The Ticket (The Affair Duet Book 1)

by Aidèe Jaimes

  It’s when I hear the cleaning and delivery trucks outside that I finally get up and walk numbly through the room thinking about Bo. Has he left already? Did he make it to Teche okay? Will I ever see him again? Will I ever forget him?

  If I had a hard time getting him out of my mind before, now that I know what he feels like, what he tastes like, it will be impossible.

  Forcing myself to think of something else, I pull out my phone. I see a missed call from Owen, but ignore it and call my dad instead.

  “Hey daughter,” he greets.

  “Hey daddy, how are you?”

  “Good,” he replies.

  “How’s Mia?” I ask even though I can hear her in the background. “Did she sleep okay? Did she go down easy?”

  “She slept fine, but she did ask for you and got up once for a few minutes.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  “It’s fine. She’s been great other than that.”

  “Can I talk to her?”

  My dad puts her on and she starts telling me everything she’s eating and what she’s played with since I left. “Mommy you coming home today?” she asks sweetly, and it makes me ache to hold her.

  “Tomorrow, baby, then I have a super fun week planned for you and me.”

  “And Daddy?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Here, let me talk to Mommy real quick,” my dad tells her and takes the phone back. “Where are you?”

  “New Orleans.”

  “Are you with someone?”

  “Daddy, I don’t know that you want to hear this.”

  “I just don’t want you to… Please don’t make the same mistakes we did,” he says, though I know what he really means is not to make the same mistakes my mother made. “I can see the signs.”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  He sighs in resignation. “Just tell me you are safe. I’m worried about you. Owen called last night, he wanted to talk to Mia. Said he might come get her today.”

  I groan. Just hearing Owen’s name is a hard reminder of everything that’s happened.

  “Well, if he does that’s fine. And I’m safe, I promise. I will be home tomorrow,” I tell him.

  After I let them go I feel so much better, just having heard Mia was what my soul needed.

  I have one more day in New Orleans, and in that time I need to get back to myself. Tomorrow I go back to my husband and daughter. But a whole day it is, and I don’t intend on wasting it in this room wishing for someone who’s already out of my reach.

  Today I am going to walk the Quarter again, maybe tour a few of the old homes, have a beignet.

  With that in mind I take a long shower and dress for an active day, in khaki pants, a white cotton shirt and sneakers and throw on a black hoodie I can tie around my waist if it gets hot. Though it’s chilly out, there’s not much wind and the sun is bright, not a cloud in the sky.

  I throw my sling bag on and head across the street to the Desire Oyster Bar for breakfast. I’ve always liked the place with its eclectic style, tin ceiling, vintage light fixtures, small white and black tile floor and red vinyl chairs.

  I am seated at one of the high tables next to a window where I can watch the comings and goings. At this hour, the streets are bustling with locals and workers as all the tourists sleep away their hangovers. Large trucks ride by with circling sweepers, store owners wash their sidewalks with soap and water, and bar employees take out large bags of garbage from the night before. It’s a ritual that happens every morning, this busy cleaning.

  I’m watching without really seeing. There’s so much going on in my head and at the same time nothing at all. There’s all the sorting through my emotions about what I did last night. What I will say to help ease Owen? Will we ever get back what we had?

  I am so involved in my thoughts that when the chair next to me swivels out with a screech, I spit out a large chunk of egg into my hand to avoid choking on it. Bo sits down with a playful plop beside me, that perpetual up-to-no-good smile on his face.

  “What’s happenin’?” he asks casually.

  “Uh, I. Hi” My mind draws a blank. From the shock of seeing him again so soon after I thought I would probably never see him again, or just from his nearness, I don’t know.

  “I’ve been callin’ you. Where you been?”

  “Oh. I haven’t looked at my phone in a bit. I thought you were… that last night was, you know, the last.”

  “Well, I got to thinkin’. You said you were gonna hang out here for another day. I was about to head to Old Nate’s house when I remembered you said you’d always wanted to see the swamp. So, come with me.”

  I swallow hard. Go with him? Spend another day with Bo?

  The temptation is so great. As it was I didn’t want to say goodbye to him, and now he is asking me to spend another day with him. And he looks so good, too. Tanned skin, days’ worth of salt and pepper scruff on his face.

  “You gonna finish this?” he asks when I take too long to answer, and pulls my plate to him eating without shame. “I’m starvin’! I haven’t eaten since last night. So, what do you think?”

  “About you inhaling my food?”

  “No, darlin’. Go with me.”

  “I don’t know. My golden ticket was only for one night. It already feels like I did something wrong.”

  “Actually, it felt right to me,” he says around a bite of egg and waggles his brows.

  Yeah, it felt so right that it could only be wrong.

  “I don’t know. It was only supposed to be one night.” Owen only had one night. Or so he says. For all I know it could have been the entire time he was in Chicago.

  “Come on, chère, let me be the one to show you the Bayou. You’ll never get another chance like this one.” God, that accent with that voice is going to undo every bit of will power I have!

  “I…”

  “Tell you what,” he says pointing at me with my own fork. “What if I promise to leave you alone? Sexually I mean. I will give you the tour. There’s nothin’ like it. And Old Nate’s house is old, from way before the Civil War. Been in his family since then. You like old places.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “And he’s cookin’ gator. Tastes just like chicken.” He looks so cute trying to convince me that I don’t tell him I have had alligator every time I have been to New Orleans.

  I look away from him because I am so damned attracted to him, and his offer even more so. I shake my head. “I don’t know… I can’t, Bo.”

  He huffs and pushes the empty plate in front of me. I don’t think I had more than two bites.

  “If I promise not to seduce you, and I bring you back during daylight hours, will you come then?”

  So tempting! “No funny business?”

  “No funny business,” he promises, though I feel the need to define funny business.

  I bite my lower lip and nod in agreement. Why the hell not! What’s the harm? I’d told Owen I would spend the day touring New Orleans, I just never said where. It could be anyone giving me a tour. Everything would be fine. Besides, I’d always wanted to see the swamp and Bo is the perfect guide. And this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! When else could I get to experience that part of Louisiana, not the touristy side of it, but the truly wild side with folks who live there? Never.

  And if Bo and I keep our hands to ourselves…

  I convince myself that this is true, even though I can read between the lines. I ignore the fact that Bo never actually promised he wouldn’t touch me, only proposed the idea. Deep down I know the real reason we are going on this trip. But like a moth to the flame, I don’t care. I just want to feel the heat one more time. I want to burn!

  On our way to the rental car place off Canal Street I finally pull out my phone and see two missed calls from Bo, and four from Owen. As I look it over with guilt in my throat, I get a text from him.

  -Hey.

  I think about ignoring it. I don’t because I don’t want hi
m to worry.

  -Not today, Owen. I need today. I will see you tomorrow.

  There is no response to that, not that I expected there to be.

  I put my phone in my bag and out of my mind, along with my marriage, for one more day.

  The drive to Old Nate’s house is long, about ten minutes east of New Orleans as the crow flies I am sure, it actually takes us over two hours due to all of the one-way dirt roads he takes once we are off I-10.

  Though bumpy at times to the point that my teeth clack together, the poor mini-van feeling more like an old wagon than a modern vehicle, the view absolutely makes up for the body aches I am sure I will feel later today.

  I am so distracted by the beauty of it all, the clear sky, the river as it gives way to the swamp with its large cypress trees and vines, that it startles me when Bo speaks.

  “So, you a swinger?”

  “What!” I nearly choke on my own spit.

  “You heard me.”

  “Nnn-o-uuo,” The word comes out long and doubtful. Oddly enough, even though it’s not the first time I have been asked this question, it’s the first time I have been uncertain of the answer.

  “Have you ever been with another woman?”

  I laugh. “No.”

  “You seemed comfortable enough with the girls last night. I mean, until the one pissed you off.” He throws a bad boy smile my way that makes me giggle.

  “No. I have never been with a woman, but my… my husband and I have been to strip clubs a lot of times. The rule was always, ‘no dances for him, only me.’ That way I wouldn’t feel threatened and we both would get some excitement out of it.”

  The irony of it doesn’t escape me. So much for that rule.

  “So did it?” he asks.

  “Did it what?”

  “Excite you?”

  I give him a knowing look. “Is it exciting you to talk about this?”

  “Sort of. Just leave the part about your husband out though.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Well… honestly, it did. It gave me a little taste of something that I never had. I think if I had been single longer I would have wanted to sleep with a woman.”

  “Really?” He clears his throat and adjusts himself within his jeans. “Go on.”

  “I mean, I don’t think I could give up a male partner, just the size of a man, the roughness, the penis,” I don’t know why I am telling him this, and worse, I don’t know why it’s turning me on talking about it. “But there is something about the softness of a woman. To have her skin in my mouth… I don’t know, I think I really would have wanted to do it.”

  Actually, Owen and I talked about bringing another woman into bed with us a few times when we were in the throes of nasty sex.

  Only I would fuck her, was what we said. But he would watch and he would be with me. It was all dirty talk, of course, things said to get the other off harder and faster. Words I always took back the minute things were done and made sure he understood nothing of that nature would ever be acceptable. He always said he wouldn’t want to share me with anyone else either, man or woman.

  “So why didn’t you choose a woman for your Ticket. You could have gotten that experience.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “If I’d met a woman that I wanted as much as you, I would have.” No point in lying.

  His smile widens and when I look down between his legs I can see just how happy he is to hear that. I bite my lip and reach over to touch him.

  He jerks a little, I guess he wasn’t expecting it. His bulge grows even more and I squeeze gently. He pulls over and stops the van.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate this, trust me I do. But we’re here and we’ve been spotted.”

  “What?” I look around anxiously. Shit, he’s right. We’ve pulled to the side of a long dirt drive lined with trees. Just a little further down I see a man signaling us forward. Bo grumbles but complies, pulling up next to other vehicles already there.

  “You’re gonna have to get out first, chère. I need a minute.”

  “Wait, what? No, I can’t go out there by myself.”

  “Sure you can. Just tell them I’m on a call with a customer.” He pulls out his cell and begins his phantom call.

  I look out the window and see someone walking around my side of the van.

  “Shit!” I nearly fall out of the car and plaster a nervous smile on my face. Good for me I am not normally shy about meeting new people. Although this time may be the exception.

  “Hey there, darlin’. Was that Bo I saw in there?” He’s a very handsome man, probably around forty, with golden straight hair, skin as tanned as Bo’s and crystal sky blue eyes. Tall, broad back with lots of lean muscle. Actually, if it weren’t for the coloring I would swear he was Bo’s twin.

  “Yeah, he’s on a call.”

  I don’t think I fool him much though, because he just laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that sexy way that makes a woman’s heart flutter. “Is he now?” he looks to the van then back to me. “So you his girl?”

  “Uh… I’m Cristiana,” I say shaking his hand. “Cris.”

  “Nice to meet ya, Cris. I’m Nate, Bo’s cousin.” My mouth drops open. This is Old Nate?

  “I thought you’d be older,” I say and he chuckles so much like Bo that I get goosebumps. Dear lord, I imagined an old man with missing teeth, some very bad skin, I don’t know, pretty much anything but this Adonis. “I hope you don’t mind he brought me.”

  “Nah, the more the merrier. Come on, let’s get inside and I’ll introduce you.” Before leading me away he takes a few steps back to the van and pounds the back windshield with his fist. “Yo, come out back when you’re done whacking off!” he yells.

  I groan in horror, but force myself to follow him. This is going to be interesting.

  Just like the man who owns it, Bonheur is nothing like I pictured a house in the middle of a swamp would look. I envisioned an old weathered house, the wood made gray with age. Some cobwebs, too, and for some reason a claw foot tub sitting in the yard full of plants was ever present in the images I’d concocted in my mind. It was after all from before the Civil War, Bo had said. That had to put it at least mid 1800s.

  The large white house, while definitely of that time, is anything but dilapidated. I walk behind Nate in awe. First off, the front yard is wild, we are in the bayou. But it’s a controlled wild, with a clear line between the swamp and groomed grounds. There is all manner of plants, ferns, flowering bushes. Oaks, Willows and Cypress all mingle and tower over us, creating a beautiful and lush canopy, Spanish moss swaying from their limbs gently.

  The house itself is as southern as they get, with a two-story wrap around porch, large fans lazily spinning in the slight breeze, and a minimum of five old ladies sitting in rocking chairs by the front door.

  Wooden steps creak underfoot as we walk up, and through a screen door into a wide hall the length of the house. At the other end are a pair of French doors left open to allow the breeze to go through the home. In with it brings the scent of various foods and the sound of chatter and a guitar in the distance.

  “Nate, your house is amazing,” I tell him, running my hand up the smooth black railing of the stairs in the hall.

  He stops in the middle of it and looks around proudly. “It’s been in the Chevalier family since 1790. Actually, we lost it for several years, my great grandfather bought it back. Then it belonged to a distant cousin of mine who sold it. I was able to purchase it years ago for almost nothin’. Moved it all the way from New Orleans.”

  My head snaps to him. “You moved it?”

  “He sure did,” a woman says coming in through the French doors. “I’m Jane, Nate’s wife,” she greets with a bright smile and we shake hands.

  “Cris,” I say.

  “She’s Bo’s girl.”

  “Ah, good job, Bo,” she says over my head and I turn to see Bo standing behind me.

  He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to him. “Thought yo
u’d approve,” he winks.

  It’s a little strange, pretending to be his girl, but I have to say it doesn’t take much effort to fall into that role.

  Jane sends us upstairs to drop off our stuff before heading outside. I don’t say anything, though it just now hits me that although Bo said he’d take me home today, he had also said he’d be spending the night here with Old Nate. I guess I didn’t really think through that one, or maybe I just didn’t want to.

  All of the bedrooms in Bonheur are on the second floor, with a long hallway the length of the house, just as they are downstairs. Our room is set at the front left corner of the house, with two sets of floor to ceiling windows on two of the walls, left open, white lacy panels blowing gently.

  “They used these tall windows instead of doors to avoid paying more taxes,” I share a lesson smugly. “I think,” I add, unsure.

  “Well, you’d know better than me.”

  The old canopied bed set against the wall looks mighty inviting, so I pull back the mosquito netting and plop into it, laying on my belly facing the tiny bathroom.

  “Was that a closet?” I ask. The room is cute, but very small, especially for a man Bo’s size I am sure. It has a pedestal sink, a toilet almost touching it, and right beside that a very narrow shower. Granted, the choices made in color, black and white tiny tiles and wainscoting add to the small charm, but it’s tight.

  He chuckles. “You’d think. I hardly fit in here. It’s always been used as a washroom. There used to be an old copper tub in here. Jane had it put in the master suite. You should see that room, that girl’s got talent.”

  “This place is so beautiful. They’ve really done an amazing job with it.”

  “Looks old and creepy to me. You know this place is haunted,” he says peeking out of the tiny bathroom.

  I run my hands over the soft quilt, noting the detail in the delicate pastel flowers. “What’s with you and ghosts?”

  “Are you kidding me! I grew up surrounded by them. I don’t think there’s a house left in New Orleans that’s not got some poltergeist.”

  Oh Bo, he’s afraid of ghosts and he went on that tour with me! No wonder he was so uncomfortable. “I’m sure there’s at least one,” I say, wondering myself if that is true.