Page 25 of She's Like the Wind

But I couldn’t do any of those things anymore. I didn’t have the right.

Even at Fives, when she looked stricken by the hot Creole goddess comment—I’d wanted to slam my fist into Ezra’s face, but I hadn’t, I’d just walked away, didn’t apologize, didn’t say, “Yes, I told him about you because I can’t fucking stop thinking about you.”

“You’re an asshole,” I said flatly as Ezra and I walked down Chartres, the Quarter humming around us with live jazz, drunk bachelorettes, and the occasional guy on stilts dressed like a pirate.

He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You asked her out,” I snapped. “You know who she is, and you did it anyway.”

“I flirted with a beautiful woman wholooked like she could cut me with a glance. What else was I supposed to do?”

“You could’ve kept your mouth shut,” I growled and added like he didn’t know, “You’re married, you prick.”

“I’m married. I’m not blind.”

“She thought I told you she was available and…how the fuck could you hurt her like that?”

He stopped walking and turned to me. “Are you hearing yourself? I asked to buy her a drink. I’m probably not the only man who’s done that! How the fuck did I hurt her?”

I shook my head as we stopped by Sylvain. “I just…didn’t you look at her face?”

Ezra cocked an eyebrow. “Iwaslooking at her?—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He chuckled. “You’re the one who told me you two were done.”

“We are,” I gritted out.

The words landed wrong. Felt wrong. Like broken glass.

“We are,” I added quietly, “over.”

Ezra shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Bullshit.”

He walked into the alleyway that led to the outdoor bar of Sylvain. He nodded at the hostess. “We’ll just sit at the bar.”

She shrugged.

“What the hell did you mean when you saidbullshit?” I demanded once we were seated.

“I’ve known you since college, man. Since before, you had that beard and the wholebrooding craftsman with daddy handsaesthetic going for you.”

“What the fuck are daddy hands?” I picked up the menu but didn’t read a thing.

“I’ll have an old fashioned,” Ezra told the bartender and then added, “He’ll have a glass of nails.”

The bartender grinned.

“Do you have an IPA on tap?”

“We have a Gnarley Barley Jucifer.”

“That.” I nodded and set the menu down.

“I know when you’re into someone,” Ezra proclaimed, turning so he could look at me.

I clenched my jaw.