He shrugged. “I told you. I’m hungry.” Then he opened the car door and walked around the back of the car and opened her door.
She glared up at him. “Go to a fast-food drive-thru.”
“No. I’m tired of driving, and you have a bladder the size of a thimble. I know you have to pee.”
She did have to pee, but there was no way she was going inside. “I can’t go in there wearing a wedding dress!”
He leaned his forearm on top of her door. “Sure you can. You’ll give them a thrill that they’ll talk about for years. That makes you a giver. Come on.”
“No. I’ve endured enough public humiliation for one day.”
He slid his arm off the door and squatted in front of her. “I don’t know what happened, and I want to hear about it as soon as you’re ready. But don’t think I forgot the stories you told me about your college days. The Libby St. Clair I know didn’t bat an eye about walking into a restaurant wearing a boa, a bikini, and a tiara. Wearing a wedding dress is way classier than that.”
She scowled. There was that look on his face, the one that told her any argument would be wasted breath. “You’re going to make me go in there, aren’t you?”
An ornery grin spread across his face. “Let’s just say you’re going in one way or another.” He winked. “If you make me pick you up, I’ll put you in a fireman’s hold and tell everyone I’m carrying you over the threshold.”
She groaned as she climbed out of the car. “I hate you. You’re an ass.”
His grin spread. “Many women find it endearing.”
“Name one.” She picked up her skirt so it didn’t touch the dirty sidewalk, although she wasn’t sure why it mattered now.
“Well, there was Christy last week, and Tina the week before that.”
“What about Donna?” The thought of his girlfriend stirred anger in her gut, catching her by surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to back in Seattle taking care of her thing? Isn’t that why you couldn’t come to my wedding?”
“Wow. You’re in rare form.” He moved around her and opened the door to the restaurant. “Somebody must be hangry,” he teased.
“I’m not hangry. Apparently, you are.” She walked through the door and stopped in front of the hostess stand. “I have to pee.”
The teenage hostess had a phone pressed to her ear. Her eyes widened at the sight of Libby’s dress and she muttered, “I’ve gotta go,” into the receiver. She hung up and stared at them for a long moment, her mouth hanging open. This was proof enough of the odd pair they made right now—Noah in his jeans, tight-fitting olive-green T-shirt, and athletic shoes, and Libby in her ridiculously opulent dress. And it was all the confirmation she needed that this was, in fact, a terrible idea. She started to turn around, but Noah grabbed her shoulders and turned her back to face the hostess.
“We need a table for two,” Noah said, wrapping an arm around her back and holding her firmly in place. “Something romantic if you have it. It’s her wedding night.”
Libby jerked her gaze up to meet his. He only grinned.
“And you’re eating at the Golden Cowboy Café?” the hostess asked in disbelief.
“Well . . . yeah,” Noah said. “Libby here has been talking about it ever since she heard about this place. She wanted to forgo the reception and drive straight from the wedding in Kansas City to the Golden Café.”
“Golden Cowboy Café,” Libby corrected, still grumpy.
“See?” Noah held out his hands. “But first she has to pee.”
“The restroom’s that way.” The hostess pointed to a short hall close to the entrance.
Moments after she entered the restroom, Libby realized she had a dilemma on her hands—there was no way she could maneuver her dress on her own in the tiny stall, and even if she wanted to take it off, which she didn’t, it was laced up the back.
Groaning, she peeked out the bathroom door. “Noah.”
He stood in the hall, his back against the wall. When he turned toward her, her breath seemed to stick in her throat. How many times had she looked at him, up close and personal even, but this was the first time he’d taken her breath away. She knew other women found him attractive—how could they not? His dark brown hair was slightly unruly, giving him a just-out-of-bed look, and his long-lashed dark brown eyes were usually sparkling with mischief. But now—tonight—there was something different about him.
He raised his eyebrows, and she remembered he was waiting for her to tell him why she’d called him. She resisted the urge to close the door and hide. What if he realized she was checking him out? He’d never let her forget it.
“I need help,” she forced herself to say.
Confusion flickered in his eyes. “How so?”
She cringed. God, this was embarrassing. “I can’t deal with this skirt.” She lifted handfuls of the full fabric and then dropped it to demonstrate its bulkiness.
Fear replaced confusion in his eyes. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“I need you to hold this up so I can pee.”
He took a step back. “You want me to do what?”
She reached for him. “Get over yourself and help me before I pee myself. And if you dare to try and tell me it’s my problem, just remember you’ll have to ride in the car with my pee-soaked skirts.”