She liked hanging with him the most because he didn’t bug her. He didn’t call often; she usually called him. He didn’t harass her by pretending to want to be in a relationship with her. He was upfront about not wanting one, which suited her just fine. And mostly, he didn’t push her about having sex. She knew most guys expected it after two to three dates, which sadly, ended up being her cut-off frame as a result. Amari seemed to be okay with just hanging out with her. She wasn’t naïve though. She knew that if she ever initiated it he would immediately accept. He flirted with her endlessly when they were together, but that’s as far as it went. And she never felt creeped out by his advances because she knew they were harmless. They understood each other. And it worked.
Of course, Raven thought she was avoiding a serious relationship because she was scared of getting hurt again. Destiny was honest enough to admit that was part of it, but mostly she just had other shit to be concerned about.
Her phone buzzed and she rushed out of the bathroom and grabbed it off of the desk, grinning as she read the text Brian had just sent.
“Make sure you check out Reflux Jazz tonight if you can. I saw them a couple of months ago and they’re dope.”
“Already on the agenda,” she responded.
“Cool. Exclamation point.”
She smiled and sat the phone back on the desk and rifled through her suitcase, trying to find something comfortable for the night. She didn’t know if she would see him again before he left for Phoenix. His flight was leaving first thing in the morning and she knew she wasn’t going to be finished until really late. She was tempted to persuade him to get a pass to the Festival, but his new bosses wanted him to go to dinner with them to meet with some clients.
She slid into a pair of jeans and pulled a red Bob Marley tank top over her head. She didn’t like wearing dresses when she covered concerts because she needed to be able to move around without restriction, especially if she was taking pictures.
She walked over to the small desk where her bag was sitting, took her notepad and a pen and slid them into the back pocket of her jeans. She slung her camera bag over her shoulder and glanced at the time on her phone again just as it rang.
“Are you drinking yet?” Raven prodded the second Destiny answered.
She rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. “I had one drink, Ray. Are you happy?”
“Yes,” Raven answered, “I actually am.”
Raven was probably more excited than anyone that Destiny had gotten to cover the festival. Not because she was even into jazz like that, but because she said New Orleans is the best city to get drunk in. She’d tried to explain that she was there to work, not stumble around like a drunken tourist. Since Raven was a middle school teacher she was forced to keep her wild side bottled up during the school year. She planned on coming to Miami for a couple of weeks after school got out for the summer and she was counting down the days.
“Are you having fun yet?” Raven was asking now.
“Yep,” Destiny smiled, thinking of Brian. “I’ve been hanging with Brian all afternoon. I really missed him more than I thought I did. And guess what?” She didn't wait for her to answer. “He’s moving to Miami!”
“What?” Raven squealed. She knew him from the many trips he took to Tallahassee while they were all in college together.
“I know, right?” Destiny smiled again. “The job he was interviewing for is based in Miami, not here.”
“And so it begins.”
“And so what begins?” Destiny asked, wrinkling her face at Raven’s cryptic tone.
“Nothing, Grasshopper,” Raven sighed. “Are you guys hanging out tonight?”
Destiny shook her head. “No, he had to go to dinner with his new bosses to meet some clients or something. I’m not even sure if I’ll see him again while I’m out here.”
“That kinda sucks,” Raven replied.
“I know,” she frowned. “But he’s moving to Miami!”
Raven laughed. “Shit… okay, I gotta go,” she said, suddenly hurried. “It’s freaking Parent-Teacher night… I can’t wait until this year is over,” she sighed, irritably. “Have fun for me.”
“I will,” Destiny said just as quickly. She was so late.
After she hung up, she hurried into the bathroom and quickly put on some eyeliner and eye shadow. Studying herself, she grabbed her blush and lightly swept her cheeks. She put on some lip-gloss as she rushed out of the bathroom. She did a quick sweep of the room to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything important and hurried out the door.
* * *
She was drunk. Dammit. She said she wasn’t going to get drunk and yet here she was… drunk. Well, not really all the way, totally drunk. Maybe just a little drunk. Like, a little lot drunk. She walked down the cobblestoned pathway of the French Quarter toward the direction of her hotel, her bag hung securely over the front of her chest like a sash.
The night had gone extremely well. The shows she covered were probably the best she’d ever seen. Gabe had pretty much let her choose which shows she was going to cover because he said he wanted the story to be as authentic as possible. She’d mostly chosen to cover local jazz bands. She figured she’d either already seen the bigger acts, or could see them any time. She wanted this experience to be as authentically New Orleans as possible.
It was so easy to get caught up in the vibe of the city, the music, the culture, the people. From what she could tell, she was one of the few female journalists covering the Festival and was definitely the youngest. But at this point, she was used to it. It made her feel good that Gabe trusted her with such a big assignment.
She’d taken notes on the music and experienced being in the venue with people who actually loved music as much as she did. The crowd was as much a part of the experience as the actual band. She’d never seen anything like it.
But here, she was able to completely lose herself in the moment. It was a music writer’s dream. She’d written down everything—the way the deep rumble of the stand-up bass had mingled seamlessly with pat-tat of the drum beat; the rich vibration of the trombone bopping along to the staccato rhythm of the keys. The five-man band had totally commanded the crowd, lifting them up with a swift change of key then drawing them back down without a moment’s notice.
Although her pictures weren’t as great as she would’ve liked, mostly because her company camera was nothing like the ones professional photographers had, she thought she’d done pretty well. This was the first time she was able to write a lengthy editorial piece about a live jazz show.
She’d done more than her fair share of reviews, but the angle of this story allowed her to be even more creative, and she’d taken more notes than usual, amped by the opportunity to further define her writing voice.
She had the music beat at her college paper and even though Raven never understood how she was so content to cover shows and work alone, Destiny really loved it. She liked being able to get lost in her thoughts, in the rhythms on stage. She liked being free to work the room the way she needed to, without worrying if whoever she brought would be okay by themselves, or offended if she was gone for too long.
She’d hopped around, in and out of different venues, soaking it all in. Once she was satisfied she’d gotten more than enough for the night she’d finally allowed herself a drink. Big mistake. The guy at the bar had suggested that she try a strawberry daiquiri. She thought it was a safe enough drink, even after he told her it was made the “real” way, on the rocks and not frozen. She normally stayed away from cutesy girly drinks, but the guy had insisted that she couldn’t leave the city without having one. So she did. Actually, they were so good she’d had two. And now, she was drunk.
“Hey, sweetheart!” She looked up to see a group of three guys on the side of the street motioning for her to come join them. The one yelling at her had on a fishnet tank top and jean shorts. She was always attracting weirdos.
“Come over ‘ere, mama!”
Um, no. She smil
ed politely and kept walking. She was never rude to any of the guys that tried to talk to her. She hung around enough guys to appreciate that on some level it took nerve to approach a woman, knowing she could reject you. She walked a little faster to get away from the catcalls of the drunk fishnet shirt guy. She was still aware enough to know that it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to be walking through the streets of New Orleans at two in the morning, half-drunk by herself.
She pulled out her phone and texted Brian. He’d said he would probably hang out, get a drink and people watch but planned on going to his room early since his flight left at like eight-twenty in the morning. She hoped she wasn’t waking him up.
“U up?”
She put her phone back in her pocket and tried to walk a little faster without tripping. She passed by an old man who was so drunk he could barely stand. He reached out and grabbed her hand.
“…fine ass,” he slurred, not even able to get a coherent sentence out.
She snatched her hand back and hurried to pass him. Her phone vibrated and she answered it quickly after seeing Brian’s name pop up on the screen.
“Hey,” she breathed, hoping she didn’t sound as buzzed as she felt.
“Where are you?” he immediately asked, probably because of the noise on the street.
“On St. Charles,” she said, looking around. “I’m like a block from my hotel. I think.”
She stopped and looked around again, frowning. She turned and started heading in the opposite direction, bumping clumsily into a group of girls with cups in their hands.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized.
The one whose foot she’d stepped on waved a hand at her, smiling as they walked on.
“Destiny,” Brian repeated trying to get her attention. “What do you see?”
Concern filled his voice.
“Um…” she looked around again. “I see a café. And I think my hotel on the right, no the left. A little further down. Not that far down, but a little bit further down.”
She knew she was rambling but she couldn’t help it. She always rambled when she was really buzzed. Brian said something but the noise on the street was overwhelming and she was having trouble hearing him.
“I can’t hear you, Brian,” she said a little louder. She paused near a light-post and put a finger in her ear, straining to listen.
“Does the café say Avor Du Pot?” he asked again.
She peered down the street, frowning.
“Av…Pore…huh?”
“Avor Du Pot,” he patiently repeated.
She squinted at the sign again.
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, go stand in front of it, I’m just a couple of blocks down. I’m gonna come meet you.”
“Okay,” she mumbled, peering down the street again. She started heading quickly in that direction and nearly tripped, righting herself just before she fell. Damn deceptive daiquiri.
Bistro tables and chairs lined the front of the café and she sat down at one, holding her bag in her lap. The street was buzzing with activity and the excitement of finally being in New Orleans had her practically bouncing in her seat. Or maybe that was the damn deceptive daiquiri. She watched a young couple walking down the street, practically tripping over one another’s feet as they weaved their way through the crowd. His hand was in her back pocket and she was looking at him like he was the most fascinating individual on earth.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a hand on her back. She whipped her head around to see Brian frowning at her.
“It’s just me,” he said, unnecessarily. He’d changed again into a black t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans.
“Brian!” she jumped up, throwing her arms around his neck. “I was so sad because I didn’t think I was going to be able to see you ever again until you moved to Miami.”
He chuckled and shook his head at her, placing his hands on her waist.
“I really wish you would’ve been there tonight,” she said, her tilting her head back to look at him. “You would’ve loved it and you’re definitely the only person who really would’ve gotten the experience.”
He grinned, studying her face. “You’re drunk.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Just a little bit. Like a little, lot bit.”
He laughed, and she smiled up at him, her arms still around his neck.
“You’re also cute as hell.”
His face was inches from hers and she inhaled.
“You think I'm cute as hell?” she asked. Her breath had increased and she suddenly felt warm.
He nodded. He looked down at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. Her heart was racing and she knew her cheeks were flushed.
“So, what do you want to do, Destiny?” he asked, his voice low. His eyes were doing that super intense thing again and she bit her lip, shifting her weight.
It didn’t seem like he was just referring to tonight and she dropped her arms, backing away from him. She stared at him, confused, her heart pounding in her chest. He grinned and stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. He was watching her with amusement. She inhaled and shook her head. She was clearly really intoxicated. Damn deceptive daiquiri.
“Let’s go listen to some music,” he suggested, still grinning.
“Are you sure? Don’t you have an early flight?” she asked, finding her voice.
“Yeah, but I’ll be alright,” he shrugged. “Besides we’ve never hung out in New Orleans together before. We can’t waste the opportunity, especially during Jazz Fest, right?”
He held out his hand for her and she hesitated for just a second before grinning and reaching for it.
* * *
“So, how was your dinner?” Destiny asked.
They were seated in a bar on St. Charles. The place was crowded and the jazz band that was on stage looked like they were fresh out of college, but they were fluid and precise. Brian shrugged.
“It was good. Seems like it’s gonna be a cool place to work. All we really did the whole time was drink.”
She nodded as the bartender sauntered up to them.
“What’ll be?” he asked, glancing between the two of them.
“I’ll just have water,” she said. She was still really buzzed and knew she couldn’t handle another drink if she wanted to be able to walk out of the bar tonight.
“Ah, come on, pretty girl,” the bartender chastised her. “You can’t come to a bar in New Orleans and order a water.”
He grinned and winked at her, nodding his head toward Brian.
“You gotta convince her to drink with you, bro,” he said.
Brian chuckled. “Alright, I’ll take two shots of vodka and she’ll have a strawberry daiquiri and a glass of water.”
The bartender nodded and walked off.
“You must want to carry me out of here,” Destiny said, turning toward Brian.
“You don’t have to drink it all. Just go slow and sip the water with it. Did you eat tonight?”
She nodded. “I ate at the bar after the shows.”
“Good, you’ll be alright,” he said.
Their drinks came quickly and she sipped hers, her momentary hesitation forgotten. Strawberry daiquiris sure were good. Brian laughed at her dreamy expression.
“I see how you got buzzed so quickly,” he teased her.
“I can’t help it,” she smiled, taking another sip. “Everything here is so much better.”
She bobbed her head as the band segued into a jazz-fused hip-hop set. They were playing Common’s “I Want You” and she smiled. He grinned back knowingly.
“We should definitely dance now,” she declared, downing the rest of the daiquiri.
She hopped off of the barstool, swaying her hips to the music as she grinned at him and held out her hand. She watched as he quickly downed the shots and let her pull him off of the stool. She led the way into the swell of people with him on her heels. The dance floor was crowded and he pulled her to him so that she
wouldn’t get bumped by the people who were entranced by the music. The alcohol was coursing through her bloodstream and she felt good—free, even. She loved New Orleans. Dancing with Brian reminded her of the countless times they’d gone clubbing whenever he’d visit while she was still in college.
She held her arms up, tilting her head back slightly as she swayed to the percussion that was beating a rhythm into her bloodstream. She opened her eyes and grinned. Brian could dance. Actually, Brian did pretty much everything he tried to do well.
He pulled her closer as their bodies moved in tune to the mid-tempo rhythm. She pressed into him, closing her eyes and intertwining her arms around his neck. He was pulling on her belt loops as he moved, his stubble gently scratching the side of her cheek. She turned in his arms, still moving in time to the steadily thumping baseline and reached up again, her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer. She could feel his breath warm against her ear, his fingers splayed across her lower abdomen as he kept her close.
In the back of her mind, somewhere beneath her alcohol haze, she questioned how close they were getting to crossing their carefully drawn friendship line. They’d danced together before, but this was something different. She was too aware of his hands on her, his breath warm against her face, his body pressed against hers. She closed her eyes, deciding not to over-analyze it, and just enjoy the moment for once.
His hand trailed from her abdomen to her hip, then back up and she leaned her head back, resting it on his shoulder. She could feel his nose nuzzling against the side of her neck and she sighed, automatically tilting it to the side, giving him better access. If Brian wanted to nuzzle his nose against her skin, he could—or his lips, because that’s what he was doing now.
They were warm and soft and trailing down to her collarbone. She arched back into him, because that was okay, too. His tongue flicked against her neck and she drew in a surprised breath. Then he kissed it and she moaned aloud, the noise lost somewhere in the sound of the music. She was melting against him as he pulled her tighter to him. Oh shit. He was kissing her neck. And she was letting him. She was more than letting him, she was melting into him, tilting her head back, drawing him closer to her with her hand on the back of his neck. Whoa. Shit.
Better Than Okay Page 4
