Fangs for Nothing(9)

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

The man, who she now saw was dressed as a pirate—damn, this is an odd wedding even by New Orleans standards—smiled. A roguish smile that suited his attire.

“I’m sorry to catch you off guard, cupcake,” he cajoled. “But I couldn’t resist a quick moment with my lady.”

Then he jerked his head slightly and his dark eyes shifted in the same direction.

Josie Lynn frowned. Was there something actually wrong with this guy? Maybe he wasn’t quite right. Some of her anger subsided.

Then he did it again, a little more adamantly this time, and she realized he was silently gesturing to the tall, latex-clad woman next to him. So the kiss had been for this chick’s benefit. Although from the sour frown on the woman’s heavily made-up face, benefit might not be the right word. She looked pissed. And she had a crop.

Josie Lynn took a step away from her, slipping on some of the slimy sashimi.

The pirate reached out and caught her elbow to steady her, but she jerked out of his hold.

Okay, now Josie Lynn was truly pissed, too. She so did not need to be a part of this guy’s drama. He could use someone else to make the plastic-encased woman jealous, or scare her away, or whatever he was doing. She didn’t care. She did, however, very much care that she was now standing in the middle of over a hundred dollars’ worth of sushi-grade yellowfin.

She started to open her mouth to tell him so, but caught herself. If he were just some random drunken jerk, she probably would have socked him in the gut and given him a very sharp, very pointed piece of her mind. But this wasn’t just some drunken jerk; this was a guest at the wedding.

Assaulting one of the guests, physically or verbally, was not going to get her the stellar reviews she needed from the bride and groom. Presumably they liked this guy, since they’d asked him to be a part of their special day, and complaints from him could be the kiss of death for this job, literally. So, even though she wanted to gag on her own smile, she forced a wide, charming one toward the pirate-turned-kissing-bandit.

“You know I love our moments, too, but not while I’m working, sugar plum,” she cooed, mocking the ridiculous endearment he’d used, then dropped a pointed look at the mess around her. “It makes me clumsy.”

She couldn’t quite keep the annoyance out of her voice, even as she continued to smile.

“I am sorry about that, cupcake,” the pirate said, his dark, intense eyes twinkling with amusement. He was enjoying this.

God, she hated men.

He started to crouch down to clean up the mess, but Josie Lynn placed a hand on his arm; she noted the feeling of his bicep, bulging lean and hard, under his puffy shirt.

“No, honey bear, I’ll get it,” she said, annoyance clear in the tightness of her words, but this time directed more toward herself than at him. How could she be thinking about his damn muscles when profit was scattered all over the floor and stuck to the bottoms of her shoes? She might have blown this whole gig.

No, he might have blown it. Damn men.

But he stopped and stood, towering over her.

She dropped her hand from his arm, flexing her fingers as she did so, as if that would banish the memory of his lean strength and how much she’d liked the feeling of him. It didn’t work, but she gathered herself enough to wave over Eric, one of the college kids that worked for her.

“Get a broom and dustpan,” she told him, her no-nonsense demeanor somewhat returned. “And a mop.”

Eric nodded, but didn’t rush off quite as quickly as she would have liked. Making minimum wage only earned minimum speed.

So, even though she wanted to get away from this man as soon as possible, she had to wait, not wanting to leave the mess unattended. All she needed was someone slipping on raw fish or getting puree on their fetishwear.

She shot a glance to the woman in the shiny PVC catsuit . . . of course, the puree would wipe right off of that.

“I can wait here until he returns,” the pirate said, and this time when Josie Lynn met his gaze, she saw what looked like flashes of remorse in his dark eyes. That wasn’t much compensation, however.

But rather than respond to him, she remained rooted in the middle of the mess and scanned the courtyard for the bride and groom. As long as they still appeared happy, she should be okay. No harm, no foul. Aside from being out the pricey cost of the tuna. She could hardly charge them for an appetizer no one got to eat.

“I am really sorry, cupcake,” the pirate said from closer beside her, his husky voice no longer dripping with the syrupy-sweet quality he’d used earlier.

Josie Lynn stopped her search of the crowd and raised an eyebrow at him, not quite believing his apology. Men like this only said they were sorry when it furthered their cause. She’d seen it a dozen times . . . the last time less than three weeks ago.