Page 68 of She's Like the Wind
I choked out a laugh and picked up a sequin boa someone had left on the floor.
Jonah and Naomi walked up to us and I froze, waiting, wanting, like a fucking puppy with my tongue hanging out, begging for attention.
“Thanks, Gage, for all your help.” Naomi seemed damn uncomfortable saying those words.
Jonah looked at what I had in my hand and grinned. “Hot pink looks good on you.”
I put the boa around my neck. “I’ve always thought so.”
Naomi’s eyes lit up—and we both felt it—the charge in the air.
She’s mine, I wanted to scream at Jonah when he wrapped his arm around her waist, right before I broke his jaw with mybighammer.
“Well, if you’re all on clean-up, then I’m going to take mi-lady for dinner at the Elysian Bar,” Jonah announced.
She didn’t shrug his arm off, but she didn’t lean into him either.
Thank God for small mercies.
“Go.” Aurelie waved a hand.
“You sure?” Naomi looked at Aurelie and then at me.
No, baby, stay the fuck here with me.
“Absolutely,” I murmured, and it would’ve been easier to cut my fucking heart out and give it to her.
She swallowed and nodded vaguely. “Oh, Tess, thanks. You make that outfit look good.”
Tess stroked their hand down their chest, covered in the teal lace of a teddy. “I know, and thank you for giving it to me.”
“It’s your payment for walking the show.” Naomi went on tiptoe and kissed Tess’s cheek. They flushed. No one was immune to her charms.
Jonah and Naomi left—and I watched, my hands clutching the sequined boa around my neck.
“Stop growling,” Aurelie mocked.
“She didn’t even say hello.” I sounded like a whiney teenager.
“She said thank you,” Aurelie pointed out, now looking at me with disgust.
“Besides, all the eye-fucking y’all were doing got me all hot and bothered.” Tess fanned themselves with a lacy Spanishabanico.
“They were, weren’t they?” Aurelie sprawled atop a pile of cushions. “I’m exhausted. Every year, I thinkI’m going to let someone else organize this…and here I amagainwith Naomi.”
It took us another hour to clean up.
I liked the opera house—it managed to stay holy despite the debauchery that it had experienced.
People lingered as we cleaned—queer couples, drag performers with half their makeup wiped off, burlesque dancers leaning against each other on the pews, sipping wine out of Solo cups.
“I love this city, don’t you?” Aurelie murmured.
“Yeah.”
This was therealNew Orleans—where people didn’t care who you loved, as long as you showed up with respect and a plate to share.
I grew up accepting people as they came.
