“Trouble in paradise?” Jase continued working on a vivid pink arrangement.
Brek grunted in reply. “Bride Number Two wants tulips tied to the pews with that tulle stuff. You think you can handle that?”
“That’s a negative.” Jase pulled on some of the petals on the flower in his hand.
“No. See. I saythe bride wants tulips. You sayokay.”
“Tulips won’t work on the pews. No water. They’ll go limper than a dick at the Shady Acres Retirement Home. I could rig up some vases, but she’s already over budget.”
Shit.
“Tell her to stick with roses,” Jase continued. “They’ll match her bouquet.”
Brek had a feeling that conversation would go about as well as any other conversation he’d had with brides lately.
“I’ll talk to her.” Not like it would do any good. “You two still coming to the cake tasting this afternoon?”
“Will there be cake?” Jase lifted his hand in a fist bump to Eli.
Eli met it. “There’s cake. We’re there.”
Claire and Dean had asked the entire wedding party to help them pick flavors. Jase was appointed as a groomsman, so he’d gotten the invite. Eli was in charge of the wedding catering, so he’d offered to attend, as well.
“So, Brek. Velma, huh? Serious?” Eli paced to the mini fridge Jase kept near the register and grabbed a beer.
“Not as serious as he’d like,” Jase mumbled, fluffing a white bud and slipping it into the vase.
“I see you’ve been chatting with G.I. Joe over there.” Brek snagged the beer from Eli’s hand as he walked by, sloshing a bit onto the rim. “Thanks, man.”
Eli glowered briefly and went back for another. “Not like you to chase a skirt.”
True, generally the skirts chased him. Velma, however, was not a typical skirt. She was a lady.
“She’s got an idea of her perfect guy.” Brek took a long pull of hops, Rocky Mountain water, and magic.
“Aw, c’mon. With your bone structure and witty personality? How can she resist?” Jase scooted a trash bin against the edge of the table.
“Ma’s trying to match her.” Brek’s index finger tapped a rhythm against the bottle. “Find her a guy who wears fingernail polish.”
Jase scraped the pile of flower debris into the trash bin. “Why the hell would she do that?”
“Velma’s got a type, apparently.” Brek grabbed his beer and stood to pace between the garden art and the potted plants. “And it’s not me.”
“Well, if you ask me, I say it’s better not to get tangled too tightly. Women are like grenades.” Jase pointed a finger at him. “They seem fine, sure. But one day, without warning, they’ll blow up your house.”
Brek sighed.
Eli popped the top off his Coors. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Rock stars to sober up?”
He did. But so far no one had needed bail money. His early morning call to Hans—his assistant manager, and his eyes and ears with the band at the moment—hadn’t been returned. He hoped that meant the boys had partied all night, and not that Hans was handling a crisis. “Yes. And yes.”
Eli tipped his head to the side like he always did before saying something profound. The guy didn’t talk much, but when he did, people generally listened. “I haven’t gotten to know Velma well. But in the two seconds we talked, she didn’t strike me as a booty call. She’s the kind you hand your balls to on a silver platter with a diamond ring.”
So, yeah, he was profoundly stupid today.
Brek would keep his balls for himself, but Velma had settled under his skin. He liked her there. Wanted to keep her close. For now.
Besides, there was more than enough time for them to get their kicks. By the wedding, they would both be ready to go their separate ways. She could return to searching for a weenie husband, and he would head back on the road for the Dimefront tour.
