by Maria Luis
Lizzie nodded. “Bad boys who generally turn out to be losers. It’s a vicious cycle.”
She felt, rather than saw, Danvers look away. Was he a bad boy? Despite the flirting, he didn’t really give off a cocky air. Confident? Yes. Arrogant? No. Except for his kiss. Brief as it had been, there’d been no shortage of naughtiness in it.
Simply put, Nathan Danvers kissed like the devil himself.
“My Danvers isn’t a bad boy,” Beth murmured, a motherly smile brightening her features. “Women love nice guys too.”
They did, but generally they knew whom they were getting with these “nice guys.” Beth’s son was a different sort of guy altogether. One who relied on charm and hunky grins to get him what he wanted, when it was really just a ploy to keeping his innermost thoughts under wraps.
Clearly uncomfortable under the spotlight, Danvers drained the rest of his beer. “How about we talk about something else, huh? Like the fact that JazzFest is coming up soon and—”
Honestly, Jade wasn’t sure why she spoke up. Díos mío, she wasn’t even sure why she felt the urge to poke at Danvers like she were baiting a huge, wild black bear. All she knew was that he’d been actively avoiding her and it stung more than she would ever admit.
“Lizzie,” she said, cursing herself even as she spoke, “if I wanted to meet one of those . . . bad boys, where would it be?”
Danvers’ sister didn’t even hesitate. “Bourbon Street.”
Jade resolutely kept her gaze on Lizzie’s face. “Oh?”
“Yeah. It’s a-hole central, I’m telling you. And”—she flashed a quick glance at her parents—“not to give too much information away, but there’s no shortage of male tourists looking to party.”
“Are you looking to meet somebody, Jade?” Beth asked.
No.
She honestly wasn’t even sure why she’d started down this path, other than to spark the man across the table into some sort of action. Sure, she’d freaked out over their kiss, but he’d ignored her for days.
Two wrongs didn’t make a right.
Warily, she said, “I, um, wouldn’t be opposed to it.”
Lizzie shook her head. “Yeah, Bourbon isn’t where you go to meet your one true love.”
“You met Steve on Bourbon,” Danvers said, his voice a deep rumble that warmed Jade at just the sound of it.
His sister rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, look how that turned out?”
“Jade,” Beth murmured, “you could always go on a date with our Danny. He’s a good boy.”
“Oh, God.”
It took her a minute to realize that both she and Danvers had uttered the words simultaneously.
Her gaze flew to his face, which had turned as still as granite. Right now, he didn’t look like a “good boy.” His jaw was hard, his eyes flashing with annoyance. His muscles upon muscles bunched under the soft fabric of his shirt. No, Nathan Danvers wasn’t a “boy,” and there was certainly nothing good about him.
“Mom,” he said in a low voice, “Jade and I aren’t dating.”
Beth seemed to take offense to this. “But she’s beautiful!”
“Beautiful or not,” Mr. Cartwell said in a tone that left no room for argument, “they aren’t dating. Right, Danvers?”
Jade wanted to crawl in a hole and die. Why, why, why had she thought to open her mouth at all?
Lizzie, bless her soul, swirled the wine around in her glass and announced, “If you aren’t interested in dating Jade, beautiful as she is, you’re probably batting for the same team, brother dearest.” She winked. “My YouTube subscribers would love that.”
“I’m not gay,” her brother growled.
“I didn’t say you are,” Lizzie amended with a sly smile, “Just that I have three million subscribers who would love a come-out story like that.”
“Weren’t you just at two million two weeks ago?”
The youngest Cartwell shrugged. “What can I say? The people love me.”
“Hello, my name is Egotistical.”
“Danny!” Beth Cartwell snapped. Her fork punched the air with each syllable. Jade had the sudden urge to take cover in the off chance the older woman lost her grip and the sharp utensil went flying. “Apologize to your sister.”
Lizzie waved a manicured hand in the air. “No worries, Ma. I was just poking at him. My fault.” She sat forward, elbows going to the table, a let’s-do-this expression narrowing her blue eyes. “But, really, Danny, are you hiding anything from us?”
“Not when it comes to my sexual orientation.”
“What about when it comes to Jade?” Beth asked, the hope obvious in her expression.
“Beth,” Mr. Cartwell muttered, “no.”
Across the spread of mashed potatoes, wine glasses, and cutlery, Danvers’ resigned gaze found hers. “Jade is too smart to go for someone like me.”
Oh.
Well, then.
She ignored Lizzie’s girlish squeal, preferring instead to duck her head and focus on the food. While she felt the weight of Danvers’ gaze on her, the rest of the dinner finished somewhat uneventfully, with everyone decamping back to their safe corners. By the time Jade hugged Beth good-bye and shook Mr. Cartwell’s hand, she was about ready to crawl into bed and never wake up.
She, Lizzie, and Danvers made their way down the cobbled walkway to their respective cars parked on the street. The night was cool, cooler than it had been recently, and Jade stuck her hands in the pockets of her denim jacket.
“You sure you don’t want to come over for wine?” Lizzie asked, pausing by her cherry-red sports car.
It was a tempting offer, made only that more tempting by the fact that Jade was desperate for some girl time. But the reason for the girl time was standing just a few feet away, his hands buried in his jeans’ pocket. It would be way too weird to talk to Lizzie about her older brother.
“Can I get a rain check?”
“Yes.” Lizzie pumped a fist in the air, and her excitement was all too infectious. “This week, for sure. Text me your work schedule and I’ll set it up. We’ll invite Shaelyn and Anna. They’re technically Danvers’ friends, but they love me more. And they’ll definitely love you.”
Jade grinned. “I’m down for whatever.”
Wrapping a hand around Jade’s shoulder, Lizzie pulled her in for a quick hug. “You’ll be sorry you said that. I’m newly single and ready to mingle.”
Do not look at him, do not look at him, do not look at him. “I’m a great wing woman. Top notch.”
“Brilliant. Maybe we’ll find you the perfect bad boy for the evening, if you know what I mean. Unless my brother swoops you up first.”
Jade’s cheeks burned with hot embarrassment as Lizzie waved to her brother and rounded the hood of her car. “I’m doing your makeup that night, by the way. Might even film it for my channel—no opportunities lost, you know?”
Clapping one hand on the roof of the car, Lizzie slid into her car, honked the horn, and drove off into the night.
For a few long moments, Jade stood there in silence. She didn’t say a word. Neither did the man less than ten feet away. There were so many things she wanted to say, but none of them seemed right. Somehow their easy friendship had segued into something else and she had no idea how to put it back together again.
It wasn’t as though they’d been friends for years. Two weeks did not a relationship make. Granted, their third week of “friendship” had become rife with awkwardness and tension. Even the first night that they’d met hadn’t been like this, this weird standoff that felt all too monumental.
Sighing, she slipped one hand onto the strap of her purse. “Well, I guess I should get going. It was . . . nice, I guess. To see you, I mean.”
No answer.
Had she thought him a smooth conversationalist? Clearly she’d been mistaken.
New game plan: go home, pour wine, Skype with Sammie.
“Do you want to grab a drink?”
Shock cemented her shoes
to the concrete. “With you?”
Even in the darkness, she could make out the grimace that tugged at his handsome features. In a voice composed of gravel and whiskey, he muttered, “Are you waiting on your knight in shining bad boy or something?”
Jade’s spine snapped straight. “Well, no. But let’s not pretend you haven’t avoided me all week.”
There was a long pause, and then, “I’ve been busy.”
The frustrated bit of her wanted to poke him some more. Poke the bear until he finally gave her a reaction, any kind of reaction. She’d known him for less than a month, and yet she didn’t understand how his friends or family believed him to be so cavalier. So superficial.
He hid behind the jokes and the smiles. She saw that now. And she couldn’t help but wonder how many years he’d been practicing his customary skit, so much so that no one ever questioned him. Did Beth and Mr. Cartwell and Lizzie even know him? Really know him?
Finally, she murmured, “I’m sure you have.”
His gaze dropped to the ground and he bit down on his lip. Then, slipping one hand from his pocket to jangle his keys against his leg, he hesitantly asked, “Do you want to go? There’s this little bar I think you’ll like.”
She could hear Sammie and Rita in her head egging her on, telling her to get out there and have some fun. Her hand itched to call Sammie, but she worried that she’d admit to making a mistake in moving to New Orleans.
No, not a mistake. Career-wise, she was making moves, especially now that Tanya was less of an enemy and more of a friend. On the personal front, however . . . Well, she supposed she was still doing better than the years she’d spent with John Thomas.
But with each moment she spent with Danvers, she worried that her determination to stay away from men, to focus on herself, dwindled away.
“Should I just follow you?” she asked before she could think better of it.
So quickly she barely caught it, a look of pleasure flashed across his face. “Yeah, just follow me.”
If his words sounded like they promised something more in the dark, Jade refused to think about it. She hadn’t come to New Orleans in search of Mr. Right. Hell, she hadn’t come to New Orleans in search of Mr. Anyone.
But neither had she expected Nathan Danvers.
14
Bywater, New Orleans
“All righty, y’all, I’ve got an Old Fashioned and a strawberry daiquiri.” The server plunked down two cocktail glasses, the Old Fashioned in front of Nathan and the pink frozen drink in front of Jade. “Anything else I can do for either of you?”
Nathan made a show of wrapping his hand around the whiskey tumbler and pulling it close. “Nah, we’re good for now. Thanks.”
“You got it, captain. Let me know if y’all get a knackering for a second round.”
The server hadn’t even twisted on his heel to leave before Jade swiped a finger in the daiquiri’s whipped cream topping, popping the tip into her mouth and moaning like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted. Nathan went just about cross-eyed.
Because he was a man, and even though Jade had driven him up the wall of insanity all throughout dinner, there was only so much a man could take sometimes. A woman—Jade—licking whipped cream from her finger was apparently where he drew the line.
When she went for a third finger-scoop, Nathan muttered, “Hey, hey, hey. I said you could have some.”
She stared at him, dragged her finger through the whipped topping again, and deliberately brought her finger to her mouth. She was a tease, and Nathan wanted nothing more than to snag her wrist and bring her finger to his mouth for a taste.
Deep breathing, Danvers. Think about the Queen of England. Think about—
Clearing his throat, Nathan attempted to gather his wits about him. “One scoop, Jade, one.”
The smile she flashed him nearly finished him off. “I’m just helping you out. Let me finish off the whipped cream, and no one will ever have to know that you asked me to order this strawberry daiquiri for you because you were too embarrassed to do it for yourself.”
Nathan fought a smile. “The whipped cream is the best part—my favorite part.”
“I know,” Jade said, eyeing the frozen drink like she was debating on whether or not he’d put up with her stealing another scoop. “Think of it as payment for me keeping your secret.”
He steeled his shoulders. “What secret is that?”
Dark eyes swept over him, pausing momentarily on his mouth before lifting to meet his gaze. “The fact that you love fru-fru drinks.”
A relieved sigh blew past his lips. Cocktail conversation, he could handle. Easily. “Now just hold on a minute,” he said, latching onto the hope that the conversation stayed light all night. “A daiquiri is not a fru-fru drink.”
She pointed at the pink umbrella sticking out of the whipped cream and arched a brow. “No?” she murmured. “Then what do you call this?”
He hooked a finger around the stem of the daiquiri glass and tugged it toward him. The Old Fashioned he slid in her direction. “A girly drink is a Screaming Orgasm or a Sex on the Beach. This is just refreshing.”
“Why do girly drinks have to be all about the sex?”
“Why do manly drinks have to be all about bourbon and soda?” he countered.
If possible, the arch of her brow went higher. Bringing the glass tumbler to her lips, she swallowed a mouthful of her Old Fashioned like she was making a point. And she was: that she enjoyed their bantering as much as he did.
Which didn’t explain why she’d taken off from him the other night.
Nathan leaned forward, elbows on the table, and let his voice drop to a husky drawl. “Let’s be honest. A woman orders an Old Fashioned and she’s looked at like she’s a badass. Like she’s one of a kind—”
“A unicorn,” Jade interjected.
“Yeah, like a unicorn.” Nathan sipped his daiquiri, savoring the fruity flavors that greeted his taste buds. “So, right, she’s a unicorn. All of a sudden, boom”—his hand came down on the weathered table top—“every guy in existence has her on his radar. She’s the woman they want to take home to their mother. She’s the woman they know every guy will fight over. A girl ordering an Old Fashioned doesn’t carry nearly the same risk as a man drinking a frozen pink drink with whipped cream and a matching umbrella.”
Silence reigned over the table, stretching out until Nathan wondered if he’d rendered her speechless. Wouldn’t be the first time—although usually such feats were relegated to the bedroom during the woman’s post-sex orgasmic glow.
With her finger tapping the side of the glass tumbler, Jade tilted her head and pondered him. “I only have one question.”
Famous last words right there. It seemed like just the question to ask before dropping a major heavy hitter, anything that might include marriage, babies, or house-buying. Since he and Jade couldn’t even get past the first kiss threshold, Nathan merely gestured for her to say her piece with a wave of his hand. “Give it to me.”
“Does everyone know that you’re obsessed with pink drinks and teeny tiny umbrellas?”
Swiping the maraschino cherry from the caldera of whipped cream, he pointed it at her, only for the cherry’s thin, flaccid red stem to begin to droop. He choked back a burst of laughter. “First off, my umbrella is not teeny tiny. Small, maybe, but not teeny tiny.”
“That’s . . . ” She broke off and glanced down at her drink. Nathan swore he detected a smile curving her lips, and he felt his own turning up in response to her amusement. Maybe they were bouncing back from the awkward tension of this week. That was good, definitely good.
“Is the umbrella thing supposed to be a sexual innuendo?” she asked.
Yes. “On a scale of one to ten, where would you rate it?”
Her lips pursed. “I don’t know. A six, maybe, or a four.”
“Ouch”—Nathan snapped his wrist, as though he’d scalded himself on something hot—“rein in the claws, Jade.” He swirled the s
traw around in his daiquiri. “As for the second question, the answer is that everybody knows.”
“What do you mean, everyone knows?”
“Just like I said, it’s no secret.” Involuntarily his gaze dropped to her mouth. It was a bad habit he had to kick, like he’d done with cigarettes years ago. “I like things that taste sweet.”
Even in the dimness of the barroom, he noticed the flush staining her cheeks. She brought her hands to the ponytail sitting high on the top of her head, tightening the elastic band in what he’d come to recognize as a show of nervousness. His hands itched to reach for hers, but he kept them to himself. Leaned back against the booth, crossed his arms over his chest, and . . .
Stop thinking about stripping her naked.
Easier said than done.
“So, you’re going to go out with Lizzie later this week?”
“Maybe, if she wants,” Jade said, shrugging and going for another sip of her cocktail. “It’d be nice to hang out with a group of girls.”
“Should I feel insulted?”
Her gaze dropped to his watered-down strawberry daiquiri. “I’d say you’re filling in quite nicely for the time being.”
Touché. “I thought we agreed that my daiquiri doesn’t make me any less manly.”
“I think you agreed to that,” she returned flippantly, which only made Nathan laugh because they were both fully aware that his sexuality didn’t need to be called into question.
“How do you know Ms. Hansen?”
Shit. He tried to grasp at straws for a response, but his thoughts froze like he’d sucked down the daiquiri all in one go.
This right here—this was why he’d avoided her for the last week, since that first text he’d received from her, asking if them seeking out Miranda Smiley had anything to do with the break-in at Ms. Hansen’s house. Truth of the matter was, he’d screwed up, and he’d spent days trying to claw himself out of the burning fire.
He’d been so certain that Shawna Zeker had committed murder that he hadn’t taken the time to really consider the what-ifs.
