But hey, yeah, I was definitely lucky.
Not.
I pushed the mostly empty plate away then sat back and studied Jacqui. If watching her made her uncomfortable, she didn't show it. Then again, I had a feeling she was probably used to being the subject of a few stares.
Or maybe not. This was, after all, New Orleans.
"You wouldn't be interested in buying a wedding gown, would you?"
"Do I look like the marrying kind, cher?"
"Not to wear. To resell or something."
"My shop doesn't do consignment."
"I wasn't looking for consignment, I just need to sell it outright."
"Bad memories?"
"No. Lack of funds."
"Hm." Her gaze met mine for a long minute and I wondered what she thought when she looked at me. What did she see? A con artist? A woman down on her luck? A hopeless loser?
I wasn't any of those things so she could think whatever she wanted and it wouldn't bother me. At least, it shouldn't.
"Bring it into the shop tomorrow, cher. I might be able to find someone who can take it off your hands."
I swallowed back my surprise and nodded. "I will. Thanks."
"And after that, you can join us for the game."
I didn't bother to hide my confusion when I turned toward Addy. "Game? What game?"
"The Bourdons."
"The who?"
"The Bourdons." Addy motioned toward the men around us with a small nod. "That's who they all play for."
"They who?" I glanced over at Dylan but he was engrossed in conversation with the other men and not paying any attention to us. I turned back to Addy and wondered why she and Jacqui were both smiling. "Them?"
"Yes, them. They're hockey players."
"Hockey players?"
"Yes. My daddy owns the team. The Bourdons."
I opened my mouth then just as quickly closed it. I wasn't sure what I was more surprised about: the fact that the woman across from me had actually referred to her father as Daddy with a straight face, or the fact that the men around us were professional athletes.
I sat back and let my gaze wander back to Dylan as thoughts and possibilities spun through my mind.
Maybe my luck was starting to turn. Maybe stumbling into Dylan's apartment by mistake had been the big break I so desperately needed.
Chapter Five
Dylan
"Is it always so crowded down here?"
"Yeah, pretty much." I placed my hand in the middle of Morgan's back and steered her out of the path of a few lurching drunks. She stiffened at my touch and I started to drop my hand and apologize but she smiled and stepped closer. Probably she was just glad not to be run over.
Maybe.
I was getting mixed signals from her and wasn't sure what to think. For the first part of the night, she was mostly aloof, holding herself back from everyone else. And why wouldn't she? She didn't know anyone there except me. Technically she didn't know me, either, but my mind kept skirting around that small fact. I was also skirting around the fact that she was practically a married woman. Okay, technically she wasn't—but she could be. If she hadn't run away this morning, she would be.
So why the hell was I feeling myself being pulled toward her? Yes, she was cute, but she wasn't really my type. My type tended to be blonde and curvy with no interest in strings of any kind.
Morgan was a redhead—maybe. Mostly reddish brown. Was that same thing? And while she had some curves, they weren't all that big...although she did have a nice ass. Not that I had deliberately looked. Looking had been more of an ingrained instinct, kind of like breathing. And it was kind of hard not to notice when she had been right there in front of me.
Nice ass aside, she still wasn't my type. Even though she hadn't gone through with it, she still almost got married. That meant at least part of her was interested in those complicated strings. And if that wasn't a red flag, the fact that she was a runaway bride definitely was. At least, it should be. That in itself would be enough to scare off any sane man.
Which obviously meant I was at least partially insane for just thinking of things I shouldn't be thinking.
We side-stepped a trio of weaving women only to bump into another small group. I bit back an oath and grabbed Morgan's hand then led her from the sidewalk and into the street. Her fingers briefly tightened around mine and for a second, I thought she'd keep her hand in mine. Maybe she wanted to because I sensed a reluctance in her before she finally pulled her hand free.
More mixed messages? Or just wishful thinking on my part? It was hard to say.
"Have you lived down here very long?"
"Me? No. I moved down here four months ago, after I got traded."
"Traded?"
"Yeah. From one team to another."
"Does that happen a lot?"
I shrugged and hoped she'd leave it at that because I didn't want to get into the details of how I'd screwed up.
"Where were you before coming here?"
"Hartford."
"Connecticut?"
"Yup."
"I've never been to Connecticut. New York, yes, but not Connecticut." She jammed both hands into the front pockets of her jeans and slid a sideways glance in my direction. "Is it nice up there?"
"It was okay, I guess."
"Is that where you're from originally?"
"No. I was born and raised in Wisconsin. How about you?"
A ghost of a smile teased her mouth. "You already asked me that."
"Did I? Funny, I don't remember you answering."
"I did. I said here and there, remember?"
"Now that you say it, that does sound vaguely familiar."
Her smile widened and I thought I saw a faint blush stain her cheeks. Or maybe it was nothing more than the glow of neon coming from one of the many bars we were passing.
I paused and pointed at the closest one. "Did you want to grab a drink or something?"
"Did you?"
"I don't care either way."
Her eyes darted behind me and she frowned. "It looks pretty crowded."
"We can grab one to go."
"To go?"
"Yeah. Look around. I'd bet that every single cup you see being carried is filled with alcohol."
"And they don't get in trouble for that?"
"Nope. It's perfectly legal." I pointed at the walk-up across from us. "Did you want to grab one?"
She chewed on her lower lip for a fantasy-inducing second then shot me an apologetic look. Hopefully she couldn't tell where my mind had wandered or else I'd be the one apologizing to her.
"I'm really not much of a drinker."
"Then I guess we don't need to stop."
"You can get one if you want."
"No, I'm good. Game day practice is early, I don't need the headache."
We continued walking up Bourbon Street, neither of us saying much. That suited me just fine because I was having more fun watching Morgan as she watched everyone else. Her gaze flitted from face to face as we moved through the crowd. To anyone else, it would probably look like she was enthralled with the sights and sounds of Bourbon Street—and maybe she was. But something told me that she was still very much aware of everything—and everyone—around her.
We had just turned onto Bienville when she stopped and looked up at me. I sensed her hesitation rather than saw it but said nothing, figuring she would either say what she wanted to say or just blow it off and act like she wasn't going to say anything at all.
"My mom drank a lot. I guess, seeing her, I just never—"
"You don't owe me any explanations."
"I know. I just...well, I just wanted to let you know. That's all."
"Fair enough." I wasn't sure what else to say. I wasn't even sure if I should read anything into the fact that she opened up to me. And I really didn't want to read into the fact that her arm brushed against mine when we started walking again.
We entered the apartment building and made our wa
y through the lobby in silence. That silence shifted and morphed into something a little thicker and maybe even a bit uncomfortable when we entered my apartment.
It took me a minute to figure out why, and then only because I saw her glance at the bed. It was kind of hard not to miss, considering the room was right there off the living area. I hadn't given the layout of the place much thought when I first rented this place—I'd been in a hurry and pretty much grabbed one of the first places I had looked at online. I'd even found the different open floor plans and odd angles of the walls in some of the units unique.
Of course, I hadn't counted on having any guests at the time. That put a completely different spin on the layout.
I closed the door behind me and locked it, then tossed my keys onto the island counter. "I'll take the sofa. You can have the bed."
"No, I don't want to put you out—"
"I insist."
"But—"
"No buts. Besides, the sofa is pretty comfortable."
Morgan's gaze moved to the sofa then slid back to me. She didn't bother to hide her disbelief. "You're too tall for the sofa."
"No, I'm not. I've slept on it before. I'll be fine. Promise." I bounded up the steps to the main living area and grabbed a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt from the dresser. "Give me two minutes then the bathroom is all yours."
Morgan was standing in the same spot I'd left her when I walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later, only she had a bundle of clothes and a small bag clasped to her chest. I moved past her with an encouraging smile and grabbed an extra sheet and blanket along with a pillow from the hall closet.
Five minutes later, I was stretched out on the sofa and staring up at the high ceiling. Staring at Morgan would have been a lot more fun but I figured the ceiling was a safer bet. Maybe she didn't have as many curves as I usually preferred but her long legs and firm ass more than made up for it. I'd caught a glimpse of both—-along with her super-short flannel shorts and her thin red tank shirt—when she hurried past me on her way to the bed and knew without a doubt exactly what I'd be dreaming of tonight.
And as much as I was looking forward to it, even I knew I was asking for trouble. Morgan was off-limits. She had to be. Maybe she was a runaway bride but I had no doubt she was the kind of woman looking for a commitment. The fact that she had damn near married some other guy this morning said as much. It said a lot of things, actually.
Too damn bad my brain wasn't paying much attention to my common sense.
I closed my eyes and forced myself to ignore the sounds of Morgan climbing into my bed and getting comfortable. I ignored the image of her hair spread out on my pillow, or the way she'd look with my comforter tucked around her. It was better to think about tomorrow's game.
I ran through the different plays in my head, anticipating potential shots and moves and calls. We were playing Cleveland tomorrow and I'd never had much luck against them. Of course, I was on a different team now so that changed things.
Maybe.
Then again, with the way we were playing, maybe not. We'd gelled a bit more as a team these last few weeks but we still pretty much sucked. Every time we hit the ice, I kept waiting to hear that magical click that would mean we'd finally become a real team. So far...nothing. But the season had just started and we hadn't been together that long yet. Soon, though. Maybe another week or two, or even a month. Surely no longer than that.
I hoped.
"Dylan?"
My eyes shot open, all thoughts of games and strategies and teamwork evaporating from my mind. I swallowed and quietly cleared my throat, hoping my voice wouldn't come out as a strangled croak when I spoke. "Yeah?"
"I just...I wanted to say thanks. For not calling the police on me earlier today."
I smiled, thought about telling her I wouldn't have followed through on the threat, then decided against it. "No problem."
"And thanks for letting me stay here."
"Not a problem."
"I won't be in your hair much longer. Maybe just until the day after tomorrow. As soon as I get some money—"
"I said no problem." I unclenched my jaw and forced myself to take a deep breath. Maybe she hadn't noticed the irritation in my voice. "I mean, no rush. You can stay as long as you need."
"Oh. Um, okay."
I heard her roll over, and the sound of a sleepy sigh as she got more comfortable. A few minutes of agony passed before she shifted again and I tried not to picture what she looked like nestled in my bed.
"Dylan?" Her voice was nothing more than a whisper, low and sexy as hell with the huskiness of sleep.
"Yeah?"
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Morgan. Sweet dreams."
She murmured something unintelligible. A few minutes later, the quiet sounds of her breathing drifted through the darkness to tease me. I rolled over and punched the thin pillow, then bunched it under my head and gritted my teeth.
It was going to be a long fucking night.
Chapter Six
Morgan
I paused in the middle of the sidewalk and glanced at the address scrawled on the scrap of paper in my hand. Jacqui's boutique was supposed to be on Conti Street. As far as I could tell, I was on the right street—but I didn't see anything that looked like a boutique and the numbers on the buildings I could see weren't close to where I needed to be.
I shifted the heavy gown from one arm to the next and swiped at the hair that had fallen in my face. It was nearly the end of October, it shouldn't be this hot. The temperature wasn't totally miserable—meaning I wasn't in immediate danger of melting—but the air was heavy with moisture, more than I was used to this late in the year.
Did it get humid in California? I'd have to look into that because if it did, I might have to pick someplace else to go. Not that I was going anywhere anytime soon, not without any money. I was hoping Jacqui might be able to help with that by taking the gown off my hands. And if not Jacqui, maybe Dylan could—
I pushed the thought from my mind as a wave of guilt washed over me. I was not my mother and I would not use him that way, not after he'd already opened his home to me. My only excuse for even having the insane thought, no matter how brief it may have been, was exhaustion. Physical, mental, and emotional. It had been a long forty-eight hours, with more upheaval than I was used to.
Which probably explained why I slept so soundly last night. Actually, last night was probably the best night of sleep I'd had in...well, forever. And to top it off, Dylan had fixed me breakfast.
Nobody had ever fixed me breakfast before. Nobody.
Which was all the more reason for me to get out of here. It would be entirely too easy to get caught up in the idea of playing house with Dylan. He was cute. Funny. He had dimples in his cheeks and scruff on his jaw.
And he had a tattoo. On his chest.
On his broad, muscular, hard chest.
The sight of all that healthy skin had almost rendered me speechless, and not just because I hadn't expected to see it. I hadn't, of course, but I wasn't stupid enough to ask him to cover it back up, especially when it was almost as delectable as the plate of food he'd been holding out to me.
What woman in their right mind wouldn't want to be served breakfast in bed by a half-naked, very fit, very attractive, man? All the more reason for me to get the hell out of this town.
But first I had to find Jacqui's store.
I turned around and headed back toward Bourbon Street, wondering if I had passed it already. No, I couldn't have. Jacqui had clearly said it was past Royal Street and I was there now. I hadn't gone far enough yet.
I swallowed a small sigh of frustration, spun around once more, then continued along Conti Street. There! Finally. I stepped closer and frowned at the sign.
Chaotic Creations.
Well, that was different. Did she even do any business? I didn't see how she could when it was almost impossible to find the place. Even with the sign, it wasn't very obvious that there was a shop here.
And there certainly wasn't a hint at what was being sold inside.
I readjusted the gown in my arms and pulled open the door, a little surprised at the tinkling bells overhead that announced my presence. Cool air washed over me, offering momentary relief as my eyes adjusted to the dim interior.
I looked around, not bothering to hide my surprise. Everything in here was a different shade of dark. Black. Deep purple. Burgundy. Bronze. There were hats and dresses and leather bustiers decked out with lace and satin and every single piece was...dark.
I stared down at the pristine white gown draped over my arm and swallowed back my defeat. Dylan had mentioned something about goth and vampires but I hadn't paid much attention. I should have listened closer. If I had, I wouldn't be standing here now, ready to make an ass of myself.
"Don't just stand there, cher. Let me have a look at it."
I took a backward step toward the door. "I don't think this really fits in with anything here."
"Nonsense. Nothing a few applications of dye can't fix if it's something I'm interested in. And if I'm not, I might know somebody who is." Jacqui stepped from behind the counter and I had to force myself not to gawk at the boots she wore. Like almost everything else around me, they were black. Shiny black, with dainty silver chains crisscrossing the entire front of each boot. The tops of the boots ended in a sharp point near the middle of her thigh. Like the shoes she had worn last night, the heels were sharp and pointy and at least five inches tall.
"How do you walk in those things?"
"Practice, cher. Lots of practice. Let's have a look." She eased the gown from my hold then held it out in front of her, her head tilting from side to side. "Addy, come out here. I need you."
"I'm coming." A curtain near the back of the small shop slid to the side and Addy stepped out. A smile curled her mouth when she spotted me. "Morgan! Good, you're here. I was starting to worry you wouldn't make it in time."
Troublemaker (New Orleans Bourdons Book 2) Page 3
