Page 13

Bailey

I’ve never really cared to listen when people told me summers in the south were hot and humid. I just thought they were being dramatic. Now, I know what they really meant. Summers in the south are like an excerpt from a sick play called A Day in Hell . I had exited the back door moments before, planning to take a trip to Jackson Square, because I read that there is a large art show. I immediately ran inside and changed from my jeans and a shirt to shorts and a tank top so that my skin didn’t melt off.

I know Charlie is off work today, too, so I’m hoping that by using the other gate, he won’t see me trying to sneak out and interrogate me on where I’m going. He seems to have this weird idea that I’m going to be kidnapped at any second, like some high-priced artifact.

So, I grab my old leather backpack and throw a couple bottles of water inside, along with a snack and quietly tiptoe out of the house. I’m just locking the gate back up when a sound behind me catches me off guard.

“Thinking of running, Bailey?”

I jump, letting out a yelp and spinning around to find Charlie leaning against the hood of an old truck. I don’t recognize it, so it must not be his. He’s covered in grease up to his elbows, but surprisingly his white shirt is still clean. I try not to stare, but the thick veins that coil up his arm have my stomach in knots and my underwear damp.

“Is that a turn on for you? Grease?”

I roll my eyes and step away from the gate, staying out of reach.

“I’m going to Jackson Square because there’s an art show.”

He gives me a stern expression, much like my dad would have. “By yourself?”

I purse my lips. “Yeah. Too bad you have to work on your truck or I’d totally not ask you to go with me.”

I start off down the street, but I make it about two steps before he’s tugging my arm back to him.

“Too bad you have to go inside and wash your arm off. My bad.” He wipes his hand up my arm, smearing a dark layer of grease up to my shoulder and tingles straight to my core.

“You dick,” I grumble and Charlie chuckles.

“Front door’s unlocked,” he says, gesturing behind me.

I shake my head, starting toward my side. “No way. I’m not going into Dracula’s cave.”

His jaw ticks, his eyes smoldering and before I have a second to spare, he stoops down, lifting me over his shoulder.

“Charles, whatever your stupid middle name is, Coulter, put me down!” I screech, smacking at his backside because it’s the only thing I can reach.

He responds by smacking me right where my ass meets my exposed upper legs and I squeak. The skin stings where he’d hit it, and he keeps his hand over the spot way longer than is appropriate. The front door to his house opens and I’m greeted with a cool blast of air. I look around at the living room as we pass by. It looks a lot like the other side of the house, only boring. There are no decorations, the curtains are a plain beige, matching the walls almost perfectly. The couch is a dark brown and so is the coffee table. Even I could do better.

“Who taught you how to decorate?”

Another smack hits me, this time higher.

I jerk in his grasp. “Stop doing that!” My cheeks flame red and heat floods my core as the small bites of pain burn on my skin — an odd sensation I’m definitely not used to.

“If you weren’t so mouthy, I wouldn’t have to,” he quips, passing the stairs that lead up to the upper bedroom. I briefly wonder what could be up there, imagining a scarlet room with a coffin right in the center and boards covering the windows.

“I like to think of my mouth as talented,” I quip. “Not mouthy.”

I can feel him tense under me and triumph trickles through me. “You want another?”

I shut up.

Abruptly, he deposits me on the kitchen counter and I almost bang my head on the upper cabinet.

“Are you this rough with all your sister’s friends?”

He steps up to the sink and starts washing the grease off his arms .

“You’re her only friend.”

I know that’s not true. While I’m her best friend, I know Andi has to have other people she hangs out with when I’m not around.

“Why do you want to go to a boring art show?” he asks, side-eying me.

“Art’s not boring,” I argue, gripping the edges of the counter and swinging my legs. Charlie watches the movement, his expression turning sour, but he doesn’t say anything. “I grew up in California. Everyone’s into art there.”

“Wouldn’t you rather make it yourself?” he asks, grabbing a towel and wetting it in soap and water.

“Oh no, I didn’t say I was an artist, just that I grew up in an artsy city. I would rather write my feelings than paint them.”

“Oh yeah, the writer.” He steps forward, grabbing my arm and dragging the cloth along the grease. Goosebumps pebble on my skin as his strong hand grips my wrist, holding my arm out.

“I should have known your house would be a meat locker,” I mutter, a shiver running up my spine. Charlie’s jaw ticks, his stare hard and knowing. He takes his time, running the warm rag over my arm until there’s not even a speck of grease. “I’m clean,” I say quietly when he doesn’t stop. My body is reacting to him, heaviness settling behind the lace material of my thong.

Charlie’s eyes flick to mine, dark around the edges, but light around the irises. He tosses the rag in the sink over his shoulder and steps in, caging me in by placing both hands on the counter on either side of my hips. His gaze burns as it travels down my face from my eyes to my lips. He’s so close I can smell the cologne on his skin, mixed with the summer heat. Oddly, my mouth waters.

“I’m going with you to whatever this art show is.”

I shake my head. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I didn’t invite you.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, considering your back has a big ol’ grease streak on it from you cave-manning me over your arm, I don’t think so.”

Charlie stands back and to my shock and horror, pulls the shirt over his head, revealing a hard, muscled body. He has a tattoo above his heart that reads Meré, another of a raven over his ribs, a small American flag and a creepy mask like what you would see on Broadway. I’ve never cared much about the hotness level of a man with tattoos versus a man without, but let me tell you — I’m an enlightened woman now. Charlie Coulter is as sinfully hot underneath his clothes as he is fully dressed. A smattering of hair down to the button of his jeans and my dark and twisted mind yearns to know what’s hiding under those, too. More tattoos?

“What’s the matter sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?”

My eyes shoot back to his, my cheeks burning hot.

“Hurry up and find a shirt. I want to go.”

Ten minutes later — yes, ten — and Charlie is locking up the front door of his house.

“You plan on walking all the way there?” he asks, easily catching up to me as I walk past his truck and then the one he was working on.

“Well, yeah. It’s just at the end of the road. ”

He grumbles something under his breath, but follows me, nonetheless.

“Why are you so cranky?”

“I’m not cranky.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, you are. Did someone pee in your Cheerios one time and the feelings just stuck?”

Charlie doesn’t say anything, but an odd expression crosses his face before it’s replaced with a cold mask.

“Why are you always so annoying?”

“Touché,” I nod. “It’s probably because I am the middle child.”

For once, he laughs, a genuine chuckle.

I stare at him like he’s grown three heads. “Did you just laugh?”

“Stop.”

“I’m just saying. I didn’t know you could make that sound.”

He smacks my ass again, harsher than last time, causing me to stumble forward. His hand darts out and catches me before I can run into a family of tourists, who look at me like I’m a psychopath.

“That was highly inappropriate. They had children.”

“Then they came to the wrong city.”

Charlie seems surprised that I’m so fascinated with the rest of the Quarter. Little shops line the streets with people milling in and out of them. Most of it is geared toward tourists, but there are some really cool antique stores that I would love to go in, one day. Not with Charlie, of course. His taste in furniture isn’t something I would trust if my life depended on it.

“That place looks like the bank in Diagon Alley,” I beam, looking up at a four-story white building on a busy corner.

I can tell Charlie doesn’t know what I mean.

“Harry Potter? The biggest franchise ever?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he grumbles, passing by the building without a second glance.

“You know, something told me you wouldn’t be a fan.”

“I don’t have time for movies,” he shrugs.

Is this man for real? Everyone has time for movies.

“You mean to tell me you don’t invite women over to watch movies, just so you can try to slither into their pants.”

“I don’t slither and I don’t have any issues getting a woman into my bed without a movie.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, whatever you say, Casanova .”

A determined look settles in Charlie’s eye and he steps forward to a group of girls walking in front of us. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but the girl he’s speaking to is eating his bullshit up faster than he can shovel it. She throws a thick main of glorious curly black hair back as she laughs. I watch from behind, an ugly feeling boiling in my stomach as she does something with his phone, before handing it back to him.

He easily falls into stride beside me after a wave goodbye.

“You want her number, too? Maybe you can get some pointers on how to be a nice girl.”

Ouch . I deserve that, I guess, but he doesn’t have to take it that far.

“That’s okay. I would rather talk to one of the witches in this city and figure out how to do a spell to get you to leave me the hell alone.”

I walk ahead of him a step, but he catches right up to me as if I’d barely moved. I’m actually winded from that and it bruised my ego.

“You jealous, princess?”

“Don’t call me princess,” I snap. “And no. I just feel bad for you. Judging by how fixated you’ve become with me, I know it will just be a passing moment before you’re right back at it, bugging me, again.”

Charlie eyeballs me, about to say something, but I don’t give him time. I gasp, as the square comes into view. Booths are lined up all along the sidewalks and in the grass where people sell their projects. There’s a huge crowd, making me think New Orleans is a little more artsy than Charlie would like to believe.

I visit every shop and Charlie stays glued to my ass, like he’s afraid someone will snatch me if there’s even an inch between us.

I manage to score a cute little hand-sewn black duster that makes me feel every bit like Stevie Nicks. Oddly, Charlie has no negative remarks, for once. I find souvenirs for Mason and my sisters, though, I don’t dare get anything for Mom. She hates this kind of stuff, probably more than Charlie.

After a while, I sit on a bench, while Charlie gets us strawberry lemonade from a vendor.

“Excuse me, do you know where the boat is?”

I look up to find one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen standing above me. I blink, sliding my sunglasses up into my hair — big mistake — and smile. He’s got impeccably sharp jaw bones. I thought I’d seen it all with Charlie, but this man could give him a run for his money — almost. His dark hair lightly curls at the ends, making him look like a Disney prince with striking green eyes.

“Uh, no actually. I didn’t know there were boat rides.”

The man chuckles, holding out his hand. “Peter. And your name is?”

I shake his hand, my cheeks warming. “Bailey. You’re not from around here, then?”

“Well, born and raised, actually. Just moved back home after a ten-year stint in Los Angeles.”

“Ah, LA,” I smile. “Awfully big city. Did you like it?”

He shakes his head, laughing. I gesture to the seat beside me and he takes it, keeping away from me a foot. It’s probably for the best, considering Charlie isn’t far.

“I found it incredibly dirty. I thought home was nasty, but you wouldn’t believe what people will do in Los Angeles.”

“I grew up in Los Angeles, so I know all about that.”

“What? What brought you all the way down here?”

An asshole ex-fiancé. “My best friend lives here. Besides, the change of scenery is nice.”

“Yes, it is. I actually had planned to explore, today. See all the new shops.”

“Oh, are you staying in the Quarter?”

“He’s leaving,” a voice murmurs darkly behind my right shoulder. One of those lemonade cups is shoved in front of me and a strong hand grips my shoulder. I still, sensing the tension in the man behind me.

Peter’s eyes drift up and though he still smiles, a twinkle of fear passes through his eyes.

“Hey, Coulter. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been around.” Charlie stalks around the bench and holds his hand out to me, giving me a look that tells me not to argue with him. I’ve never seen him like this. Sure, he’s always angry, but this is beyond that. This is livid.

His hand is warm around mine and he pulls me to my feet, tucking me closely behind him.

“Peter was looking for the boat dock,” I say, hoping to lighten the tension.

“Peter knows where the boat dock is. His dad owns it.”

Peter flushes, and I step back. Why lie? Of course, some people will say anything to get into your pants. You would think he’d have told me that his dad owns the dock. He’d probably get better results.

“We’re leaving,” Charlie mutters, still holding my hand. He pulls me away from the bench and I grip my drink so that I don’t drop it.

“Bye, Peter,” I call over my shoulder, just because I know it will piss Charlie off. “It was nice meeting you.”

Charlie tugs me through the crowds of people, leading the way back down the street towards home. I’m not ready to leave yet, but it looks like I don’t have a choice in the matter.

“Can you stop dragging me?” I snap, tugging at my hand.

Charlie takes an abrupt left, whirling on me and pressing me back into the brick wall of a coffee shop. My stomach dips when he leans in and my senses come alive.

“Stay away from him,” he practically snarls, getting so close to my face I can taste the toothpaste he used this morning.

I jerk back, my head hitting the wall harder than I would have liked. I wince at the pain, but Charlie doesn’t seem to notice, or he just doesn’t care .

“So, you can get any girl’s number you want, but then you cock block me? That man was hot .”

“He’s an asshole. You would be miserable.”

I roll my eyes. “ You’re an asshole, yet, here we are.”

Charlie places his arm on the wall beside me, caging me from the passersby on the street. The sun is starting to set, so no one notices us crammed in the small alleyway.

“If I see you talking to him, again, I’ll beat his ass.”

No, he won’t. Will he?

“You’re unsure if I will or not? Try me.”

I roll my eyes, surging out from under his arm and taking off back down the street. He follows me, of course catching up to me quickly.

“What, you’re going home now?”

I don’t answer, angry at his sudden assumption that he’s entitled to tell me what to do because Andi’s my best friend.

“So, you’re ignoring me now?”

I spin around, almost colliding with him, but I don’t care.

“You’re an asshole. You constantly treat me like I’m an idiot or a pest, a burden , yet the moment someone else pays any ounce of attention to me, you get protective. I’m not just your personal punching bag, Charlie,” I snap. I start walking again and I notice that, this time, it takes him a second longer to catch up.

“There are things about him that you don’t know,” he murmurs, dodging pedestrians as they make their way down the street.

“Enlighten me, then, oh holy one.”

He shuts up and I’m thankful. For once, his silence is something that sets me at ease. I stew all the way home, not speaking a word to Charlie, even when he asks me if I’m hungry. I hike the entire half a mile without noticing.

When we get to the house, I unlock the back gate and step through, only to be grabbed again and pushed up against the wall of this house. This time, Charlie’s hand goes behind my head to stop me from hitting it.

“Talk to me. You always have some nonsense to say.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you. You ruined a good day by being a rude and jealous asshole.”

He shakes his head, stepping back from me. “I’m not jealous.”

“Bullshit. You practically whipped your dick out and tried to measure it against his.”

Charlie’s jaw ticks and for a moment, I debate on just running inside and locking the door. I know that won’t work, though. I’ve come to realize that, unlike most people, the longer Charlie is left to stew on something the angrier he gets.

Plus, he has a key.

My stomach growls audibly and I wince, my cheeks burning.

“Are you hungry?”

I shake my head. “I’ll eat something here.”

Charlie’s eyes flash. “I know you don’t have real food in that house.”

Real food does sound nice . . . I weigh out my choices of either lettuce with low carb dressing or something fattening like a giant cheeseburger.

“Okay, but you owe me for what happened at the park.”

“What do you want?”

I smile sweetly. “I’ll let you know when the time comes.”