Slow Ride by Erin McCarthy Page A

if you’d spent the night knocking boots.”
    “Horizontal shuffle? Knocking boots? Are you afraid to say ‘sex,’ Uncle Johnny?” he said, deflecting from the fact that he agreed. It would have been much better to have woken up this morning with Tuesday wrapped around him than his dog curled at his feet.
    “I can say sex. And that’s not the point. The point is if you’re thirty and you’re not married, you should at least be boinking everything in reach.”
    “Boink?” Diesel laughed. “What am I, an ’80s frat boy? Seriously, don’t worry about my sex life.”
    He was worrying enough about it for the both of them.
    His phone buzzed again. Tuesday’s not answering her phone .
    Hmm. “Evan says she’s not answering her phone. What do you think that means?”
    “It means she’s hungover and wishing everyone would leave her the hell alone so she can die in peace.”
    Probably that was true. But what if she’d had blood alcohol poisoning? Passed out in the bathroom and hit her head on the toilet and was unconscious? Diesel started to think maybe he shouldn’t have left her alone. He could have stayed and slept on her couch, but he hadn’t wanted to invade her privacy. “Maybe I should check on her.”
    “I’m sure she’s fine.”
    Another text came in. She’s late for the wedding brunch .
    “Shit.” Her car was still at the reception hall. “She is supposed to be at some brunch and she’s not there and I realized we left her car at the hall last night when I drove her home. She’s probably hungover and stranded. I should go over there.” Patting his pockets, Diesel found his keys in the left side and pulled them out.
    “Alright. That’s probably the right thing to do. Who is this girl, by the way?”
    “Tuesday Jones.”
    “Bob’s daughter?”
    “Yeah. She’s having a rough time of it since he passed away.”
    “I imagine so.” His uncle eyeballed him. “Probably not someone you want to get involved with right now.”
    “No?” he said mildly. He knew his uncle spoke out of concern and he was probably more right than wrong, but Diesel couldn’t get Tuesday out of his head. That much he knew.
    “No. Now Ellie on the other hand, is totally date-worthy.”
    Diesel laughed. “You don’t even know that. You’re just saying it because now you want to win.”
    “That’s probably true.” Johnny slapped him on the back. “But you’ll see. Hot tamale, that one is.”
    No doubt about it. “I’m not interested,” he repeated, images of a girl in a pepper suit dancing toward him popping into his head.
    Funny that a pile of chewed-up coconut in his hand seemed way more appealing.
     
     
    TUESDAY turned her head in bed and instantly regretted it. The room spun and her stomach heaved.
    Damn. She was hungover. Big-time.
    Why did the fun of a good escapist buzz always come at the price of a pounding head and a sour stomach? It wasn’t fair.
    Prying an eye open, she saw that her phone was on the nightstand, but couldn’t muster the strength to pick it up and see what time it was. Then she saw the big glass of water sitting there beckoning like nirvana, and two aspirin resting beside it.
    Diesel must have done that. Tuesday was equal parts thrilled and mortified. She really wanted the water and she tentatively stretched her arm and shaky hand out for it. What a guy. What a seriously thoughtful guy. But it was also a little more than humiliating to think what a hot mess she must have been by the time he had dumped her into bed.
    Not her best foot forward.
    Oh, well. Nothing she could do about it, and she hadn’t done anything truly inappropriate. She had flirted with him, but big deal. She was just as likely to do that sober. Lying on his lap had been a bit much, but it wasn’t like he’d hated it. She was more worried about the fact that she seemed to be wearing nothing but a bra and panties and couldn’t remember taking her bridesmaid dress off. Hopefully she had peeled it off after