Total pages in book: 8
Estimated words: 7758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 39(@200wpm)___ 31(@250wpm)___ 26(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 7758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 39(@200wpm)___ 31(@250wpm)___ 26(@300wpm)
“What do you mean?”
“She’s been eighteen for a whole week now, ya know?”
“I was out of the country,” I reply.
“What’s your excuse now, then?”
“I don’t really have one,” I say.
“Then I don’t really get why you’re still here, Clyde. You can be at Jézabel Barrilleaux University in just a couple of hours. It’s my understanding the tour isn’t over until four-thirty.” The JBU Harlots. Original, I think.
“What?” Jézabel Barrilleaux was an infamous madame in the ’20s. The student dormitory is the actual bordello. All the rooms there were once used by Jézabel’s Girls, as they were called. It’s quite the legend around here. Men and women came from all over to sample the delights of Jézabel’s Girls. The bordello officially closed in 1925 after just two years of being open. That’s when Jézabel left to become the queen of some small island country in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The rest of the college sprang up around it in the ‘50s.
“That’s just the name of the college. She’s not going to school to become a lady of the night,” she says, rolling her eyes at me. Of course not, because that would be over my dead body.
“You’re right, Ayla,” I say, kissing her cheek before leaving.
I drive like a bat of out hell and make it to the very small college she’s touring before the tour is even over.
I lean against my ‘69 Mustang waiting for her like a fucking stalker. I watch her with two girls. They are giggling, and one of the girls points at some guy and then giggles some more. Kerry looks around the parking lot. I could swear that she knows that I am watching her. Her eyes light up when she sees me. She says something to the girls and then runs over to me.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, coming to a halt in front of me.
“I hated the thought of you being here alone. Is that okay? Did you have plans tonight?”
“No!” she shouts. “I mean, I was just going to drive home. I really loved the music box you got me for my birthday. It was so thoughtful. Thank you.” It was a 1910 Swiss music box that I restored. Lovingly restored. I even hid our initials in the new varnish. It plays Tales from the Vienna Woods by Johann Strauss, II, not to be confused with his father, who was also an Austrian composer. I definitely didn’t know that until the pawnshop owner I bought the box at told me so.
“You’re welcome.”
“What should we do now that you’re here?” she asks, fiddling with a frayed piece of her jean jacket. What I really want to do is take to her a motel and own her, body and soul, but she deserves better than that. She deserves everything, and I’ll give anything to be the man that gives it to her.
two
Kerry Fisher
What is he doing here? I’m still wondering as I stare at him. He looks different from the last time I saw him, and trust me, I’ve noticed this man for longer than I’d admit. Was it really only two weeks ago? His hair is longer than I ever remember. It’s fallen haphazardly over his right eye. I desperately want to reach up and brush it out of his way, but I stop myself. Forcing myself to play with the fringes on my jacket. I have to remember that he doesn’t want me to touch him. I have to remember that he’s not mine to touch. He’s my older brother Kellen’s best friend. Since I was old enough to remember them, Clyde Andrews has haunted my dreams. The dreams started out innocuous enough, but lately, they have been erotically charged. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear there was some kind of Louisiana magic at play there.
“What should we do now that you’re here?” The words still hang between us like a thick fog.
“Let me take you out to dinner,” he says, and the fog clears, but I’m sure I heard him wrong. I stare at him for maybe thirty heartbeats, not saying anything, just staring. I know I need to say something, so I clear my throat before speaking.
“Dinner?” I repeat, like a deranged parrot.
“Yeah, we are so close to Bourbon Street. I could take you to…” he begins.
“I’m really fine with fast food,” I reply, cutting him off, excited that he wants to take me out. Just me and him. I don’t think I could do something fancy with him. I am suddenly so freaking nervous that I rub my palms on my jeans in an effort to dry them off. He grins at me, making me feel even more off-kilter.
Then he does something so out of character for him.
For us.
He pulls me closer to him, his hands on my hips. He lowers his head, resting his forehead against mine, his breath hitting my cheeks, and I can’t breathe. Eventually, I do, but he’s not said anything yet. We are just breathing on each other and looking into each other’s eyes. No words. Not moving. Nothing but stares and breathing. Then I mess up by blinking.