Page 12 of Gator (Bourbon Kings MC #1)

“He left me stranded in Alabama, Henley!” I shouted, trying to ignore my sister’s laughter. “On the side of the road in the middle of nowhere! I had to walk for miles to the nearest town, and it wasn’t even a town. It had one gas station. That was it!”

“Oh, come on, Dev. You made it there safe and sound. How bad could it be?”

“I had to ride in the back of a truck with chickens, Henley. Chickens!”

Henley wiped a tear from her eye, still laughing at my misery. “It sounds like the kind of story you can tell your kids someday. You know, like a cute bedtime story, ‘ how I survived your father’ .”

“Not funny,” I grumbled. “I think I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”

“No.” Henley quickly sobered. “You are not doing this, Devlyn. You followed your heart, and whether you want to believe it or not, your heart is in Louisiana with Gator. So what if the road was a little rocky at first? It’s supposed to be.

You need to keep your eyes on the finish line, ’cause that’s all that matters, and the babies, of course.

Have you and Gator talked about them yet? ”

“No.”

Henley’s gaze softened as she leaned forward toward the camera, resting her chin on her hand.

“Well, maybe it’s time you do. I mean, Gator’s not the kind of guy to let things hang in the air.

He’s rough around the edges, sure, but you knew that.

You didn’t fall for the polished version of him; you fell for the real deal, quirks and all. ”

I sighed, letting my fingers trace the rim of the water glass in front of me. “I don’t know how to start. It’s not like I can just blurt out, ‘ Hey, let’s talk about babies .’ That’s not exactly a casual conversation starter.”

Henley chuckled. “True, but you’re overthinking it. Just talk to him, Dev. You’ve got this whole head versus heart thing going on, but sometimes, you’ve got to let your heart lead. And who knows? Maybe he’s thinking about it, too, but waiting for you to bring it up.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with possibility. I stared out the window, the Louisiana sunshine filtering through the glass, painting the room in soft golds. The vibrant hum of life in the streets below seemed distant, muted against the whirlwind of thoughts rushing through my mind.

“Henley... what if I screw this up?”

“You won’t,” she said firmly. “And even if you do, you’ll fix it.

That’s what love looks like, Devlyn. It’s messy, imperfect, and sometimes it feels like you’re standing in the middle of a swamp, knee-deep in mud.

But it’s also the most transformative thing you’ll ever experience. Trust me. Just keep moving forward.”

“Yeah.” My brother-in-law Scribe popped on the screen. “And if that Cajun fucker screws up really bad, give me a call. The Sons of Hell will ride. We got your back, Dev.”

“Thanks, bro.” I smirked.

“We gotta go, sweetie,” my sister said, and I nodded.

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

“No problem. Love you, Sis.”

“Love you too,” I replied, disconnecting the video chat.

Sitting there in his room, I thought of Gator—his wild grin, the way his voice dipped low when he was serious, the way he held me as if the world could crumble but we’d still be standing.

Maybe Henley was right.

Maybe it was time to take the next step, no matter how terrifying it felt.

Hearing the doorknob jingle, I turned as Gator walked in.

Standing near the door for a quick and hasty exit, no doubt, he asked, “You feeling better?”

“If you mean am I still angry, then no.”

“Wanna get out of here for a bit?”

“So you can leave me stranded somewhere else? No thank you,” I snarked.

“I was suggesting seeing my city. This is the first time you’ve been to New Orleans, right?”

I nodded.

“Good, then allow me to be your tour guide.”

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, the streets of New Orleans came alive with a rhythm that seemed to pulse from the very cobblestones beneath our feet.

Gator led the way, weaving through narrow alleyways and bustling squares, his voice rising above the hum of jazz melodies and distant chatter.

“This city,” he said, gesturing to the intricate balconies adorned with iron lacework, “has a soul unlike any other.”

We stopped in front of a small café where the scent of powdered sugar and fresh beignets wafted through the air. “You have to try these. It’s practically a sin to be in New Orleans without tasting a beignet.” He grinned.

I hesitated, still wary of him, yet captivated by his enthusiasm.

Perhaps the city’s charm was working its magic on me.

We grabbed a table beneath the warm glow of string lights, and as I took my first bite, the sweetness melted away a fraction of the tension between us.

For a moment, even the sharp edges of our earlier argument seemed dulled.

As we wandered along Bourbon Street, the blend of laughter, music, and the distant clip-clop of horse-drawn carriages became a symphony that enveloped us.

Gator pointed out landmarks, shared snippets of local history, and even cracked jokes that, against my better judgment, drew a reluctant smile from me.

Everywhere I looked, there was something new to see. I knew if I stayed here forever, I would never see all that New Orleans had to offer.

Needing a rest, Gator walked me over to a bench, and we sat as my eyes tried to absorb everything—the colors, the lights, the sounds, the smells. This place was intoxicating and addictive. I saw the allure that brought so many visitors.

Reclining on the bench, Gator slung his arm behind me and rested it on the bench as I sat close, not knowing what to say to him. There was so much we needed to talk about.

“I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” he said out of the blue. “I know this is all new to you, but nothing you say or do is going to make me run away.”

“I know that.”

Facing me, he asked, “You sure about that, Devlyn, because the second you got here, you’ve had one foot out the door.”

“I’ve only been here for six hours.”

“Long enough to make up your mind, Chèr ,” he stated firmly.

Narrowing my eyes, I snipped, “You left me on the side of the road in Alabama.”

“You were being a bitch.”

“And you were being a jackass!”

Sighing, the man leaned forward and shook his head. “Devlyn, you have to meet me halfway here. I can’t do this all by myself. I want you in my life. I want my baby born here. But, woman, you are the biggest pain in the ass in the bayou. You’ve got to cut me some slack here. I’m trying.”

Sighing, I leaned back on the bench and muttered, “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Every little thing seems to set me off. I really want to try to make this work, Wade. I really do.”

“But?”

“But we’re so different. We do things differently. We think differently. Jesus, Wade, the only thing we agree on is sex, and we only did that one time!”

The smug bastard smirked. “Yeah, that was a fun night. Maybe you’re on to something there.”

“On to what?” I asked, totally confused.

Wade’s grin widened, a mischievous glint lighting his eyes. “On to the fact that maybe we need to agree on more things in a more titillating manner.”

I tilted my head, my brows furrowing as I tried to decipher his meaning. “Huh? You think we need to argue less or something?”

“Not exactly,” he replied, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “I’m saying that maybe when we can’t see eye to eye, we need to find middle ground. And if we can only seem to agree in certain... let’s say intense moments, then maybe we need to use that as a starting point.”

I blinked, the implication slowly sinking in. “Are you suggesting that we solve all of our problems in bed?”

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, though it carried a hint of audacity. “Why not? It’s the one place we don’t overthink, Chèr . You can’t deny it worked once.”

I groaned, dragging my hand down my face. “Wade, that is not a solution. That’s just... avoidance wrapped up in a nice, bedazzled package.”

“Glad you remembered my adornments, Bébé .” He shrugged, but his teasing grin remained. “All I’m saying is, maybe our differences don’ have to push us apart. Maybe they’re what make us work.”

I sighed deeply, my heart tugging between lingering frustration and the genuine desire to make things work. “You sure are something else, Wade.”

“Glad you noticed,” he quipped, leaning back as if he’d won a small victory. I shook my head, wondering how this man could simultaneously be my greatest irritation and my deepest comfort.

“YES!” I screamed as Wade pumped his dick into me, causing me to bang my head against the wall. I didn’t care if this Cajun fucker knocked me unconscious as long as he didn’t stop fucking me.

I could feel the sweat trickling down my back as Wade’s thrusts became more urgent.

The rough wall scraped my skin, but the pain only added to the intense pleasure radiating through my body.

I wanted him to take me harder, claim me as his own.

I clawed at his broad shoulders, leaving my mark, as he pounded into me with primal need.

His breath was hot on my neck, his grip on my hips possessive.

I could feel his muscles flex with each powerful thrust, sending waves of pleasure through me.

“You like that, Chèr ?” he growled, his Cajun accent sending a shiver down my spine. “You like it when I fuck you rough?”

I could only moan in response, my body on the edge of oblivion. Wade’s pace quickened and his grunts filled the room. The force of his thrust pushed me further against the wall, but I wanted more.

I needed him to take me to the edge and beyond.

With a final, powerful shove, Wade buried himself deep inside me, his release triggering my own. My body convulsed around him, and my cries echoed through the room. Lost in my post orgasmic oblivion, I felt as if I floated on air before soft cotton sheets hit my back.

Moaning in pure bliss, I heard Wade chuckle as he pulled me close.

Laying my head on his chest, the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat lulled me into a false sense of peace, only to be thrust back to reality when I heard him ask, “So is now a good time to talk about my kid in your belly?”

“Oh my God,” I moaned as my mouth burst with orgasmic flavor. I couldn’t remember what the hell he called this dish, but I wanted to bathe in its yummy goodness. I had never tasted anything so vibrant in my entire life. “This is so good.”

Leaning against the headboard, he nodded, taking a big bite out of his sandwich as I wondered if he was going to eat the other half.

“Don’ even think of touchin’ my muffuletta, woman. Good men have died for less.”

“But I’m still hungry.” I pouted.

Narrowing his eyes, he smirked. “There is jambalaya in the kitchen that Juju made. Go help yourself.”

“You’re really not going to share the other half with me?”

“Nope.” He smirked, licking his lips. “Don’ want cha gettin’ fat on me.”

I had to have heard him wrong.

Did he just call me fat?

“Excuse me?” I said, my voice sharp enough to slice through the tension.

He blinked, clearly taken aback, before attempting to chuckle it off. “I didn’t mean it like that, sugar. Just sayin’ I like you the way you are.”

“Oh, so the way I am is too much for another half of a sandwich?” I got off the bed, the soft sheets tangling around my legs as I stood. My appetite evaporated as indignation surged.

“Aw, come on now, don’ be gettin’ all riled up.” He shifted, his smirk fading just a fraction. “It was a joke.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny, Wade,” I snapped, crossing my arms. “That wasn’t funny.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face. “Alright, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said it. You want the other half, take it.”

My eyes narrowed. “I don’t want your pity sandwich.” I turned on my heel, heading towards the door. “I’ll get the jambalaya.”

“Dev.”

Turning to face him, I growled, “What?”

“Gonna have to kill my brothers if you walk out like that, and I really don’ wanna do that.”

“Huh?” I muttered, then looked down at my lack of attire.

Huffing, I grabbed the sheet on the floor and wrapped it around me once more as he tilted his head, his grin creeping back in a way that made me want to throw the sheet at him. “You know, if you’re aiming for jambalaya dressed like that, you’re gonna cause a scene.”

I ignored him, clutching the makeshift toga tighter. “I’m not here to entertain.”

“Coulda’ fooled me,” he murmured, low enough to almost escape hearing but sharp enough to hit its mark.

Pausing just shy of the doorframe, I spun back around. “Maybe I will make a scene. Maybe I’ll walk down there, flaunt this sheet, and eat my jambalaya in peace. Maybe everyone’ll say, ‘Oh look, there goes Dev, living her best life!’”

“You say that, but I know you won’t.”

“And why’s that?”

His face turned serious, the playful edge softening into something almost thoughtful. “Because you don’t want to give them the satisfaction. You’re too sharp for that.”

I hesitated, my grip on the sheet loosening slightly. “What satisfaction?”

“The satisfaction of thinking you let me get under your skin,” he simply said, sitting back against the bedframe.

“Not everything is about you, Wade.” My voice strained under the weight of frustration.

“Maybe not. But I know how the game works and I’m playin’ to win, Chèr .”

For a moment, the room fell quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan overhead. I hated how his words lingered in the air, wrapping around me tighter than the sheet.

“Now, why don’ you be a good girl and come help me finish this sandwich, and we can have a nice right talk about the real reason you followed me here.”

Plopping back down on the bed, I asked, “How did you find out, anyway?”

“A little brat told me.”

“Cameron,” I groaned. “I should have known.”

“Gotta give the kid credit. He is the one with all the answers.”

“So, is that why you were in Rosewood?”

“No, I was there for a family weddin’. You were just a plus.”

“You watched me take the morning-after pill, Wade. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

He shrugged, taking another bite of the sandwich. “It is what it is. Can’t change it now.”

“And you’re not upset?”

“What’s to be upset about? I’m gonna have a kid.”

“Three kids.”

He froze, the sandwich halfway to his mouth, and I grinned, taking it from him. “Guess Cameron left that part out, huh?” I said, before taking a big bite. Moaning, I leaned back against the wall and sighed. “This is a really good sandwich. Too good for you. Hey, are you gonna eat those chips?”

When he said nothing, didn’t even move, I just grabbed the plate in his lap and finished the food for him.

No sense in letting good food go to waste.