Page 5

Bailey

The house where I will be staying for the next five weeks is one of those shotgun houses you always hear about when people talk about the French Quarter. It’s two bedrooms, four if you include the two in Charlie’s cave , with one upstairs and one downstairs in the back. It comes with a small pool that I will probably never use because I don’t want to risk running into Charlie and one of the many women Andi told me he likes to bring home. Unfortunately, I’ll have to share a wall with him, as the bottom bedroom is right next to the bathroom. Can’t wait to hear him with some poor girl that gets to spend the night with him.

Not that I think he’s bad in bed. On the contrary, I have a feeling if I fell victim to that trap, I wouldn’t be able to walk without a limp the next day.

The worst part of sleeping with Charlie would be the use ‘em and lose ‘em attitude the next morning.

After Andi leaves, I step through my new abode, taking in the décor that most definitely came from Andi. Bright hues of blues oranges, and greens contrast against dark cherry wood and bright white trimmings. The couch is a bright cobalt blue velvet that looks like it’s never been sat on. It’s paired with a yellow chair that somehow seems to match perfectly. The kitchen, albeit smaller than the one at home, is adorned with a tin mosaic ceiling that shines my reflection back to me. Everything about this place feels rich. Not money rich. Rich in color — homey.

If Andi’s not careful, I might just try to move down here permanently. I don’t think she’d mind. Might be nice to have someone on her side.

I make my way to the back bedroom — the one that mirrors Charlie’s. Thank God he’s not home. His truck wasn’t out front, according to Andi, and the house was completely dark. I’m not sure I would be able to handle him with definitely more than one cocktail in my system and no sleep.

I flop on the decorated blue comforter, collapsing back on a bed almost completely full of throw pillows. There’s even a pillow at the foot of the bed. It feels like heaven. Like sinking into a cloud. I quickly climb out of it before I can fall asleep and move to the small closet to put some of my things away.

I won’t be living out of these suitcases for five weeks. That sounds like a nightmare.

The room has a large dresser taking up most of one wall. A fireplace that has had the pit taken out of it is on another wall, and at the end of the bed is a small desk where I might be able to get some writing done while I’m here. That is, if I can figure out how to write a book in the first place .

I take a bubble bath in the bathtub and almost fall asleep. The only thing that wakes me is the sound of the shower next door cutting on.

Shit. The Crypt-Keeper has arrived.

I quickly pull the drain and cut the lights into the bedroom, removing a lot of the pillows and sinking down into the sheets. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to sleep in New Orleans, with the loud noises of the street outside, but strangely, I feel more at home here than I have anywhere in California.

I fall asleep easily and I don’t have a single dream for the first time in years.

I wake up at the first rays of light beaming through the windows the next morning. Acting on instinct, I reach behind me for Drew, realizing he won’t be there a second too late.

After all this time, I still get disoriented when I sleep and wake up looking for him. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s enough to make me wish I could delete some of the memory storage in my brain and forget he ever existed.

Rolling back over, I try to make a feeble attempt at catching more sleep, but it’s useless. As birds start to chirp outside the window and the streets out front grow louder, I roll onto my back and huff at the ceiling.

Day one in New Orleans and I’m already homesick.

Not even home sick, per se — sick for something that I can’t place my finger on. Love? Do I really miss Drew that much? Or do I just miss having someone to spend the little moments with and regular sex?

Probably the latter.

I find some instant coffee in the cabinet and make a cup, settling on the powdered creamer in the cupboard. I’ll definitely need to find the nearest grocery store and stock up on my favorites.

I take a drink of the bitter coffee and make a face, swallowing it quickly so I don’t have to taste it and head back to my room for a shower.

When I emerge, dressed in shorts and an old tee, I stop short, just inside the bedroom door. My laptop sits ominously on top of the dresser where I left it the night before.

Andi doesn’t need me until two and it’s just past eight, right now.

I could look through my Word document a little bit, maybe type a few words. It’s not like I’m making any promises to myself. I’ll probably never even finish the book.

But I can’t say it’s not enticing.

Like it’s my own dirty little secret, I tuck the laptop under my arm and grab my now lukewarm cup of brown bean water and head out to the back courtyard. It’s a warm day out, though the tree in the backyard offers some nice shade.

I know my mother would throw a fit if she could see me as I step over the damp moss growing between the brick pavers, but I like the way it feels. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

I set up my computer and close everything except my single Word document. I’m up to five thousand words, give or take. Not bad for someone who has no idea what they’re doing .

The idea to write a romance novel hit me late one night after Drew and I split up. I was trying to envision my perfect man. What he would be like, smell like, sound like . . . and that’s how unnamed-sexy-heartthrob was born.

Tall, muscled, with green eyes, and a thick mane of luscious black hair. He makes my temperature rise to a near fever.

If only he was real.

When I left off, he was just meeting the future love of his life, Celina, for the first time. I like her. She’s a sassy, no-holds-barred redhead that doesn’t take shit from anyone. I guess you could say I made her the total opposite of myself. If her mother acted the way mine did, I know Celina would be quick to put her in her place.

I let myself get lost in my own story, my fingers moving over the keys quickly, like I’m racing my brain to get all my thoughts down before I can forget.

The shy part of myself wonders if what I’m writing is too steamy. Two lovers locked in an embrace doesn’t seem that bad until you add their naked parts to the scene. Then things get a little more convoluted.

Fuck it . No one’s ever going to read it anyway. I can live out my best Wattpad life in the backyard of Andi’s family Airbnb and then fly home to California and act like nothing ever happened.

Almost two thousand words later and a noise from the house startles me. I jump, almost slamming my laptop shut when I catch the glimpse of a curtain closing in the room next to mine.

My stomach knots, but I force the nerves bubbling up inside me and pretend I’m working. The back door to the other side of the house opens and shuts loudly, echoing off the brick walls of the small courtyard.

And that’s when I see him.

Charlie fucking Coulter.

The last year and a half looks good on him. The last time I saw him, he was pale, his eyes were rimmed with purple bags and he reeked of liquor. I’ve never seen someone look so devastatingly handsome, yet so sick at the same time.

Now, Charlie looks every bit of the Greek statue he always had. Big, broad shoulders, stormy gray eyes, and a scowl that could set any woman’s heart on edge. Don’t even get me started on the jawline that could slice an artery. Fuck, he’s hot —

“What are you doing here?” he snaps as he nears the table.

—and such a fucking asshole.

“Well,” I say, reaching up and straightening the buttons on his shirt. The thin material stretches over what I know are taut abs . . . the kind that make you want to lick chocolate off them. “I thought I’d surprise you and see how the biggest asshole in my life is doing.”

His eyes narrow, growing dark. He looks down to where my hand is touching his stomach and pushes it off like I might have a dangerous bacterium that will make his manhood spontaneously fall off. “I think that spot’s reserved for your fiancé, or did you marry the poor bastard, now?”

I cringe, sudden unease stirring in my stomach. So, he wants to fight dirty? The tension is so stiff in the air between us that it almost feels hard to breath — or maybe it’s just the humidity of Louisiana at the end of spring .

“Actually,” I said, my voice sickly sweet. “I broke off my engagement. I told him you were the love of my life and I couldn’t live without you.”

His eyes slide over me, filled with something dark and sinister. A shiver runs up my spine and I try to hide it by shutting the lid of my laptop. There was no way I would be able to get a thing written with him hanging over me and also no way in hell I want him to see what I’m writing.

“Tell me, how are you and . . . what was her name? Petunia?”

“Priscilla. She reminded me too much of you. Couldn’t stand her after that.”

“Wow, we’re both single?” I taunt. “Looks like it’s meant to be, Casanova.”

He leans back against the brick wall beside the table and crosses his arms over his chest, watching me stand and pick up my things.

“You wouldn’t survive a night in my bed, princess.”

Why does everyone feel the need to call me princess?

“Actually, I’m abstaining from sex. You know, higher power and all?” I point to the sky. “Besides, I’ve never been one for the broody, my dick’s bigger than everyone else’s type.”

That’s exactly what I’m in to, but after his last rejection when he basically told me to go fuck myself at his poor Mom’s funeral, I’ll never let him know that.

I probably shouldn’t read into it. He was going through a horrible time, but that didn’t make it cut any less deep. When I told him about my dad, I thought we would be able to connect. I wanted him to know I understood. Then, Drew came out and it’s like a switch flipped. I wasn’t Bailey, the girl that he could talk to, anymore. I was Bailey, the spoiled princess with her stepdaddy’s credit card and a rich boyfriend.

Charlie opens his mouth to retort, but my phone ringing cuts him off. I pick it up off the table and my stomach sinks to my pink painted toes.

Mom.

I hold up a finger to him. “Sorry, would love to chat, but I’m a busy woman.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. He also doesn’t freaking leave. Nosy bastard.

“Hello?”

“Why the hell would you think it was a good idea to hop on a plane and go to New Orleans without asking me first?” My stomach roils and instinctively I take a step back. Charlie’s eyes narrow on me, darkening.

“I’m sorry. Andi needed help planning her wedding.”

“I’m sending Christian down there, right now. He’s already been instructed to pack his things.”

My heart hammers in my ears and I turn away from Charlie. I can’t look at him and get yelled at by my mother at the same time.

“No. Please. I’m fine. Charlie’s staying right next door. I’m sure he won’t let anything happen to me.” I take a deep breath to steady myself. My hands shake as I gather my laptop and coffee mug. “Besides, you should be worried about Savannah.”

Mom sighs and I picture her rolling her eyes.

“You worry about you and allow me to worry about Savannah.”

Figures. Savannah can never do any wrong. I thought Spike would have been enough to send Mom over the edge, but it seems I was wrong.

“If anything, you need to take this time to do a little soul searching and see where you can improve upon yourself. I’m getting really tired of always making excuses for you to Marcus.”

Ouch .

“I have to go Mom. I’ll call you this weekend.”

“And away from that Charlie boy. I don’t like him. The last thing you need is to get knocked up by some — some bad boy that has no money, no morals and no way to take care of you.”

I grit my teeth.

“Fine, Mom. Whatever you say.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Charlie asks as soon as I hang up the phone. He’s still lounging against the wall, watching me with those handsome grey eyes and incredibly egotistical smirk. Thank God he couldn’t hear my mother. I would sink so far into the earth, I would come out on the other side of the world.

“Just perfect,” I murmur, stalking past him to the house.

“I’m not going to play bodyguard for you,” he calls out after me.

I flip him the finger over my shoulder before slamming the door on a faint chuckle that made my toes curl.