Page 65 of Never Say Die
Dylan fished a glass bottle out of his pocket and squeezed CBD oil into Aiden’s cocktail. “This was my first purchase after we got that fat check,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “Bought my grandma a new coffee maker, too.”
“How’s she holding up these days?”
“Oh, you know, could be worse. She’s a tough old bird, but her arthritis isn’t getting any better and she’s slowing down. If we keep rakin’ in payments likethat, though? I’ll be able to hire a live-in nurse in, like, no time.”
“We will,” Aiden said. “New single, new album in the works, sold out tour. We’ve got this.”
“For once, I think you’re right,” Dylan teased, nudging Aiden with his elbow.
The guide arrived, scanned their tickets off of Georgia’s phone, and ushered three cliques together on the sidewalk, gesturing to the impressive square building, lined with arched windows and woven baskets on the terrace.
Pru jogged across the street, stammering out an apology. “Sorry I’m late! I was at the laundromat and when I came back to change, I found a bunch of our shit knocked over. Room service, I guess. No lo sé. I put everything back and hung the Do Not Disturb thing on the door. Kinda weird, though,” shemumbled, knitting her pink-penciled brows. “Did I miss anything?”
“We’re just about to start,” Georgia said. Her smile quirked, eyes wandering from Pru’s red combat boots to her baggy fútbol jersey, tucked into frayed denim shorts. “Was anything broken?”
“Nah. Someone tipped over my purse and Aiden’s backpack.” Pru threw him a cautious glance. “I put everything away. It’s all good.”
The image of Pru holding his hunting knife came and went. Aiden set his teeth and nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, weird. Thanks for taking care of it.”
“No hay de qué,” she said.
The tour guide clapped and gestured toward the crowded street, directing everyone around the mansion. The group took pictures in front of famous movie sets and ordered bourbon at Laffitte’s Blacksmith Shop. People wandered between bars, restaurants, and boutiques, roped in feather boas, holding novelty cups and shopping bags. Georgia took a selfie of the band, all peace signs, toothy grins, and middle fingers. At one point, Aiden paused in front of a smoldering flare, glowing red-hot at the mouth of an alley. Police officers directed foot-traffic away from a stagnant, crimson puddle. Aiden glimpsed an ankle, snapped and limp. Two open eyes propped on a shinbone—a body had bent until broken. “Move along,” an officer said. Aiden blinked, dazed, before the tour guide ushered them into another bar.Did everyone see that?He glanced around, but Shay laughed with Dylan, and Pru smiled at Georgia, and when Aiden looked over his shoulder, the corpse was gone.How did no one see that?
“Aiden, c’mon,” Dylan called.
The guide told stories about haunted mirrors and flickering basement lights, powerful voodoo queens and bratty brothel owners, and the group meandered through the French Quarteruntil their last stop: Muriel’s Courtyard Bar. Two hours had skirted by, filled with drink after drink, echoing music and excruciating avoidance. Being in proximity to Shay without speaking to him, touching him, acknowledging him had left Aiden sore. He drank his cocktail—cognac,gross—in one go, and tried not to smile when Shay set his hands on either side of the bar, framing Aiden’s hips.
“Are we still fighting?” Shay asked, angling his mouth toward Aiden’s ear.
He tipped his chin and met Shay’s eyes. “Were we fighting before?”
“I’d consider that a fight, yeah.”
A bartender dressed in fine black pants and a white apron stepped in front of them. “Can I get you two anything?”
“What’s the house favorite?” Aiden asked.
“Well, you’re in New Orleans. Have you tried absinthe?” the bartender asked.
Shay made an uncertain noise.
Aiden lifted a brow. “The green fairy drink? Will it make me trip?”
“There’s only trace amounts of thujon in the brew, so no,” the bartender said, smirking. “At least, I’ve never seen anything. But it’s potent. Tastes like liquorice.”
“Bummer. I’ll still give it a go,” Aiden said.
Shay sighed. “Make it two.”
The bartender flipped matching crystal glasses onto the bar, stirring lemon twists into green liquid. Shay leaned into him, chest to Aiden’s back, hips snug against his ass, and set his chin on Aiden’s shoulder. Sugar cubes dissolved under a blow torch and dripped into their drinks.
“I beteveryone’stalking,” Shay murmured.
Aiden swallowed the urge to snap, and said, simply, “Just wait.”
“I’ll back off if you want me to.”
“It’s fine, Shay. My pride can take the hit, remember?”
