Soaring (The Vivienne Series Book 5)

by Karen Gordon

  I pull out my phone and look at it. There is a missed call and it is another day, almost nine a.m. My neck aches and I’m hungry so I look at the note again. “Is this an address?” I point to the numbers on the top.

  “Yeah, 2901 Royal.” He smirks as me. “Can’t you read it?”

  I pull the paper away from my face wondering if it would suddenly come into focus. “Uh, no.”

  He gets up and walks away laughing. From the hallway I hear. “Give that note to Sebastian when you get there. He can read it.”

  Chapter Eight

  It’s easier to find an Uber this early in the morning. The streets are relatively quiet since most people are still sleeping off the effects of last night’s partying. My driver is a sweet lady who helps me unload my bags onto the curb in front of what looks like a bar and grill. There’s a woman out front using a hose to wash some puke off the sidewalk. As my ride drives off I ask her, “Is Sebastian here?”

  She keeps working but points toward the door, never once looking at me and my menagerie of bags. Maybe it’s not uncommon for people to show up at a restaurant with suitcases around here.

  The inside is dark and decorated with New Orleans memorabilia everywhere and smells like a combination of leftover booze and strong bleach cleanser. There’s a young guy in a corner mopping. He either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care to acknowledge me so I have to call out to him.

  “I’m looking for Sebastian.”

  He also keeps working but points toward the back and the sign that says “Restrooms”. I’m not sure what to do. Is this Sebastian guy in the restroom? Maybe the store room or kitchen is that way.

  The floor is sticky as I roll my bag toward the back of the place, and I have to rearrange chairs to get my stuff through. I’m almost there, pushing past a table, when I hear a voice from that direction.

  “Can I help you?”

  I look up and my breath catches. The man standing in front of me, the one holding a toilet bowl brush and wearing rubber gloves, sends a bolt of lust through me like I haven’t felt in years. Sex was the last thing on my mind one minute ago; it’s front and center now. Holeee crap. I’d forgotten what this rush of libido could feel like. Nerves are firing. Juices are flowing. I might be drooling. I have to swallow before I can talk.

  “I’m, uh…I’m looking for Sebastian.” My voice is breathy and high. I try not to stare but his blue eyes are like a tractor beam, drawing me in.

  He doesn’t seem effected at all. “You found him.”

  I fumble to get the note from my purse, grateful that it will do the talking for me. My hand is shaking a little as I hand it to him.

  He reads it, then nods and laughs. “So, Tilford sent you, huh?”

  “Yeah, he uh, said I should come here to get something to eat.” My voice trails off at the end. I’m mortified. I sound like a beggar. “I mean, I can pay, of course.” I look around and realize they are not serving food right now. “And wait until you are open.” I look at his gloved hands. “I mean, you’re busy, so um…” I want out of here, fast. I don’t want to feel this overwhelming craving for this man, especially in this awkward situation. “I should go.”

  Before I can turn to leave he stops me with a smile--a beautiful, open, relaxed smile that says “stay”. He pulls off the gloves and tosses them on a chair along with the toilet brush. “Don’t go, it’s really not a problem.” He crosses to the bar and pulls out a stool near the end and pats the seat. “Have a seat. Let me get you some coffee.” Coffee being served to me by this man sounds like a beautiful fantasy. One I’m not sure I’m ready for this morning. My feet feel rooted to the floor.

  As he gets a mug and pours a cup he keeps talking. “Slept in the phlebotomy waiting room last night, huh?” He sets the coffee on the bar and looks up at me. “Cream? Sugar?”

  I’m studying the way his mouth moves as he speaks. I’m mesmerized by his lips, by how much I want to kiss them. What the hell is wrong with me? The last time this happened it was Danny and I was fifteen years old. I’m not some silly high school girl now. I look down and rearrange my bags as I try to regain some of my sanity. “Both, please.” I can’t look at him as I make my way toward the seat he’s pulled out for me. I take my time arranging myself and my stuff, hoping he will go back to work and leave me alone with my coffee and my hormones.

  But he doesn’t. He walks to the far end of the bar and I take advantage of his back being turned to study him quickly. God damn it, his back side is just as lust-worthy as his front. His old tee shirt isn’t tight but still shows the definition of his shoulders. His sweatpants don’t hide his long legs and ass that I’m picturing myself sinking my fingernails into. I should look away, stop this insane train of thought, but I don’t. I strain to see up his shirt when he bends over to get a sugar container from under the bar. He has nice pecs and a flat belly, not a six pack, but I like (no, lust) him more for it. He’s a mesmerizing combination of every physical trait I like in a man. I quickly sit back on my chair so he won’t catch me and I feel a pressure between my legs that tells me my body is definitely on board for some fun with his. The ache is delicious. I’m tempted to make it stronger, to sit forward on the stool again to add cream and sugar to my coffee, but I’m not sure I could do it without moaning.

  He pours himself a cup of coffee then leans against the back bar and crosses his legs before taking a sip. I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and have a conversation with this man. I’m sure I am already making a complete idiot of myself. I can’t chat with men I lust. It took me years before I could string a sentence together with Danny.

  And it hits me, that’s who he reminds me of, Danny. His body is different, not as bulky, but there is something in the way he moves, the way he stands. It’s that same surety of movement that first drew me to Danny. And he’s handsome, but, like Danny, not stop-you-in-your-tracks, movie star handsome. I would guess he can fly under the radar if he wants to but also get most any woman he’s interested in. Speaking of which, he doesn’t seem overly interested in me. He definitely doesn’t seem to be riding the same lust wave I am. But he is looking at me and it unnerves me.

  I take a slow sip. “Thank you.” I have to clear my throat to talk. “It’s great coffee.”

  He smiles briefly but seems distracted. I’ve dropped in uninvited when he clearly has work to do, something I would never do under any other circumstances.

  “Look, Dr. Tilford must not have known how busy you are. I appreciate the coffee but I’ll get out of your hair.” I move to gather my stuff.

  “Vivienne, right?”

  My name must have been somewhere in all that scribbling on the note. “Yes.” I stop what I’m doing because the truth is I want to stay. I want some good food and to spend a little more time floating in this yummy fantasy bubble.

  He pushes himself off the back bar. “Put your things down. This is New Orleans, we don’t turn our backs on damsels in distress, especially during Mardi Gras.”

  Dr. Tilford’s stupid phrase must have been in the note too. It doesn’t make me any less irritated when it’s uttered by lickable lips.

  “I appreciate your…” the word help kind of sticks in my throat. I don’t want him see me as helpless. “…hospitality, but I’m fine, really. I just need to get a hotel room today.”

  He’s shaking his head no before I can finish the sentence. “Not likely.”

  Logically I know he’s right but I can’t give up that easily. “There has to be one somewhere…”

  “There is,” He looks up. “I’ve got a place upstairs. You can crash there as long as you need to.”

  Does he mean crash with him? Will he be there too? I don’t feel any sexual innuendo in the offer and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I’m torn between a desperate need for sleep, wanting to be near him to stare at him, and the voice in my head that is telling me to get away before I seriously embarrass myself.

  There is clearly no debate for him because he turns and walks tow
ard swinging doors that must lead to the kitchen. “Scrambled eggs, ok?”

  He’s on the other side before I can answer. I guess they will be.

  ✈　✈　✈

  I sit in silence, sip my coffee, and take advantage of Sebastian being out of the room to try to recover from my unexpected case of lust. I take in a deep breath and study the place, the research-geek me wanting more details on him. Maybe his wedding photo is prominently displayed somewhere. I search for any clue that will dump a pitcher of ice water on my heated hormones, but there’s not much to go on. The only photos behind the bar are of the woman who was cleaning the sidewalk out front and possibly local celebrities. She’s doing the ribbon cutting on this place in one and shaking hands with a guy that looks like a politician in another. Sebastian isn’t in any of them.

  The young guy is still mopping, getting closer to me. I notice he has earbuds in so I can’t talk to him.

  As I sit there I start to sink into the quiet rhythm around me. I can hear the muffled sounds of Sebastian in the kitchen, the swish of the cotton mop across the floor and the morning news muffled on a TV somewhere. As I relax, a strong wave of tired replaces my earlier spike of libido. The front door opening startles me out of my trance.

  “Are you going to restock the…” The woman from out front stops when she sees me sitting at the bar. She doesn’t look happy and I’m pretty sure I’m the reason why.

  “I…he’s…” I point to the kitchen and she marches toward the swinging door. But she’s stopped by it swinging outward and Sebastian carrying a large round tray. He sets it on the end of the bar. It’s loaded with a huge platter of scrambled eggs and another full of buttered toast.

  “Why did you make breakfast?” There is no gratitude in her tone.

  Sebastian goes behind the bar and grabs appetizer plates and forks. “You’re welcome.” He hands a plate to me and shoves one into her hands. Then he piles eggs onto the one he is still holding. “We have a guest.” His stare tells her to be nice. “Margs, this is Vivienne, she’s a friend of Tilford’s.”

  I’m hardly the doctor’s friend but I’m not going to argue that point now.

  “Vivienne, this is my sister, Marguerite, she owns the place.” He takes a few pieces of toast then turns to me. “Dig in.”

  I don’t want to be a burden and I’ll make sure I pay later, but right now the smell of the food is making my stomach clench. I need it. I have to fight the urge to shovel the rest of the eggs onto my plate not leaving any for Marguerite. I do take two slices of toast and mentally calculate if I might get a third. Marguerite fills a plate too then walks over and stands in front of the guy mopping. She yells in his face, “Eat!” and motions toward the food. He shakes his head no, never removing his earbuds. When he looks up I notice for the first time how horribly hungover he looks.

  She shrugs him off. “Suit yourself.” And goes behind the bar to get herself a cup of coffee.

  “Vivienne’s gonna crash with me for a few days.” Sebastian says between forkfuls of eggs.

  Marguerite doesn’t seem fazed by the news. She never looks up from eating her eggs. “This place will be loud as hell tonight.” She chews a bite of toast and washes it down with some coffee. “And I need you down here.”

  Sebastian walks behind the bar for more coffee. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be here.” There is a definite tension between them and I’m worried it has to do with me. I slink lower in my chair and concentrate on my food. Sebastian grabs another slice of toast from the tray, then stands behind his sister. He leans down and hugs her with one arm. “You got me. Can’t get rid of me.”

  This makes her laugh and the tension leaves her body and the room. She reaches up and pulls his arm closer around her and leans her head into his bicep. I have to look away from the sweet scene because I’m itching to feel that bicep myself.

  After a final gulp of coffee Sebastian puts the rubber gloves back on and picks up the toilet bowl brush. He holds up his hands for his sister to see. “Can’t live with me…” He walks away toward the restrooms, leaving her to finish the phrase.

  “Can’t live without you.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Look, I appreciate you letting me stay…” Alone with Marguerite, I want to assure her that I’m not moving in, despite how much luggage I have.

  But she puts her hand up to stop me short. “Not my business. He can do whatever he wants.”

  Her tone implies that there’s something between Sebastian and me. Maybe I’m not the first woman to show up with suitcases to see him. I feel the need to correct her even though being here to have tons of sex with her brother would definitely not be the worst thing to ever happen to me. “Uh, I don’t really know your brother. My stepmom was in an accident Saturday night. I flew in, not realizing it was Mardi Gras and it would be hard to find a room.”

  “Like I said, not my business.” She shuts the conversation down which sucks because I wanted to ask her some questions about him.

  She pushes away from the table and clears it as efficiently as a seasoned restaurant worker. My plate, fork and napkin are whisked back onto the tray. She leaves my coffee cup. “Help yourself to the coffee.” She calls back to me as she takes the dirty dishes into the kitchen.

  ✈　✈　✈

  When the guy mopping finishes he takes his bucket and leaves. I’m alone and the quiet is lulling me to sleep. I need to take action to wake up and get out of staying with Sebastian. Or do I?

  Yes, I do, or I’m sure I’ll come up with new ways to embarrass myself if I’m alone with him. I’m obviously more interested in him than he is in me. Besides, I don’t really know him. He could be a serial killer.

  But then again, I don’t think Dr. Tilford would send me to stay with a serial killer and I can call Dom and let her know where I am in case something should happen. And to be honest, I want to stay, because even if I never get a chance to touch him, I’m just enjoying the hell out of feeling school-girl giddy again.

  I let fate decide. I pull up a list of local Marriott properties and start calling. Sure they can accommodate me, later this week. There is not one room available tonight. Ok, fate, fine, but I hope you have a plan to keep me from being stupid around him.

  By the time Sebastian comes back into the dining room I’m ready for him. “There are no rooms, tonight.” I stress the last word. “But I’m booked into the Renaissance on Thursday, so I’ll be out of your way by then.”

  He drops his cleaning supplies in a bucket and pushes it under the bar before approaching me. And for the first time since I got here he’s looking at me, really looking at me. “You’re not in my way.” It’s a simple statement, but it takes my breath away. I tell myself not to, but I’m already analyzing it as to why. Does he want me here? As in he’s interested in me?

  He starts to grab my bags and my natural instinct is to grab them too. I’ve been lugging the whole set around with me everywhere I’ve traveled for months now. I’m used to maneuvering surrounded by a wall of rolling bags and right now they make a very convenient wall between me and the man who could incinerate me with a touch.

  “Those look pretty heavy.”

  I arrange them so that I can move them all at once. “I’m used to them.”

  “You sure I can’t help you with those? The apartment’s on the second floor and the stairs are steep.”

  He waits patiently for me to be ok with giving up my possessions to a relative stranger. Part of me wants to, the part that doesn’t want to be trapped in Danny déjà vu. But I argue that it’s silly to worry about a power struggle with this man. We aren’t in a relationship and I doubt one will start in a day and a half, despite my fantasies. “I think I’ve got it.”

  ✈　✈　✈

  The stairs will be a challenge. I’m at the bottom looking up and they are narrow and steep.

  “Why don’t you let me just take the two biggest ones?”

  Do it, Viv. Give up some god-damned control. What’s he going to
do, run off with them?

  I release my death grip on my large suitcase and hanging bag. He takes them but steps back so I can go up the stairs first. I’m thinking he’s quite the Southern gentleman until I realize that this also gives him a perfect view of my ass on the way up (or at least I hope that’s his plan).

  The apartment is bright and pretty, as in way too pretty for a straight man. I look around the kitchen, decorated in shades of soft butter yellow with really cute floral touches, and I try to hold my smile as I curse fate. Of course he’s gay. Because leave it to my hormones to imprint on a man who has zero chance of any desire for me.

  “This is really…nice.” I struggle to not to say cute.

  Sebastian watches me and smiles at my discomfort. “Yeah, it is…nice.” He mocks my hesitation.

  Beyond the kitchen is a small table and chairs then a sweet overstuffed blue sofa facing a wall of French doors that lead to a balcony. A cool breeze is moving the lace-edged sheers covering the slightly open doors.

  Sebastian puts my bags near the sofa. “Margs did a great job on this place. It’s rented almost year-round. She only saves it for me during Mardi Gras because I help her with the restaurant and she doesn’t have to worry about anyone hosting a parade party in here that way.”

  “Oh, this is her rental property?” I take another look around and see it as the gorgeous B&B that it is. I don’t hide my excitement very well that Sebastian possibly isn’t more into interior decorating than women.

  “Yeah, she’s had it for a few years now.” He walks toward one of the doors on the right side of the big room and opens it. “We put in new bathroom fixtures just last month.”

  I peer into the small, white, adorable bathroom. There’s a replica claw-foot tub that calls me to climb in for a long, hot bath. One I will fantasize about sharing with Sebastian whether he’s into me or not. In my mind he’s straight and interested. He goes to open the only other door and hesitates.