She shrugged. “Two should be sufficient.”
The gorgeous hunk of a bartender gave her a skeptical look, then moved down the bar to fix her drink.
Keeping her satin bag clutched firmly in her hand, she headed toward the rear of the tavern, passing between a pair of pool tables and a couple of rough-and-tumble-looking men with cue sticks in one hand and amber bottles of beer in the other. They looked at her curiously, and she couldn’t exactly blame them. Odds were that not many women actually frequented The Wilde Side dressed in a wedding gown.
Nestled at the end of a short hallway next to the ladies’ room, she found the pay phone with a tattered copy of the phone book attached to the wall by a metal cord. She made her call for the tow truck only to learn she’d be waiting for a minimum of two hours. It was, after all, Saturday night.
She hung up, deciding to wait for the tow truck driver to arrive before she called a taxi. She took a step to turn and ran smack into a brick wall of leather, denim and chains.
She looked up, tipping her head far back to stare into one of the most homely faces she’d ever had the misfortune of viewing. Biker Boy’s eyes were beady and wide set, and focused on some point south of her face. His nose was crooked, obviously it’d been broken—more than once.
He grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. “’Scuse me, miss, but my buddy and me was wondering if them were real?”
Carly’s jaw fell slack. Where she came from, strange men did not approach women and ask if their…if their breasts were real!
She snapped her mouth closed. She wasn’t in Homer. No one here expected her to murmur a polite “excuse me” then quietly step around the gentleman, pretending he hadn’t just insulted her. If she followed the rules as she’d done all her life, that’s exactly what she would do in the face of such an impropriety.
Who was she kidding? If she’d followed the rules the way she was supposed to, she wouldn’t even be having this conversation. She’d be spending her wedding night at the Village Inn in her hometown before setting off tomorrow for the Florida Keys with her groom.
Rules. She hated them, but worse, despised herself for simply following along like a good little girl. Rules had nearly ruined her life. They’d almost seen her married to a man she didn’t love and who didn’t love her. Because of them, she’d accepted a position as a music teacher at her hometown high school, when that was the last thing she wanted to do for the rest of her life.
Well, Carly Cassidy was finished following rules!
“Actually,” she said, flashing Biker Boy a blithe grin, “it’s this damn corset I’m wearing. Ridiculous contraption, don’t you think?”
Biker Boy’s beady eyes rounded, making him look almost cross-eyed. His crooked nose turned bright pink, the color slowly spreading over his wide, puffy cheeks.
He cleared his throat. “I meant your eyes, miss. They’re a real nice turquoise color, and Joe thought they was them colored contacts some women like.”
“Oh.” Heat spread over her own cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I thought…I thought you meant…Oh sweet Mary, she felt like a fool. Even if she was through following everyone else’s rules, rudeness was quite unacceptable. She felt just awful for embarrassing him. Although she had to admit, Biker Boy and blushing weren’t exactly synonymous.
His gap-toothed grin was sheepish. “It’s okay. So are they? Your eyes,” he added meaningfully.
She grinned for the second time that day. “Yes, they’re real. And I really am sorry. Uh…can I buy you a drink? You know, as an apology.”
Biker Boy took a step back and swept his beady blue gaze over her. “Don’t you have someplace to go?”
“Not until the tow truck driver shows up for my car.” Even then, she had no particular destination in mind, but she’d worry about that later. From now on, she was going to make her own rules. Carly’s Law, she thought, with a mutinous lift of her chin, would be to live life as it comes, and do it with gusto. Provided she could shelve the guilt plaguing her, she might even be able to start living by her new laws. Once she decided what they were, of course.
She stooped to gather her dress, then smiled up at Biker Boy. “Do you have a name?” she asked. She didn’t think he’d appreciate the nickname she’d given him, but the faded Harley-Davidson motorcycle T-shirt was rather telling.
“Benny,” he said, flashing her a grin again.
“Well, Benny,” she said, tossing the train over her arm. “I have a drink waiting for me at the bar, so unless you plan to join me, you’ll have to excuse me.”
She marched back inside the barroom and headed straight for the bar and the lone drink waiting for her on a paper napkin. With a little concentration and ingenuity, she managed to climb onto the bar stool despite the weight of her dress. She set her bag in front of her, reached for the glass and took her first very un-ladylike drink of straight Scotch.
The fiery brew instantly seared her throat. Her stomach roiled, then ignited into a ball of flame. What had the bartender given her? Lighter fluid?
She coughed, sputtered, then wheezed out a breath. Undaunted, she downed another fraction of whiskey. The second drink felt no better than the first.
Benny and his friend approached her, occupying a bar stool on either side of her. “This is Joe.” Benny introduced his friend with a crook of his thumb. “He thought your eyes were fake.”
Carly looked over at Joe. He wasn’t quite as homely as Benny, but someone needed to have a serious discussion with him about personal hygiene.
“Are you a mechanic by any chance?” she asked, wondering how anyone could have that much grease under his fingernails and not spend his day beneath the hood of someone’s car.
Joe grinned. Joe had all of his teeth, she noticed. “I fix lawn mowers.”
Carly nodded, then took another drink of whiskey. Too bad, she thought. Maybe she could’ve gotten him to take a look at her car and figure out why it had died.
By her fourth attempt at the Scotch, she’d started to feel just a teensy bit numb. Numb was good. Numb didn’t allow room for guilt or regrets.
Someone fired up the jukebox again, and a series of alarms sounded, followed by the mellow strum of an electric guitar. Benny signaled for the bartender, who took his sweet time. “What’ll it be boys?” she asked them, flashing Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome a grin that only made his frown deepen.
“I thought I told you one drink,” he said, his voice a heck of lot smoother than the alcohol he served. He flipped the cap off two bottles of beer and set them in front of Benny and Joe.
“Give her a break, Wilde,” Joe said. “She’s waiting for a tow truck.”
Wilde looked at her with hard eyes. “She doesn’t belong here.”
“She has a name,” Carly said before draining her glass. “And it’s Carly. And Carly wants another—” she pointed at her empty glass, trying like the devil to remember what she’d just ordered “—another one of these.”
Those dark chocolate eyes narrowed, but she ignored that and concentrated on his face. He has a nice chin, she thought. Strong and square. And those eyes. A soft sigh escaped her lips. A woman could easily get lost in all that intensity.
A series of little tingles skirted along her spine, then spread outward over her tummy, making her feel warm and cozy. If this was the way alcohol made people feel, no wonder such a large majority of the population imbibed on occasion.
Wilde braced his hands on the bar and leaned forward. She watched in fascination as his biceps strained against the fabric of his white T-shirt. The urge to trace her fingers along all that muscle was strong. Too strong, she thought, and frowned. Funny, but she’d never once considered doing that to her