Drake lifted his glass in return, but didn’t take a sip.
“I have to say, your girlfriend surprises me.”
He frowned, just briefly confused by her statement. Then he understood whom she was talking about.
“Oh? Why is that?”
Obsidian pursed her dark red lips as if considering the right answer, which he highly doubted she needed to. He was certain she’d formulated her opinion about the caterer right away.
“She seems a little too—pedestrian for you.”
Pedestrian? Really? Were they looking at the same woman? He considered asking this woman—who as far as he was concerned was trying far too hard not to be pedestrian and was only managing to be a bit of cliche— how she had come to that conclusion, but he realized she would answer him. And he didn’t feel like hearing it.
So instead he simply smiled and said, “Don’t let the ruffled shirt and breeches fool you, I’m a pretty average guy myself.”
She raised a dark, thinly arched brow. “I don’t see that.”
He found it hard to believe she saw much of anything with the amount of black eyeliner she had caked around her eyes.
“Yes, well in some cases, looks can be deceiving,” he stated, then without thinking, took a swallow of the disgusting-looking punch.
Holy shit, it tasted even worse than it looked. He forced the slimy, sort-of-clumpy concoction down, even though he really wanted to spit it out on the ground. Dear God, he needed a real drink more than ever.
“Will you excuse me?” he said to Obsidian, not managing to keep the disgust off his face, and frankly he didn’t care if she thought it was directed at her or the drink.
He registered that she again raised an eyebrow at him, but she said nothing as he walked back toward the kitchen.
Drake knew Cupcake wouldn’t be any more impressed to see him back than Obsidian had been to see him leave so abruptly, but he had to see if the little caterer had any sort of alcoholic beverage.
Tonight really had him out of sorts, and at this point even a few swigs of cooking sherry might take the edge off this weird feeling inside him. And truthfully, as he headed back to the kitchen, weaving through the crowd of guests, he felt even stranger.
But he ignored the almost dizzying feeling, blaming it on the circus sideshow feel of the wedding—the crazy clothing, the decorations, and the bizarre dance that many of the people were doing that looked like they were pretending to ride horses while spinning invisible lassos over their heads.
So weird. So almost surreal.
He just wanted to get to the kitchen. And hopefully get some booze. He’d grovel to Cupcake if he had to.
He giggled—yes, actually giggled. So not pirate-y. It was funny, because he suddenly felt kinda—good. Well, loose at least.
When he entered the kitchen, the light was glaringly bright, more so than he’d recalled from the last time he was in there. He paused, leaning against the doorway, having to blink several times to get his bearings.
Then he saw Cupcake, God she was so sexy. He was going to go tell her so, again, right now. But then he noticed she was holding the back door ajar and she was talking to . . . he blinked again, his vision seeming to swim in front of him. He gained a little control and squinted, trying to see clearer.
She was talking to several . . . Chers? He blinked again, and actually rested his head against the doorjamb. Was he seeing double? Or would that be multiple? There were a lot of Chers.
He giggled again. Funny, he didn’t usually giggle.
Damn, he felt weird. What was happening? He took a few steps into the room, then had to catch himself from stumbling on the edge of the counter. From his vantage point, now he couldn’t fully see the people she was talking to, and because of this odd underwater-type feeling, he wondered if he’d just imagined that.
But she was talking to someone and as he watched, still bracing himself on the counter, he saw Cupcake reach for something. He squinted again, the wooziness in his head growing. But he could still make out what she’d taken. Money.
Maybe he should go find the others. Something was really wrong with him and he needed to find Cort or Wyatt. Even Johnny.
Johnny would probably tell him just to go with it. Saxon, too. Maybe he should; it wasn’t unpleasant exactly.
He set down the glass he still held, not even realizing he had, until he slid it awkwardly onto the stainless steel. He looked back over to where Cupcake stood, debating if he should just call to her.
No, he’d already made a terrible impression on her. Acting like this would really convince her he was a loser. Not to mention, she’d probably just think it was some lame ploy to get her attention.
He had to find the others. He staggered back to the doorway, stopping again to catch his balance. He glanced back at Cupcake once more to see her opening the back door wider and allowing the Chers into the kitchen.
He stumbled back into the dim light of the courtyard, only making it a few feet, then he decided he couldn’t face that crazy room of strange people. He turned to go back to the kitchen, and that was the last thing he remembered.
JOSIE LYNN WATCHED the Chers ready themselves for their grand entrance, adjusting their clothing and fluffing and flipping their hair. She looked down at the hundred-dollar bill still clutched in her hand, that same sinking feeling deep in the pit of her stomach.
Maybe she shouldn’t have let them in.
But as If I Could Turn Back Time Cher gave her a wide smile and a salute, then turned her thong-exposed ass toward her as they all left the kitchen, Josie Lynn decided it was too late to worry about that now.
She had to worry about finishing this party with a bang.
Wasn’t that a Cher song? Well, she sure as hell wasn’t getting shot down. She headed back to the counter and her work. The turnovers should be almost done.
When she approached the workspace, she noticed a glass of punch that hadn’t been there earlier. Had Ashley or Eric brought it for her? She looked at the frothy, oddly colored mixture, hating to admit, because she’d made it, that it looked awful.
She tucked the money into the pocket of her black work pants, then reached for the glass of punch. Maybe it tasted better than it looked.
She took a tentative sip, then grimaced.
Nope. No better. It was sweet and slimy. With a strange, bitter aftertaste.
Oh well, she couldn’t take the blame for that one. She’d made it to the groom’s specifications.
She set the glass aside, smacking her lips again in aversion, then reached for the mixing bowl of yogurt sauce. But she misjudged and stuck her hand right into the white dip.
“Oh my God,” she muttered. What was wrong with her?
She extended her clean hand toward the paper towels, but when she was sure her fingers should connect with them, they grabbed air. Frowning, she really focused her eyes on the roll and tried again. Again she missed them.
What the hell? She moved her gaze from the towels to the rest of the room. The whole kitchen seemed to swim before her eyes. She felt instantly dizzy and had to steady herself against the counter.
Panic filled her chest, making it hard to breathe. What was wrong with her? She needed to get help. She started to head toward the courtyard, but paused to lean heavily against the counter again. She couldn’t go out into the wedding weaving and confused. That would be the end of this job for her.
But she needed help. She forced her disobedient fingers into her pocket and tugged out her cell phone only for it to slip out of her hand and to the tile floor. She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself as she bent
