Page 6

Charlie

I’m practically on fire by the time I reach the Lafayette’s — Dad’s pride and joy and now mine, too.

It’s humid in the kitchen as I pass by the guys prepping for today’s dinner rush. Bruno, the morning sous chef bobs his head to the music blaring in his head phones while he kneads a lump of dough for French bread. A couple of the regular prep guys are cutting up boudin and vegetables for gumbo while Star, head chef, counts the meats for the day.

I wave to her and go to peak my head into Dad’s office, finding him going over numbers from the night before. Dad is a chart man and a number of graphs are drawn up on the computer in front of him. I can’t read them. I prefer hard, concrete paper, giving me the exact numbers so that I can compare this year’s earnings to last year’s.

“How’s it looking, Pops?”

He glances at me and then back at his computer, his reading glasses sitting low on his nose. He refuses to believe that he needs bifocals.

“We’re up eleven thousand dollars from last year for the week, already.”

My chest swells with pride. The longer we’re open, the better we seem to do. With a highly trained kitchen staff, nothing beats our food and the bar always garners a lot of attention on Bourbon Street.

“The bar is up about five.”

Dad nods, taking a bite of the egg white sandwich next to him. Andi’s been getting on him about his eating habits since he’d had a heart attack last year. I think Mom’s death scared us both, but Andi took it especially hard.

“This tastes like cardboard,” he grumbles, tossing the sandwich back on the plate.

I step inside and close the door behind me. “Now, I know Star made that for you. She’s the best cook we have.”

Star is younger than the rest of the cooks, but she knows her shit. She can turn a five-star plate of food around in less than ten minutes. Her kitchen runs like a well-oiled machine.

“There’s no flavor in egg whites. I might as well suck on an ice cube.”

I chuckle. “Andi’s just worried about you. She wants to keep you around. I can’t figure out why.”

With a curse under his breath, he hurls the remaining bite of sandwich at me, hitting me in the shoulders. I laugh and toss the remnants of Dad’s lunch in the trash.

“Did Bailey make it into town, okay? I haven’t heard from your sister.”

My mood instantly darkens at the mention of my new neighbor. Fuck Andi for not warning me that she was coming, even more so for not telling me she would be staying beside me for the next month and a half.

“In all her preppy glory,” I murmur, leaning back against the door.

Dad eyes me. “She’s a nice girl. And she’s your sister’s best friend.”

I shrug. “She’s a princess who’s used to getting her way and being waited on hand and foot.”

I’m not wrong. I’ve seen how Bailey and her siblings live. You don’t have a stepdaddy that works for rich criminals and have a sense of actual work. I don’t think Bailey has ever even had a job.

It’s a shame someone so fucking sexy can be such a spoiled brat. It’s been over a year since I’d seen her and when I found her in my courtyard, I almost thought God had dropped an angel down to save my damned soul. Then she opened her mouth and I was reminded as to why she always pissed me off. She always has to try and one up me with her sarcastic comments and witty jokes.

After Bailey went inside this morning, I called Andi and immediately demanded she make Bailey stay with her. Andi refused, of course, and I had almost debated on cutting the power to the other house, just so she wouldn’t have a choice.

Having Bailey around fucks with my head. I hate it. Like an addict who keeps coming back for more even though he knows he can’t stand the way it makes him feel. Let’s face it, stuck up princess or not, one doesn’t just forget Bailey Carpenter.

“She took care of your sister when your mom passed. Give her a chance. She can’t help where she was born.”

“Yeah, the last time I trusted a Yankee, he stole my wallet.”

Dad shakes his head, turning back to his monitor.

“Give her a chance,” he says, his tone taking an air of finality, telling me I don’t dare argue. “She’s here to help your sister and get her mind off stuff at home. She’s had a rough year, you know?”

Oh, the fiancé. Drew? I think his name was. Dickhead? I can’t remember. Part of my quarrel with Bailey is that she could ever agree to marry a prick like Drew. The few times I’d met him, he’d been sleazy. There was something in his eyes — something dark that didn’t belong with someone as happy as Bailey. I make a mental note to figure out what happened there and open the door to the office.

“Sure thing, Dad.”

Dinner rush is especially busy for a Wednesday night. You have the regular businessmen in for a drink, the older women on a girl’s trip, and then the tourist families, looking to score some authentic New Orleans fare. The bar is packed without an empty seat for most of the night.

I love nights like these. It gets my mind off things. It allows me to slip into autopilot, so my brain can recharge for a little bit.

It’s not until almost closing time that a familiar face slides up to the bar in front of me.

“Hey, stranger,” Priscilla says, flashing that stark white smile at me.

My guard goes up and my autopilot comes to a screeching halt. Priscilla only ever comes to me for one thing. My cock.

“Come to mingle with the common folk?”

Pricilla is from a family of money. Her daddy owns a couple off-shore oil rigs and she profits heavily from that. When I say Bailey is a stuck-up princess, Priscilla is worse. It’s what swore me off women like her.

“No, silly,” Priscilla grins, reaching out and running her fingers down my arm. The same song and dance is getting old. Every time she and one of her equally as rich boyfriends break up, she comes running to me. “I came to see you.”

I grit my teeth, my jaw hardening as I wipe down the bar.

“I thought you were dating the man with the yacht?”

She rolls her eyes and flips her platinum hair over her shoulder. It’s dyed just a few shades lighter than Bailey’s and almost white in color.

“I broke it off. He started talking about getting married.”

Ah, the marriage talk. The one thing all Priscilla’s rich boyfriends want to give her and the one thing I don’t. Marrying Priscilla would be suicide. We didn’t get along while we were dating. Whatever made me think I could marry her and live past my forties is beyond me.

I whistle through my teeth. “He really doesn’t know you, does he?”

Priscilla pouts her pink lips together and bats her eyelashes at me. “Don’t be mean to me, baby.”

I grit my teeth against her favorite pet name and grab the money bag from the counter .

“We’re closing.”

Priscilla smiles and follows me out from behind the bar.

“I just can’t stop thinking about last time. You know?”

I shake my head. No, I don’t remember. Usually, our meetings involve a heavy amount of liquor.

“You put it in my ass and I loved it.”

Panic wells inside me for some reason and I jerk back, covering her mouth with my palm and pressing her into a dark corner where no one is lurking. Marybeth is across the bar, running the vacuum, the cooks are in the kitchen, Dad has already gone home for the night.

“Shhh . . .” I scold, releasing her.

Her lips quirk at the corners. “Don’t you want to do it, again?” She purrs, running her hand down the buttons of my shirt. For some reason, my mind flashes back to the courtyard with Bailey this morning. Her reaching out and touching me had sent a jolt of pure electricity through me, stunning me so much that I had shoved her off.

Now, Priscilla is here, doing the same thing and I feel absolutely nothing, just like always.

“I’m pretty busy. I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on.”

It’s a lie. She knows it and I know it, but it’s what I’m sticking to.

Priscilla giggles, running her palm over my cock. Despite myself, it twitches at the attention.

“Paperwork is for boring losers with nothing better to do. Play with me.”

I look around as her hand continues to rub me through my jeans. My cock grows hard, and though I know I should say no, I know she won’t stop until I agree.

“Fine, but you can’t stay. And this is just sex.”

She beams, finally sealing her hand around me and stroking me. Heat radiates up my spine, but I push her hand off and go to finish my closing duties.

Despite her attitude, Priscilla is hot. With her tight body from Pilates or yoga — whatever shit she does — to her small perky tits and perfectly sculpted ass, any man would be crazy not to notice.

I take her home, avoiding looking at the light on in the room next to mine as I unlock the door.

“Who’s staying there?” Priscilla asks, pointing to the window.

“Andi’s friend.”

Priscilla grimaces. “The blonde? I don’t like her.”

Tension crawls up my spine.

“She’s here for the wedding.”

I don’t have to explain it to her, but I know Priscilla. She will go out of her way to make Bailey’s life a living hell, and while I would love to watch her squirm a bit, I also feel a sort of disgusting need to protect her.

I unlock the door and pull Priscilla inside, pushing her to my room after locking the door back behind me. The air conditioning hits me at full blast, cooling the warmth of the day on my skin.

In the room, Priscilla is already stripped down to a black bra and thong, perched on the bed. She leans back on her elbows and smiles at me, grinning like I’m a prize she won at the fair. I’m pissed that I can’t help but picture Bailey in the backyard this morning. I’d vowed to stay away from her, yet my sister is parading her under my nose.

I push the wicked thoughts of Bailey’s tan legs from my mind and unbutton my shirt, then my pants. Priscilla stops me, reaching for me and pulling my cock from my jeans. She runs her tongue along the head, before sliding me all the way to her throat. I let out a low groan, tugging at the strands of her blonde hair.

She groans in satisfaction, stroking me with one hand, while the other reaches down to cup my balls. I close my eyes and lean back, using my hand in her hair to guide her. Blonde hair flashes behind my eyes, but it’s not the woman with my cock currently sliding down her throat. Striking blue eyes pierce straight through me, laying me bare. A skimpy pair of shorts. That fucking smile.

I startle Priscilla by pulling her off and stepping back. I let my jeans and boxers fall in a heap on the floor and climb over her. Reaching past her, I grab a condom out of the night stand.

“Thank God,” Priscilla mewls. “I’ve needed this.”

I bite my tongue and align myself at her entrance. Her fingernails graze my abs as she runs them down my torso. I actively work to turn my brain off when I push into her in one motion. She arches into me, moaning loudly, no doubt so my new neighbor can hear. I lean forward, flicking her nipple with my tongue and driving the thoughts of next door from my head.

Priscilla moans, loud enough for the houses down the block to hear and I know she’s putting a show for Bailey. I can’t bring myself to stop her, though, some sick and twisted part of me knowing it’s going to piss Bailey off.

Tit for tat, princess. You parade in my backyard. I’ll make you wish you were the one in my bed right now.

I move deep inside Priscilla, suddenly powering into her with harsh, rough plunges. She screams my name loudly and the headboard beats against the wall. She tries to tug me down to kiss her, but I stay just out of her grasp. I don’t kiss Priscilla. I don’t kiss any casual fuck.

With a shrill cry, Priscilla comes on my cock, her tight body quivering underneath me. I reach under her and flip her over, powering into her so hard the sounds of skin meeting skin echo in the room. Blonde hair . . . blue eyes . . . I clench my eyes shut against the swell of my orgasm, burying my face in Priscilla’s neck as I come.

My vision blurry, I collapse onto the bed beside Priscilla, my heart hammering in my chest. I pull the rubber off and tie the end, tossing it in the can by the bed.

Priscilla leans on her elbow beside me, her fingers snaking up my chest.

“That was amazing. I’m sorry if I was too loud.”

I know she’s not.

“Can I spend the night?” she asks, smiling sweetly as her fingers graze over the hair under my navel.

“You know that’s not happening.”

“You’re such an asshole, Charlie,” she snaps, sitting up in the bed, away from me. I don’t have the strength or desire to comfort her. She came here for sex. I gave her sex. I wouldn’t fall into Priscilla’s trap of a relationship again. I don’t want any relationship. I would rather jerk off the rest of my life than have to worry about keeping a woman happy, again.

“Yet, you always want to come back.”

I stand from the bed and head for the shower. I should really watch my back around Priscilla. She’s been known to get violent when she doesn’t get her way, but I have more than a feeling that I can protect myself. Once, she pulled a kitchen knife on me when I told her I was going out with Jake after work.

I start the shower and step in, washing the sweat of the day off my aching body. Twelve hours on your feet is no easy task. Twelve hours day after day? Even worse. It’s not long before I hear Priscilla’s phone go off and then the front door slam.

I quickly wash my hair, knowing I’m the world’s biggest douche bag, but not really caring, either. Going after her would imply that I want the same thing she does.

I dry off and throw on some boxers before stepping out into the courtyard for a couple hits of a cigar before I go to bed. My eyes can’t help, but drift toward the room next to mine. All the lights are off, but I know she’s awake. There’s no way she can’t be, after Priscilla’s mouth.

I check the date on my phone. Only five weeks and three days until Bailey’s out of my hair. Let’s just hope we can get through this without killing each other.