Page 5 of She's Like the Wind

Instead, I made it work with Uncle Fred and Aunt Frannie—swear to God those were their names, not making it up.

Once I was eighteen, I hightailed it out of Baton Rouge and their influence. I still sent them a Christmas card if I remembered to, but we didn’t have a relationship. I didn’t want it.

They hadn’t been nice or kind to me. They hadn’t been generous. They hadn’t spoken warmly of my mother (Uncle Fred’s sister) or my father, disparaging them when I’d just lost them.

That was also a promise I’d made to myself—I’d only have people in my life who were kind to me, who respected me, who cared for me.

Gage and his date disappeared into the chaos of Frenchmen Street.

I let out a long breath. I’d now have to get over the man, which wouldn’t be easy.

It was the first time in my twenty-nine years that I’d fallen in love—and I knew the fallout was going to hurt like hell.

ButI’d gotten past my parents’ death—found a way to be happy.

I’d get over Gage, I didn’t doubt that.

CHAPTER 3

Gage

Apart of me wanted to pretend that Naomi and I’d hadtheconversation and we were done. But I was a thirty-three-year-old grown-ass man, so I knew that I had toactuallyhave the fucking conversation with her before it was done.

I was also hoping against hope, despite what I knew about her, despite seeing the hurt in her eyes that night at Maison, that she’d agree to continue as we were, casual fuck buddies, because I hadn’t fucked Claudine that night—or anyone else—for two weeks now.

I’d seen Naomi here and there, and she’d smiled at me. Yeah, fucking smiled like I didn’t matter—that she didn’t care that we were done. Here, I was more ornery than I’d been when I quit smoking, and the woman behaved like I hadn’t mattered.

I could still hear her breathless words:I love you.

I ran a hand through my hair as I stood outside of Aire Noire, her lingerie store. Every time I’d been there, while we were together, I’d insisted on buying something forherand then made her wear it for me so I could slowly peel it off her body, enjoy unwrapping her.

Would she ever let me do that again?

Probably not.

Or maybe she got the point I was trying to make—no commitment, just sex and companionship. But even I couldn’t look past what I knew about her. Naomi wasn’t frivolous. If she said she loved me, she fucking meant it.

The idea that she loved me filled me with fear and panic. Inundated me with uncomfortable fucking feelings that I didn’t entertain.

I opened the door and heard the pleasant chimes.

She was talking to a customer, handing the woman, who looked like a tourist, a bag.

She looked at me, and I saw it in her eyes: apprehension, anxiety, sadness, and fear. She knew why I was here, and she wasn’t looking forward to it any more than I was.

Now, I wished I hadn’t ghosted her after she’d said those damn words because then it wouldn’t have been on me to seek her out and sort this shit thatshe’ddumped onme.

What part ofthis isn’t a fucking relationshipdid she not get?

I’d told her from the start, hadn’t I?

Now she’d gone and done the one thing I fucking hated—caught feelings. Said them out loud. And that left me two options: cut her loose, or ask her to stick around and pretend her heart wasn’t on the line.

Neither felt right.

Because as I looked at her in that white cotton dress—soft, simple, like some damn sacrifice laid out on the altar—I didn’t just want to be near her. I wanted backinher. Backwithher.

The customer left, and Naomi followed her to the door.