Page 48 of Miss Belief

My date appeared as though he needed a stiff drink.

As soon as she left, I leaned over to whisper, “So, I think your mom really likes me.”

He burst out laughing. “I’d be worried if she actually did. Don’t take it personally—she doesn’t like me much either. What did she say to you?”

“Something about a cocker spaniel, and me living in the desert with no history. To be honest, I was too busy waiting on the next drink to pay too much attention.”

He shook his head. “Let me apologize, both for her words and for what you’re about to endure this entire weekend. It’s bound to suck.”

I lifted my glass to his. “Here’s to sucking.”

He clinked his glass of bourbon to mine. “So long as it’s not on any part of my brother.”

Dammit. My drink hit my throat wrong, and bam, I was coughing again.

But Reid was on it, taking my drink from my hand and patting my back gently. His expression was apologetic. “Sorry, did I go too far?”

“Hi, have we met? No, you didn’t go too far. Just unexpected humor, I can appreciate, even if my drink does not.”

His smile was the type that kicked me straight in the gut. Intimate, sincere, and focused on me. Suddenly, all the blood was rushing to my head.

“Are your nuts still warm and toasty?”

I needed to get myself together and remember what this was. A pretense. “Yeah, I’m good now.”

We talked some more over appetizers and drinks until two guys came up. Reid introduced them as Kevin and Chris, one was the groom-to-be and another groomsman.

“Nice to meet you.” I shook both their outstretched hands. Both seemed nice but kept giving me looks as if they were weirded out to see someone new with their friend.

Suddenly Kevin winced. “We’re being beckoned for pictures. You don’t mind if we steal your date, do you, Teagan?”

“Not at all.”

But Reid took my hand. “Do you want to come out on the patio and watch?”

Watch him be photographed with his ex-fiancée? Having a root canal sounded more fun. “Sure. I’ll swing by the bar again and join you soon.”

I needed something stronger than my current cocktail to get through the night. I hold my own, but alcohol certainly helped in the endeavor. The designer dress, high-fashion shoes, and fake pedigree were all starting to wear on me, and this was only the first night.

What I needed was whiskey. It would either be a good or a bad idea as it did tend to fuel my feistiness. But of all situations, this one merited at least one glass.

“Rye whiskey neat,” I ordered from the bartender. While watching him pour, I sensed someone come up beside me.

“Reid drinks bourbon, not rye whiskey,” came the masculine voice.

I tipped the bartender for a generous pour and didn’t bother to make eye contact with the unwelcome intruder. “Who says this is for Reid?” I took a sip and intended to walk away, but the stranger wasn’t done with the conversation.

“Interesting. I would’ve pegged you as a Cosmo or vodka cranberry type of girl.”

My side glance took in the expensive threads before traveling up to the handsome face they belonged to. There was a familiarity I couldn’t quite place. I pasted on a smile, figuring he was just another rich bastard here for the wedding. “And what would give you that idea?”

He shrugged. “A fruity drink tends to go with the Jimmy Choos and Prada purse.”

I didn’t miss the disdain in his tone. “Ah, says the guy wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit. Let me guess. You’re a Scotch guy.”

“Four-thousand-dollar suit, and no, I’ll have a bourbon, neat. Blanton’s if you have it,” he directed toward the bartender.

The bartender was quick to produce a bottle from the cabinet and gave another generous pour. “Here you are, Mr. Maxwell.”