Runaway Bride’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #1)

4. Emmett

4

emmett

You never know who—or what—you’re going to see at a downtown Nashville bar. Doesn’t matter the day or time, the people watching is always top notch.

Granted, I don’t come down here often. Too loud. Too many people. I’d much rather be at my quiet house with my dog and a ballgame on in the background. Reading a book. But some days a man just needs a drink and a burger after a long week.

And to say I had the week from hell is an understatement. My business partner and former college roommate, Simon Banks, is on the longest paternity leave in history. And even if he was working, his sister is getting married today, and he insisted he needed to be available for any impending wedding duties. Five of the properties I manage for our business all of a sudden had major repairs that I needed to coordinate to fix. A site we’re building on suddenly had permit issues I had to deal with. And a storm just hit our Florida rentals, which means I have to head down there next week to check the damage.

So yes, a Jim Beam and Coke and a burger was what the doctor ordered.

Luckily it’s still the afternoon, so it’s not crazy yet, but the usual suspects of the Nashville summer bar scene are here. Bachelorettes and their crews whooping it up. Corporate suit guys playing credit card roulette after eighteen holes of golf. Tourists who don’t think they look like tourists but are given away by watching the aspiring country music artist playing on stage and thinking it’s the best thing they’ve ever heard.

And a woman sitting across the bar from me in a wedding gown.

Okay, that one isn’t something you normally see.

“Here’s your burger. Can I get you anything else?”

I don’t even look at the BBQ bacon cheeseburger I ordered or the bartender who’s delivering it. I can’t take my eyes off the woman, who looks slightly familiar but I can’t put my finger on it. “Is she okay?”

“I’m not sure,” he says, looking over to her then back to me. “She got here about an hour before you. Asked for a lemon drop martini then quickly changed to straight shots of tequila. I’ve been trying to pace her out and give her water, but since I have a feeling she’s not wearing that dress because she lost a bet, I’m fighting a losing battle.”

The bartender walks away, but my gaze doesn’t move.

Yes, she’s beautiful. That’s partly why I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s been looking down most of the time, but from the glimpses I’ve gotten, she’s a stunner. Beautiful features. Blonde hair that is pulled up under a rather large veil. I’m not hip to wedding styles—or any fashion styles really—but even I know what she’s wearing on her head is a bit much. Her makeup is a mess from crying, which breaks my heart.

Why is she here? Is she okay? Who did this to her? Who, or what, happened to drive her to a downtown Nashville bar on a Saturday afternoon still wearing her dress? I know it’s none of my business. I don’t know this woman from Eve. But something makes me want to be sure she’s okay.

If my sister Maddie were here, she’d joke that this is my Prince Charming complex coming to the surface. You save one kitten from a tree when you’re thirteen to make your baby sister stop crying and you’re tagged with the “my hero” persona for life.

I’m no Prince Charming. Far from it. I’m just a country boy from East Tennessee who was raised to hold doors open. To say please and thank you. To help those who need it. I can’t stand by and see people hurt. Or cry.

Or get hit on by douchebags.

Just as I’m about to pick up my burger, I watch as one of the corporate douches walks over to her. What makes any man think it’s appropriate to hit on a woman wearing a wedding dress at a bar is beyond me. Especially one who’s clearly distressed.

She looks over at him, and I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I know a forced smile when I see one. She’s shaking her head and trying to look away. To look at anything but him.

Which in any universe means “no” and “leave me alone.”

But apparently this motherfucker isn’t from our solar system because he inches closer to her. Her body stiffens. He leans in. She leans back in retreat.

My blood pressure spikes.

That’s it. I can’t watch this anymore. I see her say the word “no” and shake her head even more as I push away from the bar. I feel like I’m running, though it probably looks like a march into battle, as I make my way around to where he’s hovering over her. When I make my way to her side of the bar, I push down the urge to just grab and punch the shit out of him. Instead, I stop and catch her eye, making sure she knows I’m a friendly face. See if she gives me any clues of how to proceed.

Crystal blue eyes meet mine. They’re sad. A little scared. Pleading.

And so fucking gorgeous.

I force myself not to get lost in her eyes and make a slight motion to the asshole before looking back to her, hoping she can read my mind. I’m going to defend her in whatever way she wants, but I’m not going to insert myself into a fight if she doesn’t want me to. I don’t mind throwing hands first. Won’t be the first time. Probably won’t be the last. But I won’t do it unless she wants me to.

When she nods with a worried look, I don’t hesitate. Especially when I hear the next words out of his mouth.

“I mean, if you’re not taking that dress off for your husband tonight, why don’t you take it off for me?”

“The fuck she will!” I pull him away by his back collar and throw him behind me. He stumbles as he tries to catch his balance, which gives me just enough time to put myself between him and her. “You’re going to leave. Right the fuck now.”

He finally regains his balance and does his best to puff out his chest. “What the hell, man?”

“She said no. No means no. Didn’t anyone teach you that?”

I’m staring down at this man—literally because I have at least five inches on him—but I’ll say one thing, he’s not backing down. Then again, that’s probably the liquid courage and sheer stupidity taking over.

“How the hell do you know? Were you here? I don’t think so. Me and the lovely bride here were just getting to know each other. So you can just go ahead and fuck off.”

“Listen here and listen good.” My voice is deep as I take a step closer to him. “You’re going to walk away. You’re going to go grab your friends and not come near her. Actually, let’s make sure of it and just leave this bar all together. I think it’ll be best for everyone involved.”

“And why would I do that?”

I take another step closer, the height difference becoming more apparent as I look down at him. Am I trying to intimidate him? Yes. Is it working? Judging by his eyes bugging out of his head, yes.

“Because if you don’t, the only article of someone else’s clothing you’ll be removing tonight is my boot from your ass. Now. Get the hell out of here before I throw you out myself. Got it?”

He rolls his eyes, but not before I see him take another huge gulp of air. “Whatever. She’s not even worth it. Dude probably dodged a bullet not marrying her.”

I don’t bother replying, wanting this interaction to be over with. That’s why I’m startled when I hear the most feral scream I’ve ever heard in my life.

“You fucking asshole!”

Everything in front of me happens all of a sudden, and somehow also in slow motion. First I see a giant white cloud run past me, sounding like a banshee that just freed herself from barbed wire that’s still digging into her as she chases down her next victim. I turn back to the idiot, who looks more terrified of her than he ever did of me.

I can’t say I blame him. I’m not the one she’s going after, and I’m petrified.

She’s two steps away from cold-cocking this guy before I snap back to reality and pick her up around her waist. Shit…she’s fucking strong! Her arms and legs are flailing, and it’s taking a good amount of strength to hold her back. I wish I could see his face, but I really can’t see much past the dress that keeps floating up with every swing she makes.

“I would’ve been a great wife! I was going to be a great wife! He’s the one who was getting spanked before our wedding! SPANKED! WITH A FLOGGER! You don’t know what you’re talking about, you little-dicked fuck boy!”

I peek around this five-foot-nothing firecracker only to see the asshole and his friends making a beeline for the exit. Probably for the best. I don’t know how much longer I can keep hold of her.

And I have a feeling her screams could hit a few more octaves if she really wanted to.

“You good, Tiger?”

She nods as I lower her back to the ground. The second her feet land, she does her best to smooth down her wedding dress. I have to stifle a laugh because she’s not exactly having the best luck. Though I don’t think it’s her fault. I don’t know much about mechanics of wedding dresses, but it looks like it has a mind of its own. I mean, it’s big enough to host a small colony of animals, so I’m guessing it also has smart technology built in.

“What are you laughing at?”

Oh, shit. Now the banshee has her sights set on me.

“Nothing.”

She narrows her eyes. “Are you laughing at my dress?”

“No, ma’am.”

Her face is back to feral. “Don’t ma’am me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I internally cringe for saying it again, because I think she’s about to bite my head off. Literally. But I also don’t think this is the time to tell her I call every woman whose name I don’t know “ma’am.”

“I’m not a ma’am!”

She starts pacing in circles, which makes her dress do this weird funnel thing. I’m just going to stand here because I’m a little scared to say anything, or move. Yet at the same time I feel like I need to be here to catch her when she eventually trips on the approximate fifty pounds of fabric. “I’m…I’m a...” She stops for a second. Is she thinking? Going to scream again? “I’m a mess!”

Tiger melts to the floor, her wedding dress pooling around her as she starts crying in the middle of the bar. I look around, and the few people who are here are definitely staring at her. I see the bartender coming around to make sure she’s okay, but I wave him off.

I got her.

I don’t know why that’s the only thought going through my head right now, but it is.

“Hey,” I say as I kneel down so I’m eye level with her. “What do you need?”

She looks at me like this is the most off-the-wall question I could’ve asked. “Excuse me?”

“What do you need?” I repeat .

“I don’t know if there’s a list long enough to answer that question now.”

“Fair,” I say. I don’t know how she’s making jokes right now, but it’s earning her points in my book. “Let’s start with the easy stuff. Water? A Lyft? To follow that guy out of the bar so you can get a clean shot?”

This earns me a small smile. “How about we start with helping me up?”

“Of course.” I pop up and hold out my hands for her, gently pulling her to her feet. “There we go.”

She tries again to smooth her dress, which gives me a chance to really look at her.

She’s much younger than I realized. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s around my sister’s age, so in her mid-twenties, meaning a solid ten years younger than me at thirty-seven. I also didn’t realize how short she was. I’d have to guess at least a foot shorter than me, and I believe I saw high heels under that dress. I don’t know why that makes me smile, but it does.

My smile only gets bigger when she looks up at me. Her cheeks are red from the combination of fighting and crying at the bar. Her eyes are pooled with new tears that haven’t leaked out. But that only enhances the blue in them. Then there are her lips. They’re pouty and perfect, heart shaped. I’m guessing at one point today she was wearing red lipstick. Lips that, under any other circumstance, I’d be figuring out a way to kiss.

She’s a mess. The most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen.

No. Stop it right the fuck now, Collins.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m no better than the douchebag who hit on her. This girl has clearly gone through it today, and all I can think about is kissing her? Not only am I a fucking asshole but also a creepy old man.

I need to snap out of this. I need to leave. I need to make sure she’s okay and get the hell home to my silence and my dog.

“Can I ask you a favor?” Tiger says.

“Of course. ”

“Can you sit with me?” She signals back to the bar. “I…I don’t have anywhere else to go and, well, after all that, I’d rather not be alone. I also don’t know if they take ApplePay because I don’t have my purse so I might need some assistance with that.”

Fuck…I don’t think I could say no even if I wanted to…

“Sure,” I say with a sigh. “I guess I should introduce myself. My name’s…”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No names today. If I tell you my name and you tell me yours then this whole day gets a lot more real, and I can’t handle any more of that. I need to escape as long as I can, and if that means no one calling me by my name, or what my name was supposed to be, that—that just sounds fantastic.”

Somehow that makes sense. “Okay. But on one condition.”

Her face gets a worried look. “What’s that?”

I smile to try and reassure her. “I get to pick your name, Tiger .”

The smallest smile graces her face, and it’s in this moment I decided that my goal tonight is to see her real smile. Because I bet it’s fucking gorgeous.

“Okay, I’m Tiger and you’re…” She trails off. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s okay,” I extend my hand to guide her back to the bar. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

When we sit back down, the bartender places my burger and drink in front of me, and two shots of what looks to be whiskey.

“Should we toast?”

She nods as we pick up our glasses. “To not getting married.”

I clink her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”