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.
Bang, bang, he shot me down.
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 down to pick it up, but just as she would have fallen face-first on the floor, someone caught her.
She looked up at her savior. The pirate. Damn, he was so good-looking.
“You are so good-looking.” Crap, did she just say that aloud? She thought she had. The words might have been thick and slurred in her mouth, but she did think she’d said them. And he understood, because a big, almost lazy smile turned up his lips.
“So good-looking,” she repeated as if she couldn’t control herself.
She couldn’t control herself. She leaned heavily against him. His arms moved tighter around her.
“Thank you, gorgeousth,” he said, his words sounding as slurred as her own. She felt his hands on her back, sliding downward. And his lips on her neck, warm and wonderful.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, loving the feeling of him against her, kissing her. She opened her eyes, focusing just briefly on the industrial fluorescent lights on the ceiling. Then everything swirled and blurred, except the pirate’s pleasurable touch. Then she drifted, lost in a confusing haze.
Chapter Five
DUNGEONS AND DRAG QUEENS
DAMMIT, Drake thought, did these bitches have to wake him up the same way every goddamn morning? He was really tired of getting a boot to the ass as a wakeup call. And this kick was particularly forceful this morning. Not to mention whoever did the kicking had an unusually large foot and one sturdy boot.
He groaned, letting his head fall to the side as he struggled to stay asleep, willing his body to just move with the sway of the ship. The longer he slept the less he had to deal with his situation. He made another noise low in his throat. His shoulders and wrists ached from the manacles. But even worse than that was his head—it throbbed, an almost crippling pain ricocheting around his skull. Probably from dehydration and lack of sleep.