Awk-Weird (Ice Knights, #2)(7)

“If I could have everyone’s attention,” the DJ said over the music, loud enough to clear the questions from Cole’s head. “It’s time for the garter and bouquet toss.”

A chair was brought out to the dance floor and a laughing Lucy was led to it by the redheaded giant, Frankie, she’d married. As she sat down, Frankie whispered something in her ear that had the toughest, no-nonsense shark of a public relations crisis management guru blushing, and then he reached under her dress and pulled her lace garter down her leg.

“If we can get all the single men to line up at the far end of the dance floor and the single ladies at the opposite end here by me,” the DJ said.

Cole had absolutely no intention of moving from his seat, but Christensen and Petrov each hooked an arm under his, hauled him up out of his seat, and force-marched him to where all the single dudes were milling about.

“I’m not catching that thing,” Cole said, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets.

Christensen just grinned that never-lost-a-tooth miracle smile of his. “Don’t worry, the plan is for us to catch it for you.”

“You two are assholes,” he said with a sigh.

Petrov lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Something you already knew to be true.”

“One,” the DJ said, starting the countdown.

Frankie twirled the garter around one finger and eyeballed the crowd of single guys. Cole took a step back deeper into the crowd, only to be shoved none too gently back to the front by a pair of his line mates who really needed to get a hobby or a girlfriend or both.

“Two.”

Frankie pulled back on the garter like it was a slingshot and aimed at a part of the crowd farthest away from Cole. He looked over his shoulders at Christensen and Petrov and shot a smirk at them. The only way to keep him at the front was if they both stayed there blocking his path, but that left the entire rest of the crowd unguarded if they were going to snatch that garter out of midair for him as they’d planned. It was the curse of the double-team.

“Three.”

At the last second, Frankie pivoted and shot the garter straight at Cole. It flew through the air like a puck zinging toward the goal. He didn’t mean to reach up and grab the flying lace, but muscle memory was a helluva thing. The garter was in his hand before he realized he was reaching for it.

Motherfucker.

He shoved the damn thing into his pocket as fast as he could and ignored the self-satisfied laughter coming from the two chuckleheads behind him. Maybe no one noticed.

“And we have our bachelor winner,” the DJ said. “Now, all the single ladies lined up on my side of the dance floor, get ready because here comes the bouquet!”

Lucy turned her back to the gaggle of women, did a couple of I’m-about-to-toss-it-but-didn’t moves, and then—finally—let the bouquet go. It arced across the opening before smacking Tess hard in the face and then falling to the floor as everyone in the room let out a collective gasp.

“I’m all right,” Tess said as she picked red rose petals out of her hair. “Tis only a flesh wound.”

Old school Monty Python? He grinned despite his annoyance at the whole garter thing.

“Let’s give a hand to our lucky guests who will get the dancing started,” the DJ said, his shaking voice obviously an attempt to cover his laughter.

The fuck? A dance? No. This whole carrying-around-Lucy’s-garter thing was weird enough without adding in a very public slow dance with the woman he’d gotten weddinged with last night.

He didn’t move. Neither did Tess. Instead they both stood there on opposite sides of the dance floor, her looking just as horrified as he felt.

“Mr. Garter Belt and Ms. Bouquet to the Face.” The DJ laughed at his own joke. “You’re up.”

“But I didn’t catch it,” Tess said, her voice going up at the last word.

No one seemed to be listening to her valid argument, though. Instead, her people were doing pretty much the same thing as his—shoving him out onto the dance floor as a slow song started playing. Last night, he’d curled an arm around her waist and pulled her close without a second thought. Not so much today. Without the high of the trivia game and the social lubrication of a few drinks, everything seemed to move slower with a higher level of awkward.

“I’m not gonna turn into a stalker,” she said as she settled her left hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to worry.”

Way to go, dumb-ass, you made her feel like shit. You should bottle that talent. “Who said I was worried?”

She looked up at him as they moved around the dance floor, filling up with other couples. “So you do that a lot and don’t have weird stalker problems?”

“Do what?” How had he not noticed last night that she had one blue eye and one green? It was subtle, only a few shades different, and she was wearing glasses, adding in a protective layer between her and the world, but still he should have noticed. “You have heterochromia iridum.”

“It’s not uncommon,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “More than two hundred thousand cases are diagnosed each year, but don’t change the subject. I know you’re still hung up on your ex. I have no delusions that last night was anything more than just us getting weddinged.”

Her no-nonsense declaration hit with the sharp crack of a stick to the cheek. For reasons unknown, it burned, stung, and just might have drawn blood. Not that it mattered. It didn’t. It wasn’t like he was interested in her anyway.