Page 93 of Absinthe Minded

She nodded, but I had the feeling I had some serious explaining to do.

The ride home sucked. I didn’t know what to say, so I drove while she stared out the window.

Apologize before this gets out of hand.“I’m sorry. I should have asked you. I assumed you’d say no. I know how you feel about my folks.”

“I…don’t know what this is between us.”

The muscle in my jaw tensed. I thought we’d gotten past the point of running for safety every time one of us stepped on the other’s feelings. “What do you want it to be?”

“Part of me wants it all. The church, the white picket fence, the happily ever after.”

“And part of you doesn’t?” My chest tightened. Having this conversation behind the wheel was asking for trouble. I slowed and pulled into an empty parking lot.

She shifted to face me. “I’m scared history will repeat itself.”

“So am I, but I’m willing to give it a shot.” I slid my fingers between hers and kissed the back of her hand.

“Me too.” She waved her hand. “I’m tired, and moody, and ready for a shower.”

A bolt of electricity zipped through me. Hope. This woman had just handed me a gift-wrapped package of hope that we’d make it. “Will you go to the gala with me?”

“No, but I’ll meet you there.”

“What? Why?”

“You heard Dahlia. You have to pick me out of the crowd or something.”

“Honey, I’d recognize you anywhere, but I’ll play along.” I leaned across the console.

She met me in the middle.

I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. She looked so damned cute with eyes half closed and lips parted and those freaking braids. “Did you want something?”

“I want you.”

I cupped her face. “If all you’re going to do is use me for sex, we may as well be married.”

Maggie licked her lips. “Married people don’t have sex,”

I cocked one brow and did my best imitation of The Rock. “We will.”

“Everyone thinks that—then they get married and the well dries up.”

“I, for one, plan to test this theory, every night for the rest of my life.” I couldn’t stand to be wrong, nor could I stand another second ticking by before I kissed her smart mouth.

30

Maggie

Though Fat Tuesdaywas days away, my early afternoon shift had dragged on and on and on. I sat behind the bar and reread the final draft of the Bourbon Street Bad Boys articles. While I didn’t have a firm deadline, Marlena had hoped to have it last week. However, I hadn’t had a clue what I would write until the conversation with Dahlia and Leo two nights ago.

I shifted my weight in an effort to relieve the ache in my lower back. Tired from too little sleep and too much Gabe, I’d stopped for coffee on my way in, but it had made me queasy—weird considering I practically lived on the stuff.

I hit send on the email and closed my laptop. I’d gone way off the script from the proposal, but I was proud of my work. I only hoped Gabe liked it, too.

The same blonde I’d caught in the breakroom weeks ago slid onto a stool. “Maggie, right?”

“That’s me.” I smiled, though it always freaked me out a little when the patrons knew my name.

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