by Danica Avet
She and Nessie stroll into the shop, their faces curious and a little excited. For Jolene? But then Nessie’s expression shutters, the light going off as Terrible steps out of the bathroom with the girl curled in his arms. She’s got her arms looped around his neck in a hold of familiarity that surprises me. He’s a serial bed hopper, but the ease with which he carries this girl is something that suggests he’s done it many times before.
When he sees Nessie standing there staring at him, I wonder what the fuck is going on. Like I’m missing a huge piece of a puzzle. His jaw does that thing again, as though he’s grinding his teeth, but he doesn’t say a fucking word to any of us as he strides right by the dumbfounded girls. It isn’t until he gets to the door, the girl cuddled up against his chest, that he finally breaks his brooding silence.
Turning to address my girl.
“I owe you,” he mutters.
The shop falls silent, the sounds of the parade in the distance almost surreal, when Terrible disappears into the darkness. Jolene’s squeezing my hand as though she needs something to hold her in place. I let go and wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her into me. To my relief, she hugs me back, her soft, sweet scent calming me some.
Becca’s looking at Nessie, a flash of concern on her face before she hides it with the innate craziness she carries around like a badge of honor. “You ever feel like you’re living in a soap opera? Because all we needed was some dramatic music and it would’ve been pure, TV gold.”
Nessie though, doesn’t seem to appreciate the humor. She marches past us and goes into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Huh. I guess she either fucked Terrible, or wants to fuck him. In which case, maybe someone needs to have a talk with her, get her head on straight.
But that’s a thought for a later date because I have Jolene in my arms and Becca’s staring at us like all she’s missing is a bowl of popcorn. “What?” I ask the pint-sized menace.
Her smile isn’t as sparkly as usual, probably because she’s worried about Nessie, but it still makes me nervous. “Oh, just imagining what y’all kids’ll look like,” she sings out.
Jolene stiffens. Dammit. I need to joke, get her to relax, then spring the question of her coming home with me—not permanently, unfortunately—for Mardi Gras.
“That’s easy,” I drawl, giving her waist a squeeze. God, I could just hold her all day long. “They’ll be gorgeous like their mama.” Looking down into her pretty eyes, I smile. “In which case you’re gonna have to come to Moiselle with me so my mama can tell you all kinds of embarrassing stories about me, show off my baby pictures, and tell you about how it took her thirty-eight hours to give birth to me. Just in case you’re still on the fence about giving me babies.”
The way her jaw drops and her eyes widen? I shouldn’t get such a kick out of it, but I do. Especially when she blushes.
“You are coming to Moiselle Bayou with me next week, right?” I ask when she doesn’t respond to my teasing.
She glances from me to Becca and back again. There are shadows in those pretty blues. The dragons I know that chase her. My heart sinks because she’s going to say no. Whether it’s because of her monsters, or my reputation, she doesn’t trust me. Not for the first time since I decided I couldn’t live without her, I curse myself. Playing the field had been fun, but it didn’t do me any goddamn favors either. Not when it comes to Jolene.
I’m still cursing myself out—mentally, of course, because I’m not that crazy yet—when she whispers, “I’ll go to Moiselle Bayou with you.” Then she frowns at me. “But I’m comin’ back right after the parade. I’m not gonna impose on anyone and it sounds like your mama has enough to do.”
I’m not a stupid man. I’ve watched my parents. A woman puts her foot down about something, the man gives. Or goes around it. I plan the latter. Because she really has no idea who my mama is. But soon she will.
Then she’ll understand. There’s no going back now.
Jolene
Fat Tuesday
Moiselle Bayou really is a small community, but it took me forty-five minutes to drive down the only road to get to Crash’s parents’ house. The good thing about the traffic though, is that it gave me time to soak it all in.
The first three miles of road was lined on either side by fields with swaying green stalks. I’d made the mistake when I first moved here to think it was corn, but I was corrected quickly by Becca. Apparently sugarcane is the major crop in the area and whoever owns these fields has plenty of it. Once I made it through the waves of green, I started seeing houses.
Not big, fancy houses either. Wooden houses, old houses, some brick houses, but they were all positioned on nice, big lots with gardens and golf carts. The golf carts confuse me because I don’t recall Crash telling me there was a course in the area, but no sooner did that thought cross my mind than one of those carts joined the stream of cars driving deeper into the community.
Oh and people. As soon as the first house comes into view, I see a big group of people out in the yard. Then the next yard and the next, both sides of the road filled with adults bustling back and forth carrying food, setting up tables, cooking, laughing, and kids chasing each other and getting underfoot. It’s almost like the Krewe of Sagittarius parade, except everyone has lawn chairs, and I see even more golf carts riding across the yards carrying even more people to and fro.
Then I come to what I guess is the heart of Moiselle Bayou. A small grocery store, even smaller bar, and a community center nestle together with people crowding their parking lots. Crash told me his parents’ house is a quarter mile from T-Boy’s Bar, so I slow down even more.
Now that my car isn’t straining to go above twenty-five miles an hour, I’m able to hear the strains of music pouring out. Country, something I now recognize as Cajun French or Zydeco music, and modern rock mingle together in a crazy cacophony of sound, but no one seems bothered by it.
A figure standing next to the road on my right draws my attention and my heart leaps. Crash. Waving at me with a grin on his face that makes my palms sweat. Lord, but he’s handsome. He’s wearing his normal jeans and a T-shirt that molds to his chest, baring his tattooed arms, but there’s something different about the way he looks. I just can’t put my finger on it and I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on it anyway. Not when his grin turns into that smirk I know so well as I slow my car to a stop.
My face flushes as I roll down my window, aware that my car is probably one of the oldest in the entire community and looks it.
He plants his hands on the edge of my door and leans down, bringing the scent I associate with him straight into my car. “Hey,” he drawls with a quirk of his lips.
His gaze dips from my face, taking in my sapphire scooped-neck top, my modest faded shorts, and my bare legs. I swear, I feel every inch of his perusal, my heart thudding stupidly and a flood of warmth forming in my lower body.
“Glad you came,” he says, peeking at me through his eyelashes. Smirk firmly in place. “Want me to show you where to park, or do you want me to park for you? It’s kinda crazy with all the family here.”
Conscious of cars starting to pile up behind me, and that I’ll probably go in the ditch because he’s got me that flustered, I throw my car in park. Unfastening my seatbelt, I slide across the bench seat without another word. In fact, when Crash folds his lean body behind the wheel, I’m not sure I even know how to speak anymore.
My Buick is old. A land yacht from so long ago, it’s practically obsolete. The car is way older than me, but it was cheap when I bought it from Ms. Hayworth. She barely drove it so it didn’t have too many miles on it, although the exterior wouldn’t give that impression. There are rust spots, a few dents, and the roof is peeling. But Crash doesn’t give its poor shape any attention.
“Hope you’re hungry,” he says as he easily pulls the car into a drive leading to a modest brick home. “Mom’s making her famous cheese bread and red beans and rice. My nana made some chicken and sausage gumb
o, and my uncles have been working on the grattons since they butchered the pig yesterday.”
But I’m barely paying attention to his words, too busy—and nervous—taking in all the people filling his parents’ front yard. Men and women of all ages talk in clusters. Teenagers loll beneath one of the great big oak trees, and there are tons of kids everywhere. Tables, folding chairs, lawn chairs, rocking chairs, and even buckets are being utilized to accommodate everyone. And by everyone, I mean about a hundred people. Or at least that’s what it looks like to me.
Crash parks my car behind the house and turns off the engine before looking at me curiously. “You okay?”
No, I’m so nervous, I feel like I might throw up. Some of my terror must show on my face because Crash turns his whole body to face me. He grabs my hands which are clenched together in my lap and gives my fingers a squeeze.
“I swear they’re not cannibals,” he jokes solemnly. “As long as we keep Mom fed, you should leave with all your limbs attached.”
My heart is somewhere in my throat and I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Crash, I’ve never met anyone’s parents before.” His face goes slack with surprise and I start babbling. “I mean, I’m sure I’ve seen my friends’ or boyfriends’ parents. Well, except for Lena. I met her mama before she went to jail, but I didn’t officially meet her, you know? And my boyfriends never introduced me to their parents.” Then I realize what I said. “Not that we’re dating or anything,” I race to clarify. “We’re just friends, but you know what I mean. I’ve never—”
He cuts me off by leaning over and kissing me. I shut up, my entire body going still with shock and residual terror at meeting his parents. He isn’t trying to French kiss me. It’s just a meeting of lips. Soft. Sweet. Just like he did on Friday night. Like a promise and it’s effective in shutting me up and calming me down.
Well, in one way. Because when he tilts his head slightly to the left, fitting his lips more fully to mine, I melt. When he flicks his tongue along the seam of my mouth, I open to him and the kiss becomes more. Crash doesn’t just barge in, taking over as though he owns me. He coaxes me with little laps of his tongue, sliding and teasing me until I slip my arms around his neck and kiss him back.
He makes a sound, a hungry groan, his hands gripping my waist before he gently pushes me away. It takes a lot of effort to open my eyes because of all the heat pouring through my veins, making me feel almost drugged, but when I do, it’s to see Crash’s cheeks flushed, his dark gaze glittering with desire, and his lips damp from our kiss.
“My parents are gonna love you,” he says harshly, his fingers tightening on my waist as though there’s more, but then he releases me. “C’mon, let’s go introduce you to them.” Except he doesn’t make a move to get out of the car and neither do I. He cups my cheek in his hand, his thumb touching my lips. “Your ex-boyfriends were idiots.”
Then he’s gone, the car door slamming behind him. Stunned, still a little dizzy from that kiss, I watch him round the long hood, coming to my side. He opens the door and holds out his hand for me to take.
It seems symbolic, that little courtesy. It shouldn’t be a big deal. I’ve seen men open doors for women before, but no one’s ever done that for me. That’s why my fingers tremble as I place them in Crash’s callused palm. That’s why I’m breathless as he helps me out of the car.
And why I don’t even blink when he laces his fingers with mine. “By the way,” he drawls as he leads me to the crowd of people who are pretending not to watch us approach. “Call me Levi.”
Oh lordy.
Levi
I’ve almost become accustomed to sporting a hard-on while walking. It seems to be the norm when I’m anywhere near Jolene. Of course any erection I had from that kiss wilts as soon as Mom catches the sight of us walking up to the big gathering of friends and family. Everyone—and I mean everyone—in my not-so immediate family was invited today. That means all of my uncles and aunts from both sides of the family, cousins I only see at funerals and weddings, and friends of the family who’ve been around so long they’re practically related.
All because I told Mom about Jolene.
The minute she sees us, her face lights up and she studies my girl the way she did the brand new stove Dad bought her for Christmas two years ago. Like Jolene’s the prettiest thing she ever saw in her life. Glancing over at the girl in question, I agree with Mom’s conclusion. With her cheeks rosy and her lips slightly swollen from that kiss, Jolene looks like an angel. She peeks at me through her eyelashes, her gaze a little puzzled, a little hungry, and I change my mind. She looks like a naughty angel.
And there goes my dick again.
“Levi,” Mom calls out, her round body hustling toward us like a freight train.
Aaannnd it deflates again. At this rate, I’ll pass out from all the fucking blood flow back and forth from head to head.
“You must be Jolene,” Mom gushes as she reaches us, arms outstretched. I barely have time to release my girl’s hand before Mom’s got her in a crushing hug. “You are just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen! Claudette! Come meet Levi’s girlfriend,” she shouts out to my aunt.
I try to protest, catching a glimpse of Jolene’s wide eyes, but the women in my family don’t pay me any mind, moving me out of the way so they can marvel at her. Nana gets in on the action, pushing her daughters out of the way.
“Garde voir le beau fille,” she says in Cajun French, prompting a wave of responses from the others. I’m looking at Jolene too and yeah, she’s beautiful.
“Are you hungry?” Mom asks Jolene, linking their arms together. “Levi said you’re from Georgia. Have you had gumbo yet? Or grattons? Lulah, go get Jolene something to drink. Now you just come with me and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
Jolene throws me a panicked look over her shoulder before she’s swept away. I rub the back of my neck with a sigh. Well, shit. I told Mom not to come on strong, but I can already tell she decided to do things her way. Which is to crash right through any formalities. You know, like introducing my own girl around, making sure my cousins understand she’s not on the market. That kind of thing.
Someone claps me on the back and I see it’s Nonc Drew. He shoves a beer in my hand. “Pretty girl,” he grunts. “Let’s get something to eat. They’ll let her go eventually.”
But they don’t. The parade is wrapping up before I manage to wind my way through the throng of people crowding the front yard in search of Jolene. Although I’ve had reports of her.
“She’s got the cutest accent.”
“What in the hell is wrong with that girl to end up with the ugliest boy in the family?”
“Pretty as a picture.”
“You better marry that one. No one else will have you.”
I take the ribbing the way it’s intended. As approval of my choice. But I’d still like to actually spend time with her and the start of the post-Mardi Gras party is a good enough reason to track her down before one of my fucking cousins decides to take a shot at her.
When I find her, she’s sitting with Nana, laughing and talking as though they’ve known each other for years. The empty bowls and plates balanced on their knees suggests they ate together, which makes me feel good. I love Nana. She’s been a mainstay in my life from the moment I was born, so seeing her getting along with Jolene makes this decision feel...right.
Strolling up to them, I drawl, “Go figure, my two favorite girls are sittin’ together, gossiping.”
Jolene’s cheeks flush as she looks up. Some tendrils of hair have fallen out of her ponytail, giving her a windblown look that I approve of.
Nana snorts. “You watch out for those Cracchiolo men,” she warns Jolene, although her faded blue eyes twinkle at me. “They can charm the birds from the trees, even ones who look like coloring books.” She’s never made her disapproval of my tattoos a secret, but her grin is all affection. “I know that, me.” She nods. “I was gonna marry Henri Ledet, but did I? Mais no.”
She smiles fondly. “Alfonse, he come along with that smile of his, talkin’ all sweet and flashin’ those Cracchiolo eyes at me and I lost my head. Now Levi, he looks just like his grand-père. Too handsome for his own good. But that is a good thing, I think. You will make pretty babies together.” My face heats, but my embarrassment is worth it when Jolene lets out a tinkling laugh. Nana’s expression softens as she pats my girl’s hand. “T’es bien-élevé,” she murmurs. “Go.”
Dismissed, I lead Jolene away from Nana, pausing to toss away her trash.
“Sorry about that,” I mutter as we walk toward the throng of people waiting for the Mardi Gras. “Good thing though, she thinks you have good manners.”
Her chuckle makes me smile. “It’s okay, it’s been an experience. Like when those Mardi Gras guys came through on the four-wheelers to beat the kids,” she says, her smile bright and cheerful. Completely unlike the terror on her face when she first showed up. She wrinkles her nose. “Well, I thought they were beating the kids, but your nana told me it’s symbolic to chase the devils out of them before Ash Wednesday. We don’t have anything like that back home.” She lets out another laugh. “By the way, your family’s a lot of fun.”
I bite back a grimace. I’m sure they are.
“So what are we doing now?”
We hit a tight knot of teenagers, including my sister. The boys eyeballing Jolene like a pack of coondogs on the hunt. I grab her hand, lacing our fingers together again, and shoot them a scowl. It’s a little strong considering they’re barely old enough to shave, but I can’t help myself. Erika rolls her eyes, grinning at me.
With the parade officially over, chairs have been cleared off of a good-sized area in the yard. T-Drew, Nonc Drew’s oldest son, already has his DJ equipment set up. The uncles have strung lights out because it won’t be long before the sun goes down, but just because the parade has come to an end doesn’t means the party is going to end as well.
