Free Slow Ride by Erin McCarthy

wedding brunch and a church fund-raiser.
    Which meant he was one hundred percent certifiably insane.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    TUESDAY was feeling a little smug about securing Diesel as her date, aka old lady deflector. Her plan was to leave him at the mercy of the elderly aunts while she plowed her way through six plates of food and a gallon of coffee to rid herself of the final hangover remnants. Which was probably more than a little selfish of her, given that Diesel was being supersweet. How many guys would have shown up with coffee the morning after they’d turned down your drunk offer of sex?
    She had to admit, she didn’t even know what to make of it. Was he just not attracted to her? Was he a supergood Samaritan? She wasn’t sure.
    But she was really grateful for his sexy ass standing next to her when she walked into the room later than could possibly be socially acceptable, all eyes turning and scrutinizing her. Her hair was still wet in a ponytail and her makeup was half-assed at best. But it was the best she’d been able to do in ten minutes or less.
    “I feel really self-conscious,” she murmured to him.
    “Just smile. You look great.”
    A glance up at Diesel showed her he didn’t look even remotely nervous. But then again, he wasn’t a bridesmaid who had let her best friend down. Tuesday knew that she hadn’t done anything horrible. She hadn’t puked at the reception or blown a groomsmen in the bathroom, but she still felt bad.
    That seemed to be the story of her life lately. She managed to forget or escape briefly, then she crashed back down to reality, feeling worse than she had before. Her stomach churned and she found herself edging closer to Diesel. She didn’t want to be judged and found lacking. She had always prided herself on her strength, on her ability to keep her emotions private, and since her dad had gotten sick, that had been nearly impossible to do.
    Now, standing here in front of all these put-together women, both young and old, her hair wet and her makeup jacked up, totally late and hungover, she suddenly felt raw and exposed. Vulnerable. And Tuesday hated that feeling.
    “You’re a liar,” she told Diesel. “But I appreciate the effort.”
    She really couldn’t figure his deal out. No guy was this nice without some ulterior motive. It just didn’t happen.
    Or did it? Her dad had been that kind of guy. So when had she started assuming no one would ever measure up to him?
    Diesel said, “Do we have assigned seats or what?”
    She shook her head no, but the truth was, she wasn’t really sure. About anything.
    When she would have stood in the doorway indefinitely, struggling to get her shit together, Diesel took the lead. He took her by the hand, literally, and drew her into the room, choosing a table that had two empty chairs side by side.
    Her hand in his felt wonderful, big and strong, like him, and for once she was grateful to have a man taking charge because she wasn’t sure she could have walked into that room by herself.
    “Are these seats taken?” he asked an ancient relative in a blush pink pantsuit.
    “No. Have a seat, sweetie,” she told him, patting the chair next to her.
    Tuesday swallowed hard as she sat down in the other available chair, smiling to the ladies at the table and struggling to remember any of their names. Her head was pounding again and she felt the inexplicable need to cry. What the hell was wrong with her? Why was she so weepy all the damn time?
    “I need to go say hello to Kendall,” she told him, dropping her purse on the floor. “And I’ll get you a drink. What would you like?”
    “Coffee is fine.” He smiled at her. “Thanks, babe.” Then he reached out and touched the tip of her nose with his finger.
    That stopped her urge to blubber. Really? Did she look like a woman who wanted her nose tweaked? She was too tall, too independent, too . . . uptight.
    She’d never thought of herself as uptight, but the truth was she was a control freak.