grip on her upper arms. “Where are you headed?”
“Agave.” She squints one eye and points in the wrong direction. “It’s that way.”
