Page 55 of Fire
I didn’t realize that was all she had after the divorce.
“Here.” I hold out my hand. “Let me take your bag.”
“Oh, you don’t have to,” she protests and then motions to my right hand. “I saw you rubbing your wrist when we were in there. Is it sore?”
I shake my head. “No. Well, a little. I’ve been practicing a lot at night. That, combined with performing, it’s a lot. My hands haven’t seen this much action in years.” And then I grin. “Well, except for maybe for this one night about a month ago…”
Her cheeks flame red. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that! And on a public street!”
I chuckle and take her bag. This time, she doesn’t argue. “Cupid, this is the French Quarter. I doubt there isn’t much these streets haven’t seen or heard.”
We turn a corner and change directions. She doesn’t ask why, and I cherish that bit of trust she’s given me. We meander down a couple more blocks, and I drop a few more bills for some amazing performers, prompting Zara to tug on my wallet and say, “How many do you have in there?”
I laugh, and I realize that if I had to count how many times I’ve laughed today, I would have lost track.
We finally make it to our destination, and as soon as that green and white awning is in our sightline, her eyes light up.
“Really?”
I shrug, trying to play it cool. “You can’t come to New Orleans without stopping here.”
“Oh my god, I am going to eat my weight in beignets.”
“Don’t forget the coffee. I know you’re not a huge fan of it, but I hope you’ll make an exception this one time.”
“How do you know that?”
“You ordered a chai this morning.”
“Oh, right.” She nods, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
“And I might have stalked you a little during breakfast this last week,” I add. “Does your doctor know about your croissant addiction?”
She laughs, then rolls her eyes. “Just wait until you see me devour a beignet.”
Ten minutes later, we’re seated at a table inside—I love air conditioning—and have just placed our order. Because it’s still early in the season, Café du Monde is busy but not swamped.
“Thank you for taking me out today,” she says. “I thought I was okay spending the weekend in my room, but this was really special.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply. “But you should know I didn’t do this as some sort of favor. I wanted to spend the day with you. In fact, you should probably think a little less of me that I considered faking a cold just to have an excuse to come see you in the clinic.”
She laughs. “I’ll lower my opinion accordingly.”
“As you should.”
Her next question seems somewhat hesitant. “Can I ask you why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to spend time with me?” She glances up at me hesitantly. “Is this just two friends catching up or?—”
“I don’t generally feel up my friends in a VIP lounge, Cupid.”
Her cheeks flush, and it has nothing to do with the heat outside. It feels like a win because it’s a physical confirmation that the other night affected her just as much as it did me.
If that call from Elena hadn’t interrupted us, how far would we have gone?
Would she have let me fuck her right there in that club? Let me spread her wide and bury my head between those lush thighs. Let me worship her until she was screaming my name so loud the whole club could hear. Those thoughts alone have been driving me crazy ever since.
