The Wedding Band Read Online Free PDF Page B

as fast as his underwear.
    â€œI’m sure she’ll survive,” she said. Then she did the unthinkable. She lifted the flap, blowing him off.
    It was unprecedented. Completely off script.
    So he improvised. Touching a palm to the small of her back, he slid smoothly into the dressing room alongside her.
    By movie-­star standards, it was cramped. He took it in with one glance. Faded Levi’s and a pink tee draped over a chair. Flip-­flops kicked underneath it. Department-­store cosmetics spilling onto the dressing table from a worn canvas bag.
    Offstage, it seemed, Christy Gray was no diva.
    â€œSo, I guess you’re seeing somebody,” he said, continuing the conversation as if he hadn’t barged into her space.
    â€œNo, I’m not seeing anyone.” Slightly annoyed.
    â€œIn love with a married man? Saving yourself for Jesus?”
    She half smiled, half smirked. “I know the usual line is ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ But this time, it’s not me. It’s you.”
    â€œOuch.” He rubbed his chest like she’d punched him.
    â€œSorry, but I’m allergic to celebrities.”
    â€œWhy? We’re just ­people.”
    â€œAnd the bird flu’s just a virus.”
    â€œWhat if I wasn’t a celebrity?”
    â€œWhat else would you be?”
    â€œA veterinarian.” He threw it out there.
    â€œThat takes brains,” she said, like they were lacking.
    He dunce-­scratched his head. “Now you’re just confusin’ me.”
    She laughed again. It was killing him by inches.
    He went all in. “Listen, Ma won’t quit hounding me till we go on a date. It can be a pity-­date. I’m okay with that, as long as she thinks you’re into it.” He did an aw-­shucks smile. “Make an old lady’s day and date her shiftless son.”
    â€œI don’t—­”
    â€œAt least come to the after-­party. Let her get a look at you before she and Pops totter off to bed. It’ll be kinda like a date, but not really.”
    He smiled again, and for a minute she looked tempted, like maybe she was so incredibly turned on by him that her perfectly sensible aversion to celebrities suddenly seemed asinine.
    A man could hope.
    But then, like a slow-­motion action sequence, the kind where the bloodletting’s drawn out for maximum cinematic effect, she started . . . to . . . shake . . . her . . . head . . .
    And as if on cue, Zach called, “Knock knock,” and stuck his shoulders through the flap. Spotting Kota, he said, “Hey, man. Sounds like a kick-­ass after-­party.”
    â€œYou’ll be there, right?”
    â€œAbso-­fucking-­lutely.”
    Kota bit back a grin. Sometimes just when things were going to shit, up through the manure popped a big red rose.
    Christy jumped in. “Dad, really?”
    â€œReally.” He chucked her chin. “You worry too much, honey pie. We’re on in ten.”
    On that note he ducked out. She swung around, glaring daggers at Kota. “You know he just got out of rehab.”
    Of course he knew. Just like he knew she’d feel obliged to chaperone. His inner scoundrel mentally rubbed his hands. But the decent guy Ma raised made himself say, “I’ll uninvite him if you want me to.”
    She glared some more. Then she huffed out a sigh. “He has to get back into circulation sometime.”
    A solemn nod. “You’ll probably want to keep an eye on him, though.”
    â€œConvenient, isn’t it?”
    â€œI’m just sayin’.” He shrugged.
    â€œAnd I’m just sayin’ . . .” She stuffed the crumpled envelope into her bag. “ . . . it’s not a date. So you can wipe the smug look off your mug.”
    And with a toss of her head she strode from the tent, every inch a diva.

 
    Chapter Four
    C HRIS SQ UEALED AROUND