Swamp Happens: The Complete Swamp Bottom Series

by Cora Kenborn

  The first few nights, I thought the arrangement couldn’t have been more perfect. Sav paid half the rent, and I got the whole house to myself. However, in the two weeks we’d lived in New Orleans, loneliness had crept into my secluded existence and smacked me across the face. With a jolt, I’d realized it was the first time I’d truly been alone in my life. I’d gone from high school to college to being a married woman living at Sugarbirch. My sister’s booming social life made me understand that sometimes nothing screamed louder than silence.

  A low chuckle from across the room broke my introspection. Glancing up from the spreadsheet I worked on, I caught Zep standing against the wall with his arms crossed over a tightly stretched black t-shirt, failing to hide his amused expression at my sister.

  I shot her a look. “It’s only four-thirty-seven, Sav. Just like it was ten seconds ago when you looked at the clock. You have somewhere important to be tonight?”

  Stay focused on the spreadsheets.

  Numbers. Calculations. Projections.

  Tight jeans. Broad chest. Hard muscles.

  Swallowing, I stole another glance across the room. And a hot as sin beard that wasn’t too bushy as to look unkempt, or too patchy as to look like he tried too hard. No, Zep’s beard was just right. I’d remembered him clean shaven in high school, but somehow the grown-up version, complete with his facial hair, tattoo sleeves, and well-defined muscles from hard manual labor turned a high school infatuation into something way more X-rated.

  When the hell did I go from hating Zep LeBlanc to obsessing over him?

  “Don’t you agree, Ads?”

  Tearing guilty eyes away from the curve of Zep’s bicep, I began furiously typing in a lame attempt to seem busy. “Sure.”

  “Great!” she beamed, packing her shit up and powering down her laptop.

  “Wait, what the hell are you doing? It’s not five o’clock yet.”

  “I just asked you if you agreed with Zep.”

  Oh shit. What the hell did I agree to now?

  “Agreed with Zep about what?”

  “Bolting,” she announced while throwing her huge boho purse over her shoulder and winking. “Zep suggested I go home and get ready for tonight. We’ve gotten a lot done today, and Pope’s taking me to dinner on the water. I want to look classy for him.”

  Ignoring the snickers coming from the lump against the wall, I lifted an eyebrow and motioned to her darkened screen. “Of course. You need to freshen up after your hard day of card dealing. Maybe Monday you can give yourself a well-deserved break and mix it up with some Candy Crush?”

  “Bite me,” she retorted, blowing me a kiss as she shoved her chair under her desk.

  Just as she reached the door, the reality of the situation she was leaving me in smacked me clean across my cheek. “And just how the hell am I supposed to get home if you take Daddy’s truck? We don’t have the van anymore, remember?”

  Not even stopping to turn my way, Savannah waved a hand in Zep’s general vicinity as the door closed behind her. “He said he’d take you home. Damn, Ads, you’re out of it today. Maybe you’re the one who needs to get laid.”

  You could’ve heard a pin drop. A fucking pin. The room became deathly quiet as Savannah’s mouth bomb detonated and twisted both mine and Zep’s faces as if she’d just fanned a deadly fart in the room and barricaded the door.

  People talk about elephants in the room. This one wasn’t just in the room; he’d shit all over it and tap-danced in his own poo. I needed to diffuse the situation before the fucker sat on my chest and squeezed the life out of me.

  Returning to my spreadsheet, I motioned to Zep while punching random keys my mouth spewing out whatever entered my brain. “You should go too. I’m sure you have weekend plans as well. No need to hang around here, Zep. I can call Uber.”

  Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

  My fingers flew so fast across the keyboard I wasn’t sure if they actually hit the buttons. I pulled in deep breaths, waiting to hear the door open and slam again, only to catch the scent of sea salt and spice behind me, grinding everything but my libido to a screeching halt.

  His unique scent infiltrated my senses, and a heavy hand landed on my shoulder as he glanced at my screen. “I’m no accountant,” he said, flashing a wicked grin, “but I’m pretty sure actual numbers go in those boxes instead of ‘WTFs’.”

  “What?” Horrified, I narrowed a stare at the screen, where, sure enough, every slot for number calculations had been filled with repetitive questions to myself and my sanity.

  What the fuck, indeed.

  Groaning, I rolled my chair away from him and slammed the laptop closed. “It’s been a long week, Zep. Keep your jokes to yourself.”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, no jokes. It’s been a WTF week for me too.”

  I rolled that bit of information around in my head and tucked it away for later while reaching for my purse. “So, knock off early.”

  Instead of leaving, he perched his ass right on the corner of my desk. An irrational part of me wanted to grab it while the other part wanted to lodge my foot in it for taunting me. And thus, was the push and pull of the past two weeks in the four walls of my own personal hell.

  “What are your plans for the weekend, Adelaide?” The way he drawled my name tightened in my belly as he inched closer.

  Unable to take it anymore, I grabbed the invoices and power walked across the room to the file cabinet, attempting to shove papers in random folders while laughing nervously. “Oh, you know, nothing exciting. I’ll probably pour a glass of wine and spend most of it in a bubble bath.”

  Ping.

  That was the sound of the pin dropping again when I realized I’d just informed Zephirin LeBlanc I’d be drunk and naked for the next forty-eight hours.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Zep’s throat work hard on a swallow as if he were doing his best to force the image out of his head.

  “What about you?” I asked, slamming the file cabinet closed, desperate to change the subject. “Big plans with Miss Gereaux?”

  Please say no.

  My stomach flipped again, and my heart ached in anticipation of his answer. The rational side of me knew I should make small talk—force myself just to chatter away nonchalantly and act like a normal person having a close working relationship with her first boyfriend. Like it didn’t bother me. Only it did. So, I painted on a smile and tried not to look too eager to rip apart his personal life with a magnifying glass.

  Rubbing his forehead with the pad of his thumb, he filled his cheeks with air then blew it out slowly. “Addie, Josie and I only went out on a few dates. She’s nice enough but she’s not my girlfriend if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Right.” He cocked his head to the side and studied me. “Are you jealous?”

  I shrugged, forcing a blank expression. “Curious.”

  More like fucking obsessed, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “She’s not my type, Addie.” Squinting his eyes, he leaned back on his palms.

  “I thought giant jugs were every man’s type?”

  “I’m not into blondes.”

  Dazed, I pressed on. “What are you into, Zep?” That might have come across as a bit intrusive, or maybe I just looked desperate. Either way, my head demanded an answer I wasn’t sure it was ready to hear.

  Opening his mouth, he chuckled softly and shook his head as if thinking better of furthering the conversation. “Never mind. Look, it’s almost five o’clock. You’ve worked your ass off for two weeks straight getting things up and running. Let me take you home so you can leave work at work and try to de-stress?”

  My mind swirled with thoughts of bathtubs and Zep, and a flush worked its way up my neck. “It’s no big deal. I already said I’d call Uber.”

  “That’s stupid. I’m right here.” He rolled his eyes and pushed off the desk as he barreled toward me, his eyes a little wild. “Besides, I don’t tru
st Uber. Being alone and fucking gorgeous doesn’t bode well for you.”

  I froze with my fingers around my purse. Zep and I were balancing on a bed of final straws, and for some reason, his words had me grasping at them like they were the Holy Grail. A wave of nervousness swept through me as I glanced up at him through heavy lashes. “You think I’m pretty?”

  My own husband never even told me I was pretty.

  No, Addie…” He sighed, his breath fanning the hair around my neck. “I said you’re fucking gorgeous. You always were. I don’t know how, but time has made you even sexier than you were back then.”

  A proper lady should’ve been appalled at the way the deep rumble in his voice caused a thin layer of sweat to break out all over my body. I should’ve been horrified at how his eyes seemed to burn through every fiber of clothing I wore. But all I wanted was to hear more. To know I wasn’t the undesirable ice cube Roland had tossed aside without a second thought.

  “Zep, don’t…” Deep down, I wasn’t a liar, but those two words weren’t just little white ones; they were storm clouds of deceit. I didn’t want him to stop, and that was exactly why he had to.

  He nodded, and I thought I’d doused the flame smoldering in the tiny space between us. I thought it, until his hand gripped my hip and pulled me toward him with an undeniable assuredness.

  “Here’s the deal, Addie. I’ll play whatever game you want me to play around Savannah and our crew, but this is just you and me here. It’s no bullshit time. I can’t pretend that I don’t replay our night together in my head like a fucking home movie. I can’t pretend I don’t know first-hand how soft your skin is, or how there’s a spot on your ribcage that makes you squirm.” He moved closer, his free hand gripping my other hip. “And I sure as hell can’t pretend I don’t still hear you scream my name in my head over and over and over.”

  Sliding a rough hand up from my hip to the back of my head, he wrapped my hair around his fingers and pulled slightly backward. His eyes darkened and the upward tilt of his mouth had me focused on his lips. His words echoed in my head, breathing life into a fractured memory it seemed neither of us had forgotten.

  We both breathed heavily, our lips close enough to touch but still holding back, waiting for a green light from the other that it was all right to break every rule we’d made. Desperate to do something with my mouth other than attack him, I bit my lip, almost drawing blood. It was a move that didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Addie,” he groaned. His other hand slid up the side of my jaw while his thumb feathered across my cheek bone. I closed my eyes in anticipation.

  I was tired of fighting.

  I was tired of wanting.

  I was just fucking tired.

  Just as his mouth opened, so did the front door.

  “Adelaide Bordeaux?”

  I’d never seen two people move so fast in my life. One minute Zep was about to devour me, and the next, it was like I’d accidentally activated a force field that kept him eight feet away at all times.

  I cringed at hearing my married name. “Who are you?”

  A man in a plain pair of khaki pants and boring white button-up shirt, tapped a manila envelope in his hands. “Adelaide Dubois Bordeaux?”

  Okay, now he had my attention. “Yes?”

  Nodding curtly, he shoved the envelope in my hand and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You’ve been served. Have a nice weekend.”

  Before I could ask him anything, he’d backed out of the office and slammed the door. With a shaking hand, I tore open the envelope and flipped through the documents. A mixture of hatred and shock rushed through my veins as the paper crumbled in my fingers.

  “Addie?” Zep asked cautiously. “What the hell is that?”

  Outrage burned me to the core. “Divorce papers,” I announced in a flat voice because if I allowed any emotion to invade my speech, I might have started destroying shit.

  “What?” He snatched the papers out of my hand, scanning them with the same shocked expression.

  Defiance pounded my chest and rose in my throat. “You know what? This is something that should have happened a long time ago; only I should’ve been the one serving, not him. Never him.”

  As the final chapter in my life with Roland lay crumpled in Zep’s hands, I blinked away the tears and swallowed my anger, forcing it into something more productive. Something I recently found tended to dull the senses and ability to feel.

  Vodka.

  “Zep, do you really have plans for tonight?”

  Confused, Zep placed the papers on my desk and held my stare as if trying to figure me out.

  Good luck, buddy.

  “I was going to have dinner with some friends. Why?”

  I shook my head vehemently. “Cancel it. We’re going out.”

  “What?”

  “Yep, we’re going to get good and drunk tonight and celebrate the biggest fuck-up of Roland Bordeaux’s life. I’m a free woman, Zephirin. We’re going to get shitfaced, and then both of us are finding Mr. and Miss Right Now.”

  Shock registered on his face, and his brows pulled together in hesitation. “I don’t know about—”

  “It’s decided then,” I announced, giving zero fucks about any opposition to my declaration. “Get your shit, LeBlanc. First round is on me. We can toast to me being douche-free.”

  Turning off the lights in the office, I grabbed my purse, keys, and phone and stormed out, assuming Zep would catch up to me at some point. My mind drifted as I smacked the side of his truck, waiting for him to unlock it.

  In the span of a few hours, my life had taken a complete one-eighty turn, tilted sideways, and then reversed, only to be blindsided into a full spin out. With everything in a complete upheaval, there was no way in hell I could pursue anything other than friendship with the man who’d dominated my thoughts for the past few weeks. More than anything, I needed one constant that wouldn’t change. One man who wouldn’t turn his back on me or disappoint me with some stripper barely out of adolescence.

  I made the decision for us right there. The closest Zep and I would ever get again would be a platonic handshake between business partners.

  However, whether he liked it or not, Zep LeBlanc was my wingman for the night, and with any luck, we’d both find some nameless bar fly to take home and screw each other off our minds once and for all.

  What could go wrong?

  HOOK-UPS & HANG-UPS

  Book Three #hideyourcrazy

  Dubois sisters' to-do list.

  Ditch dead end marriage...check.

  Return stolen property...handled it.

  Move to a new city…piece of cake.

  Destroy new relationship...of course.

  Wake up next to mortal enemy…uh-oh.

  Adelaide and Savannah find that relocating to New Orleans doesn't mean old flames and old habits get left behind. The thrill of the chase is half the fun, but when self-sabotage is the catch of the day, trust issues and hang-ups may end the game before it begins.

  Because a Dubois doesn’t just hide her crazy.

  She locks it up and throws away the key.

  21

  Wake-Up Call

  Adelaide

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Rolling over, I squinted against the sharp ray of sunlight that escaped through a break in the blinds. I groaned, pulling the pillow from underneath my head and throwing it against the window, bathing the room in darkness again. With an exaggerated yawn, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and ran a hand through my matted hair.

  Pulling the alarm clock from my nightstand, I held it close to my face and groaned again even louder as my eyes adjusted to the red glare. “Fuck!”

  10:45 a.m.? How the hell did I sleep the whole morning away? Where the hell was Savannah? For that matter, how the hell did I even get home?

  Damn, my head hurt.

  All I remembered was leading a conga line to Dancing Queen, slamming lemon drop shots out of what looked like a snorkel, and dancing in a
limbo contest, which I was pretty sure I won if the ache in my lower back was any indication.

  Hopefully, I didn’t do anything to embarrass DuBlanc Fishery last night.

  Yawning, I stretched again, and a strange scratching sensation brushed against my ass. I stopped cold. Where were my pajamas? I always slept in pajamas.

  I shifted again and heard it.

  Soft snoring.

  Stealing a side-eyed glance, I took in the well-defined, tattooed form of a man’s back.

  Oh God. Oh fuck. Think, Addie, think.

  Limbo.

  Dancing Queen.

  Who held onto my hips? Who held the snorkel while I shot vodka? I closed my eyes and fought to remember.

  “Take a deep breath, Snow White, close your eyes, and shoot that motherfucker!”

  No! There was no way I was that stupid, even drunk. I just needed to take a quick look and assess the situation. I was sure we were both wearing underwear. Grabbing the top of the blanket, I counted down from three. Once I hit one, I lifted the blanket and took in two very naked bodies.

  So naked. Extremely naked. Naked, naked.

  Okay. So, we were naked. So, I slept with some random man. One night stands happened, right? I just needed to rip off the Band-Aid and ask his name. Then I could kick him out before Savannah got home.

  Pushing myself onto shaking elbows, I peered over his inked shoulder, quickly closing my eyes. Counting to three again, I forced them open and fought back nausea as I took in the trimmed dark beard, wild onyx hair, and familiar thick lashes fanning out over what I knew to be pale, icy blue eyes.

  I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

  But I wasn’t fine. Fine had a new meaning.

  Absolutely fucked.

  Fifteen minutes wasn’t too long to sit in your own driveway contemplating how a bottle of vodka had just ruined your life, was it?

  I’d been in impossible situations where a positive outcome seemed as likely as a choir of angels flying out of my ass, but this wasn’t just impossible. This was the worst thing that could’ve happened. Babs’ famous cure-all for emotional trauma hadn’t only failed me; it’d bitchslapped me into the next decade.