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

5. Emmett

5

emmett

“You’re kidding me? He stole from your wedding account and maxed out your joint credit card? And you found this out last night?”

“Yup! He did and I did!” Tiger slams her hands on the bar. “Credit card declined. No money in account. Vendors weren’t going to show up. And you want to know the worst part?”

“That wasn’t the worst part?”

“Nope. The worst part was that I was going to go through with it. He tried to lie to me. Only reason he told me any part of the truth was because I caught him in a trap. He had every excuse. Every reason. Hell, he might not even be telling the truth now. And I was still going to marry him. Forgive him. For richer or poorer and all that bullshit. That’s the worst.”

“You were in love.” I mean, I assume she was. That’s why you’d get married, right? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seriously dated anyone, let alone have thoughts of marriage. But I assume love has something to do with it.

“I was stupid.” She finishes off her beer in record time. Good lord this girl can drink. “Jim…why was I stupid? Was I in love or stupid?”

“Jim? ”

She nods down to the drink in front of me. “Your drink. You’re drinking Jim Beam and Coke. I thought we could test run Jim as your nickname.”

“Not the worst I’ve had,” I say, taking a sip. “But I think you can do better.”

She thinks about it for a second before nodding. “You’re right. I can. I can do better with nicknames. With men. With…” She stops for a second before picking up her beer. “With drinking!”

I laugh. “I think you’re doing just fine with that.”

“I think that’s the only thing.” She hangs her head, which causes her veil to cover her face. It would be comical if this wasn’t so heartbreaking. “I’m an idiot, Jim. Can you believe that I almost married a man who spent our entire savings on a Ponzi scheme and hookers? Though the hooker I met was very nice. I don’t know if there were others.”

Did I hear her right? “You met his hooker? You mean you were actually there for the whipping and spanking thing you were screaming about earlier?”

“It was flogging. And yes.”

Tiger throws back her who-knows-what-count shot of whiskey. The fact that she isn’t flinching when the burn hits her is quite impressive.

Then again, we are both very, very drunk. Me not as much as her, but holy shit, this little thing is giving me a run for my money.

“I did. Well, I feel like hooker has a negative connotation. Sex work is work, you know? And she was more of a dominatrix. Her name is Nadia. She looked like a Nadia. She told me I was pretty. That was so sweet of her.”

How is she saying all of this like it’s everyday conversation?

“I didn’t know he liked to be flogged. I smacked his ass once, and he told me I was too rough. Oh, and did I mention this all happened an hour before our wedding? In our honeymoon suite? ”

I nearly drop my drink. “You found out about the money thing and the hooker thing in twenty-four hours?”

“You bet your sweet ass I did.” She only pauses to take a sip of the refilled beer that magically appeared in front of her. What kind of alcohol hasn’t she drank tonight? “Which is how I ended up at the bar. I got in the elevator and just ran. Didn’t go get my purse. Didn’t tell my family or friends. Luckily had my phone in the handy dandy pockets I had put into this fugly wedding dress.”

“Fugly?”

“Yes. Fugly. A combination of fucking and ugly.”

“Oh. My bad. Continue.”

She shrugs, toying with the pint of beer. “That’s about it. I caught him. I ran. I texted my mom and siblings that the wedding was off before turning off my phone. Then I walked into the bar. You know the rest.”

Damn. I knew shit had to have been bad for a woman to end up alone at a bar in the middle of the afternoon in a wedding dress. But that…no one should have one of those things happen to you, let alone both in less than a day.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “That’s…a lot.”

She nods and lets a silence come down between us. This isn’t the first time since we’ve sat down that this happened, and I’m guessing it won’t be the last. But like hell am I going to try and insert random conversation or questions I have no business asking. This is her rodeo. I’m just along for the ride.

“Woo! I’m getting married!”

The announcement of an incoming bachelorette party grabs everyone’s attention.

“Ignore them,” I whisper to Tiger, who is currently shooting death glares at the bachelorette and her crew of twenty that are skipping up to the bar.

Tiger nods as she turns to look at them. Because of her rather large veil, I can’t see the look she’s giving to the soon-to-be-bride, but I’d guess it’s not a friendly one .

“Oh my God! Bride bestie!” The bachelorette skips—literally skips—over to us. Between her high-pitched tone and her barely-there dress, I doubt Tiger and this girl would be besties.

And I immediately hate myself for even thinking that word in my head.

“Don’t do it,” I hear Tiger say. Which makes Bachelorette Barbie go from bubbly to confused.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Don’t do it. Marriage is a fucking sham. Men are liars. Get out while you can.”

Barbie tsks. “My man doesn’t lie. He loves me.”

Tiger laughs. And not just a little laugh. A loud, straight from the gut laugh that gets everyone’s attention. It’s almost the laugh of a mad villain in a Bond movie. “That’s what they all say. Ask him about his sex worker. I wonder if he has the same one mine did. If it’s Nadia, she’s at least good people.”

Now, I realize I don’t know Tiger well. But it's going on three hours since we met, and in that time she’s been in one fight. And I have a feeling another is about to happen. Especially when I see Barbie give her a onceover.

“Whatever. I keep my man satisfied. He’d never call someone like that. Then again, if I looked like you do right now, I can’t say I blame the guy.”

Ah fuck…

Tiger doesn’t say anything. No, like a true wild animal, she just pounces. Somehow she launches herself from the barstool at Barbie in a haze of white fabric and guttural screams, her feet never touching the ground.

Wait…is she pulling her hair?

“I gave him everything!” Tiger yells as she rips off the bachelorette’s tiara. “And this is his mother’s dress! I was trying to be a good wife! He’s the one who stole money from me. He’s the one who fucked around! I suck good dick!”

The bartender looks at me and I nod, knowing that we’ve now just officially outstayed our welcome. Thankfully I paid the tab after the last round.

“Let’s go, Tiger,” I say as I pull her off Barbie. “I think it’s time to relocate.”

Her arms and legs are still flailing as I throw her over my shoulder. Which is the easier way to carry her, but I didn't account for the monstrosity of a wedding dress flying in my face due to her feet kicking wildly. I can barely see where I’m going when I hear the final words from Tiger as we exit the bar.

“Don’t do it! Save yourself!”

“How the hell? How do you keep making them?”

Tiger does a little victory dance after bouncing the quarter into the shot glass.

Again.

“Drink up, Cap!”

I do, because that’s how the game’s played. “Cap? Is that the nickname now?”

“Yup! Tiger and Cap. For Captain America, obviously,” she says as she takes another sip of her beer in front of a devilish smile. “You came in and saved the day, just like my favorite super hero. Though I’m not sure if you have America’s Ass. Maybe Tennessee’s Ass. I haven’t checked it out yet. Stand up. Let me get a look at ya.”

I suddenly feel my cheeks turn red. Am I blushing? I don’t blush. Why am I blushing?

“I like Cap,” I say, ignoring the ass comment. “Better than Prince Charming.”

Tiger’s face goes from playful to terrified in a heartbeat. “Wait? Who calls you Prince Charming? Oh my God! A wife? A girlfriend! Oh my God! I’m a runaway bride and a home wrecker!”

“No, no,” I hurriedly say as she dramatically drops her head to the table. “No wife. No girlfriend. Just a little sister who has annoyed me with a Prince Charming nickname since we were kids.”

She peeks out from underneath the veil. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Good. That’s good.” Tiger sits up and takes a reassuring breath. “Not the nickname. I mean it’s cute. I like it and it’s fitting, but not if you hate it. But it’s good that I’m not forcing another woman’s man to hang out with her on the most pathetic day of her life. That wouldn’t make me much better than…”

Tiger’s words trail off, but I know where she was going. This has happened a few times tonight. Seemingly innocent conversation that couldn’t be farther from what was supposed to happen turns suddenly into topics too close for comfort.

More specifically, about her ex. Who I hate. I don’t know him. I don’t even know his name. But I know if he walked into the bar now I wouldn’t wait for her permission to lay him the fuck out.

How could she want to marry that guy? I mean, I know it couldn’t all be bad. Right? But this woman…this beautiful, drunk, semi-dramatic, slightly crazy spitfire of a woman had to have better options than a man who apparently is a thief and a cheater. Right?

Then again, who am I to question decisions about marriage? I was raised by a woman who thought marriages and relationships were things you collected.

“Here you go,” the waitress says, putting down two shots in front of us. “Anything else?”

I look to her, then over to Tiger. “When did you order these?”

She shrugs and puts on a fake innocent face. It’s really bad.

And really adorable.

“No clue,” she says. “I bet the Booze Fairy brought it for us.”

This makes the waitress laugh. “You two enjoy.”

I give her a side eye. “Last one.”

She salutes me with the wrong hand. “Yes, sir.”

“I mean it. ”

The devilish smile reappears. “What’s the matter, Cap? Can’t hang?”

“I can hang.”

Her eyes glimmer with mischief. “Prove it.”

Now, I’m a gentleman. I’m here to make sure she’s safe. That she doesn’t get so drunk that she ends up in a dangerous situation.

But what I don’t do is turn down a dare. Or a challenge. Or anything that can be construed as one. It’s why I’m always everyone’s first pick for teams. It’s why I was always Simon’s beer pong partner in college. I don’t back away from a challenge.

And I never lose.

So what will one more shot hurt?

“Bring it on, Tiger.”

She makes a show of holding up the shot glass before clearing her throat. “To hookers with floggers and strangers at the bar saving the day!”

“It takes a village.”

We clink our glasses together, then hit the table before shooting back another shot of whiskey. Usually I pretend to be man enough to not take a chaser, but that went out the window four shots ago.

“Where did you learn to drink?” I ask between sips of the beer.

“University of Tennessee,” she says before holding her beer in the air. “Kappa Delta, baby!”

“No shit,” I say. “I went to UT too.”

She slams her beer down and her eyes double in size. “No way! When?”

“A long time before you did,” I joke.

“Oh, it can’t be that long,” she says. “I graduated in 2020.”

“Fuck me…” I don’t want to tell her that in 2020 I was wrapping up construction on my house. Or that I found my first gray hair. And if my drunk math is doing things correctly, she’s about tw enty-six years old. “Let’s just say that was a long time after I was there.”

“I’m betting you know someone in my family. I’m a third-generation Vol, and all my siblings went to UT. I’m the youngest of five. So I bet at some point you’d know someone in my family. Maybe my brother? He was there around the mid-2000s. Oh! Oh my God! I love this song!”

Any conversation of me knowing her brother, or any of her family out of the estimated 28,000 that go to the University of Tennessee each year, are forgotten as she jumps from the booth, her dress trailing behind her, as she makes her own dance floor in the middle of this Nashville dive bar.

And all I can do is sit back and watch. Not in a creepy way. Hopefully. I don’t mean for it to be like that. More in a…proud way? I don’t know what it is, but watching Tiger right now is something special.

This girl doesn’t give a shit that the entire bar is watching her. She’s dancing and singing without a care in the world, wearing a fugly wedding dress that’s now been through it and singing at the top of her lungs about keying a man’s car and slashing his tires. She’s horribly off key and her hair is a mess. She looks more like a zombie bride than one that was supposed to get married earlier today.

And all I can do is sit back, watch, and smile. Admire. I know she’s in pain. I know she’s hurting, and tomorrow everything is going to come crashing down on her. But for right now? In this moment? She’s going to let it all out however she needs to. And I say more power to her.

“Cap! Come over here!”

I shake my head. “I’m good.”

“Oh, come on!” She comes back over to the booth and grabs my hand. “Dance with me!”

I reluctantly get up, but not because I want to dance. I don’t dance. But more because I don’t want her making a scene. I’ve been to this bar a few times, and it takes a lot to get kicked out. That’s why I picked it. But the way Tiger’s going tonight, I wouldn’t put it past her.

She releases my hand when we get back to the makeshift dance floor and resumes dancing in her own world. I don’t move an inch because I have a feeling the combination of alcohol, dancing, and a dress that has its own zip code is about to catch up to her.

“Come on, Cap! This song is so fun!”

The words are barely out of her mouth before I watch her start to stumble to the ground. She tries to catch herself, but she somehow takes out two couples, knocks over a pub table, and runs into a waitress all in one swoop.

I bend over to pick her up from the floor. “Come on, Tiger. Time to go.”

“No!” She yells as she kicks her feet, sending her dress up in the air. “I gotta dance!”

“Dancin’ time’s over. Time to sober up.”

“You’re no fun.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You don’t have to carry me.”

I reach into the backseat of the Lyft and pick her up fireman style as we walk to my house. “You fell, therefore I do.”

“I’m not hurt.”

“You could’ve sprained your ankle.”

“I wouldn’t know, because I haven’t put any pressure on it.”

“Let’s be safe and not test that.” I stop in front of the keypad to my garage. “Can you open it up and type in my code? 1017?”

“Sure,” she says, though at the angle I’m holding her, it’s not the easiest. And let’s be real, she’s probably seeing double after what she drank tonight. The fact she hasn’t passed out yet is impressive and a little terrifying.

“Ta-da!” she exclaims as the door to my attached garage begins to open. “Also, you must be a very trusting person if you gave me your garage code before you even know my real name.”

I turn the door handle into my laundry room without dropping her. “If your drunk ass can find your way back to this house, and remember the code, I’ll let you break in. No questions asked.”

“Deal,” she says, and I have to chuckle as I hear her mumbling 0217 over and over again. “Here, let’s get you down. I need to let my dog out then I’ll get you ice for the ankle. And water for your liver.”

“Thanks, Cap. You’re too kind.”

I put her down in the living room as an excited Winnie comes racing through the house. I never leave her home this long alone, so I know she has to be dying to go outside.

“Oh my gosh! Puppy!” she squeals.

“She thinks she is,” I say as I guide my golden retriever, Winnie, to the patio door to let her outside. “She’s seven but has the excitement of a two-year-old.”

I leave Tiger as I hear her going on and on about what kind of dog she would want as I hurry to the kitchen to grab supplies. I’m glad she’s talking because that’s keeping her awake. The last thing I need is for her to pass out before she drinks at least one glass of water and takes a few aspirin. As I make my way back to the living room, I hear her laughter filling the air.

"Care to share what's so funny?"

"I always wanted to be carried over the threshold on my wedding night. Guess I still got my wish."

Fuck...I never even thought of that.

"I'm sorry," I say as I sit next to her. “I didn't mean?—"

"Don't apologize,” she says. “You’re the last person to apologize for anything. Plus, I need to thank you. I haven't said that tonight, and I should have said it no less than a hundred times.”

"You don't need to thank me."

"Yes, I do. You didn't need to come over and help me at the bar. You could’ve said no when I asked you to stay with me. So thank you. This day was shit, but you made it a little less shitty."

Warmth runs through my body at her praise. "I couldn't have left you."

"Most men would've."

"I'm not most men."

There's a moment between us...an electricity of some sort, but I quickly shut it down as I grab her ankle and bring it up to my lap so I can apply the ice pack.I begin to take off her shoes when I notice my hunch from earlier was right.

Stilettos. With a red sole.

Fuck me.

I might be a country boy at heart, but a woman in stilettos will be my downfall every single time.

Snap out of it. Right. The fuck. Now.You're drunk. And horny. It's been a while, but that's no excuse to be thinking any sort of thoughts about Tiger. She's drunk and depressed and had a hell of a day and is no less than ten years younger than you.

“You know I used to be that girl.”

I don't know what she's talking about, but I'm grateful for the change of subject.

“What girl?”

“The bachelorette." Tiger relaxes into the sofa."That was me just a few months ago, only my bachelorette party was in Miami. I had the same sash. Same tiara. Hell, I think we were wearing the same dress. It was like I was looking in a mirror.”

I resist making the comment that she's ten times more beautiful than Bachelorette Barbie.

“You’re not her,” I say. There. The truth. Just...disguised a bit.

She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “That’s where you’re wrong, Cap. I’m that girl down to the perfume and expensive jewelry. But thanks for trying to make me feel better."

I don't know what else I can say—if there is even anything to say—so I choose not to. I usually default to silence, but I have a feeling on most days that's not how Tiger operates. But in this moment, I think it's the remedy she needs.

I don't know how much time passes by when I hear an adorable snore. When I look over to see Tiger, passed out, still in her wedding dress, hair a mess, I can't help but smile. I know this has been the shittiest day of her life, and tomorrow might be shittier, when she goes back to reality, but I hope she wasn't lying when she said I made it a little less horrible.

Because this was one of the best days I've had in quite a while.

I carefully move her and do my best to gently pick her up. She stirs a little, but finds a nook in my shoulder to lay her head as I walk her down the hallway to my bedroom. I'd take her to my guest room, but I'm ninety percent surethere aren’t sheets on the bed. Most of the time that room is the place I store things when I don’t know where else to put them. Plus, the girl has been through it; the least I can do is let her sleep in a comfortable bed.

She stirs a little when I lay her down on top of my comforter. Her cell phone falls out of the pocket of the dress, so I plug it in and set it on the nightside table. I head to my closet and grab an extra blanket, along with a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt. I lay the clothing next to her, figuring when she wakes up tonight she can put them on. I drape the blanket over her, tucking in the edges around the massive gown.

“Goodnight, Tiger. I know it doesn’t mean much, but I’m proud of you.”

I brush her hair off her forehead before walking to the door, careful to leave it just a sliver open to let some light in. I’m sure when she wakes up she’s going to be confused and disoriented.

And honestly, I think I’ll be the same way.

Because this might have been the most random, strange, and memorable day I’ve ever had in my life.