Repentance: The Story of Kace Haywood

by Meghan Quinn

  There were so many things I wanted to tell her. A part of me wanted to open up to her because I felt like she would understand where I was coming from. A part of me wished she would understand, but I couldn’t take the risk. Right now, she at least wanted to be in my presence. If I told her what kind of a monster I was, would she ever want to see me again?

  Did I want to see her again? I didn’t want a relationship—it would be too complicated—but the short walk from her apartment to the restaurant with her arm in mine had been one of the best couple of minutes I’d experienced in a long time. Her body had been soft against mine, and I’d enjoyed how her ponytail brushed against me when she turned to point at something, or the way little whiffs of her perfume fluttered into my nose. She was so incredibly feminine and so incredibly fuckable.

  “Here you are,” the waitress said, placing two waters on our table. “Have you decided what you’re having?”

  “I have,” Lyla said while glancing at me from over her menu. I motioned for Lyla to go first. “I’ll take the special with red beans and rice.”

  “Very good, and for you, sir?”

  “I’ll have the same,” I replied. “And can we get an appetizer of the boudin, please?”

  “Yes, certainly.”

  The waitress wrote down our order and took off.

  “Wow,” Lyla said while leaning back in her chair.

  “What?”

  “You know the word ‘please.’ I’m actually kind of shocked.”

  “Don’t be a smartass,” I replied, not liking the snarky look on her face.

  She smiled sincerely at me and then grabbed my hand. She entwined her fingers with mine and for some odd reason, I liked it and didn’t pull away. Normally in a situation like this, I would tighten up and bail, but Lyla made it seem so easy. A light touch felt good.

  I allowed her thumb to glide across the back of my hand while she spoke to me, and I let myself, for this brief moment in time, enjoy it.

  “Thank you for taking me out tonight, Kace.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said uncomfortably. “It’s the least I could do after taking you in the back of Kitten’s Castle,” I tried to tease.

  “It’s the least.” She smiled brightly.

  “Speaking of Kitten’s Castle, how much longer are you going to work there?”

  “Kace…,” she warned. “We’re not going to talk about that unless you want me to ask you questions about your past.”

  “Nope,” I said. “Fair enough.”

  I wanted Lyla out of Kitten’s Castle, but it looked like she wasn’t going to budge, at least not right now. I still had plans to try to convince her otherwise.

  “So tell me, are you excited about Justice opening soon?”

  I nodded and took a sip of my water. “I think it’s come along nicely other than some of the classes the girls have come up with.”

  “I think the classes will be well received. Pole dancing is all about fitness.”

  “Is that right?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “It is. Do you think it’s easy hanging upside down with only your legs to keep you in place while your boobs flop around?”

  “Well, I’ve never tried it with my boobs flopping around, but I can’t imagine it being easy.”

  “Was that a joke?” she asked, tightening her grip on my hand.

  “Last one you will hear tonight, promise.”

  “That’s a promise I hope you plan on breaking.” She smiled. “I’m happy for you and the girls. You’ve worked so hard putting together the center. I know it will do great.”

  “I’ll be excited when everything is done. The housing portion will take the longest since Jett decided to offer miniature apartments for those seeking refuge. But for now, having the classes and gym open will be sufficient. It’s a work in progress.”

  “Are you getting yourself ready to teach some boxing lessons?”

  I shrugged. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about the whole thing. I didn’t want to teach adults how to box, at least not right away, because they would be the ones who knew who I’d been, so I decided to hold classes for kids at first and some self-defense classes too.

  “You seem apprehensive,” Lyla pushed. Just like Goldie, she never let anything just go.

  “Not sure how I feel about it all,” I said, gripping her hand a little tighter. I never brought up my past profession, ever, so talking about giving boxing lessons was bordering on uncomfortable since it was so close to what I used to do.

  “Self-defense lessons seems like an interesting class. I might join in on the fun.”

  Grateful for the change in subject, I smirked. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, and I might need a practice dummy. You would be the perfect match.”

  “Watch what you ask for, sweetheart. If I was your practice dummy, I wouldn’t take it easy on you.”

  “You know I like it hard, so no worries.”

  Fuck if I didn’t just grow stiff from the way she bit her lip and looked at me seductively. Her thumb continued to graze my skin as heat poured off her. No matter how far I tried to push her away, she always managed to work her way back into my life somehow.

  Our waitress brought over our plate of boudin, smiled, and left.

  “Did you see that?” Layla asked as she grabbed one of the small plates on the table and put it in front of her.

  “See what?” I asked.

  “She was totally checking you out, right in front of me.”

  “Do you blame her?” I said in an egotistical tone, holding my arms out so she got a good view of my chest.

  Lyla crossed her arms. “The man doesn’t have manners but can be a cocky son-of-a-bitch when he wants to be.”

  “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

  She shook her head and looked down at the boudin. “Well, this is not what I was expecting. They changed things on me.”

  “Yeah, these are fried balls, huh. Never seen boudin like this.” I grabbed one and popped it in my mouth, not worried about the heat coming off them since I practically had a metal mouth. I swallowed and said, “Not bad.”

  “Well, that was a disgusting display of macho eating.”

  “Macho eating?” I asked. I watched her take a ball and use her fork to cut into it. Steam evaporated in the air.

  “Did you even chew it?”

  “Yeah, of course I did. Only need a couple of chews to get it down the gullet.”

  I grabbed another and tossed it in my mouth, quickly making that one go down as well. There were four on the plate, so the last one was for Lyla. Pleased, I sat back and watched her eat.

  In disbelief, she shook her head at me and then put the rest of the boudin in her mouth. She struggled significantly with its size and heat, and her eyes watered while she tried to cool the boudin down by breathing out of her mouth and taking swallows of water. After some fancy mouth maneuvering, she was able to break the ball down and swallow. She held her mouth open for me and said, “Ta-da!”

  I looked around and then leaned forward. “Should I clap?”

  “You better fucking clap. That was torture.”

  Chuckling, I gave her a slow clap while she bowed and waved her hand in appreciation.

  “The best boudin is the kind in the sausage casing that you suck out, and after you’ve got it all, it looks like a used condom, all shriveled up and gross.”

  “Yes, I love it when my food ends up looking like a used condom. Rather appetizing,” I replied as she stuck the remaining boudin with a fork.

  “Who doesn’t?” she smirked.

  Our main entrees showed up shortly after that, and we talked about trivial things while we sucked on the heads of our crawfish and enjoyed the traditional rice and beans. It was obvious Lyla used her meal to entice me by the way she sucked on the crawfish and moaned about their Cajun flavors. To say I didn’t let it affect me was a lie. With each lick of her fingers and devilish look in her eyes, I grew harder by the second. Her pi
nk lips glistened, and her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, reminding me what her lips were capable of.

  I’d never been this turned on during a meal.

  “You’re quiet,” she said, licking her fingers once again.

  Clearing my throat and adjusting in my seat, I said, “Never saw someone turn eating crawfish into a sexual experience.”

  “Oh good, you noticed.” She grinned. “I was afraid you weren’t paying attention.”

  “Is that why you dropped sauce on your breasts?” I asked, remembering the way she’d made it seem like an accident, but knowing damn well it wasn’t.

  “Of course. Did it work?”

  I wiped my hands on my napkin and then leaned back in my chair. “What do you think?”

  “I think if I ran my hands up your jeans, I would be very happy with what I found.”

  She pushed her chest toward me, displaying her breasts next to her plate and gripping my thigh under the table. The feel of her hand was like an electric shock, kick-starting my body. It felt fucking good.

  “Don’t start something you can’t finish,” I warned.

  “I always finish.” She winked, pulling away.

  After I paid and finished my water, I stood up and waited for Lyla to stand as well, but she just sat in her chair and looked up at me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, wondering why she didn’t move. “Did you want dessert or something?”

  “So romantic,” she teased and held out her hand.

  “What?” I asked, looking down at it.

  “Part of going on a date is holding hands, Kace. Go on, take my hand. It won’t hurt.”

  Little did she know the hand-holding we’d done earlier had done a number on my soul. Walking around the French Quarter with her hand in mine was most definitely going to hurt because I knew damn well I was going to want more of it after tonight.

  “Go on,” she encouraged.

  Taking a deep breath, I grasped her hand, giving in to her little demand. Her hand fit perfectly in mine and once again, our fingers intertwined. Our palms connected and the warmth of her hand ran up my arm and straight to my heart, slowly melting a little part of the black soul I’d developed.

  “Where to now?” I asked, leading her out the door and onto the cobblestone streets of the Quarter. “Do I take you home?”

  “What kind of date would that be?” she asked, insulted that I’d even suggested the idea. “Let’s go shopping.”

  I groaned. “Shopping?”

  “Haven’t you ever gone into the touristy shops around here? They have the best items.”

  “I try to avoid any place crawling with tourists,” I replied as she pressed her side against mine. I felt comforted. It was an odd sensation.

  “It’ll be fun. Come on.”

  Her enthusiasm and light spirit was contagious, so I allowed for her to pull me down the crowded streets and into the heart of the Quarter, where drinking in public was encouraged and street entertainers performed for the masses.

  “I love it here,” Lyla said, looking around. “Where else would you find such eccentric people?”

  “Eccentric is a nice way of putting it,” I said as I eyed a lady who was wearing a dress made of bottle caps, her nips barely covered.

  “You’ve lived here your whole life. You can’t tell me you don’t love it.”

  I did love living in New Orleans. Growing up here had been a teenage boy’s dream. There was always something to do, something to see, somewhere to get into trouble. I’d learned how to fight here, learned about the French culture, about jazz and zydeco music. I’d made friendships here, but my love for the city had died a little the day it turned its back on me.

  I’d been a hometown hero, the guy who got free drinks at bars when I walked in, the guy who was stopped on the street for a handshake for representing New Orleans, but that all changed the minute the media found out about my alleged steroid use.

  Steroid use. Just the term made me cringe. Never in my life had I taken the easy way out. I’d worked my ass off to get everything I’d earned, and one lapse in judgment had put a black mark on my name.

  Tension started to roll through me, and Lyla instantly picked up on it.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure you probably have some sour feelings about this city after everything that happened.”

  “You could say that,” I responded, gripping her hand tighter, trying to find solace in her touch.

  “Have you ever thought about clearing your name?”

  “Let’s not ruin the night by talking about that.”

  Lyla’s shoulders deflated from my rejection. I knew she wanted to know more, that she wanted to help, but it was pointless opening that wound. That was in the past. It was over. No use trying to relive it. I’d moved on, or at least I’d convinced myself I had.

  “Let’s go in here,” Lyla said, dragging me toward Toulouse Royale, a typical souvenir shop.

  The shop was well maintained and had a large variety of shirts, Cajun hot sauces, beads, and of course, make-your-own-beignet kits stocked on multiple shelves. There were stuffed alligators everywhere, and the back wall was covered with burlesque masks.

  “Oh, let’s look at the masks.”

  The masks were on display at the back. They weren’t as nice as the Jett Girl masks I used to order for the girls, but they came close. They were intricate and nicely made, considering we were in a souvenir shop. I was impressed.

  “What do you think?” Lyla said, putting on a grey and yellow lace mask.

  “I think you look hot,” I admitted, loving the mask on her.

  “Is that flattery?”

  “Take it how you want it.” I smirked, leaning against a pillar with my arms crossed. “Try on that green one with the feathers.” I nodded toward one that had caught my attention. I knew the color was going to make her eyes stand out.

  “This one?” she asked, pulling it off the wall.

  “Yes, that one.”

  A large smile lit up her beautiful face right before she put the mask on, taking her time to make sure it was in place before she showed me.

  With all the drama and flair I would expect her to use, she turned slowly and showed me what she looked like in the mask. My heart beat faster as her green eyes lit up behind the mask. She looked beyond sexy.

  “Come here,” I said, looping fingers through her belt loop and pulling her into my personal space.

  My heart wavered with my mind as I tried to decide what to do with this woman who’d made it her mission to constantly stay present in my life. I wanted her more than anyone before, but the dark part of me knew I didn’t deserve her, knew if she actually understood who I was, the real man, she would want nothing to do with me.

  But I was a selfish prick, and even though I knew we wouldn’t work out, maybe just for tonight I could give in, I could have another small taste of Lyla.

  I pulled her in close and rested my hands on her hips. She looked up at me, searching my eyes, wondering what I was doing by pulling her in, in such an intimate way. I had no clue what I had planned with her being this close, but what I did know was that the way she rested her hands on my chest and the way she lightly nibbled lips when she looked up at me was my undoing.

  Slowly, I lifted her chin and brought her perfect lips to mine. I kissed her lightly, then pulled away quicker than she wanted and touched the mask, letting the feathers run between my fingers.

  “You look fucking sexy in this. It will be taken home tonight.”

  “Are you getting it for me?” she asked, a little shocked.

  “Yeah. Isn’t that what guys do for girls on dates? They buy them things.”

  “My, my, my, Kace Haywood, you’re a regular charmer.”

  “What can I say?” I said, shrugging.

  I started toward the register, but she stopped me. “Wait, I need to get you something.”

  “I don’t need anything,” I answered honestly.

  “But I want to. How about some hot sa
uce?”

  “Nah, that’s just novelty crap.”

  “Beignet kit?”

  “Rather go to Café du Monde,” I replied, liking this little game.

  “Magnet?”

  “No fridge to put it on, and to hell if I’ll be sharing my magnet with Diego and Blane.”

  She looked around the store and then her eyes lit up. “Oh, I know.”

  I cringed when she walked over to the graphic T-shirts. I was very much a plain T-shirt kind of guy. I didn’t think much about my style, and I never wore novelty shirts, especially of the city I was born and raised in, but by the way Lyla’s face lit up, I knew that rule would be changing quickly.

  “Lyla, not a T-shirt,” I said, hoping to avoid the thoughts that were running through her mind.

  “Yes, a T-shirt. Oh, these are great. Let’s see, shall I get you a classic NOLA shirt? Maybe a fleur-de-lis? Maybe an alligator rowing a… wait.” She squatted to reach a stack of shirts on a lower shelf. “You’re a medium, right?”

  “Large, sweetheart. Man’s got muscles,” I replied, making her snort.

  “How could I forget,” she said sarcastically. “All right, this is perfect. I’m getting it.”

  “Let me see it.” I reached for her arm, but she snuck past me and practically ran to the register. She pulled money out of her wallet and asked about the return policy, telling the cashier she needed to write “no return allowed” on the receipt.

  I shook my head at her ridiculousness and thought about how, in one short evening, Lyla had been able to lift the dark cloud that’d been hanging over my life temporarily. She had a way of making me forget everything that had happened to me in the past and possibly look forward to the future. It was confusing, but damn if I didn’t like it.

  “I don’t need a bag, but thank you.” She turned to me. “Once you purchase the mask, we can get you changed into your new shirt.”

  “Why do I feel like taking you out is going to come back and bite me in the ass?”

  “Don’t worry,” she whispered in my ear. “What I have planned for you next will make up for it.”

  My pulse skipped a beat as she rubbed her soft body against mine. Was the date over? I wouldn’t mind too much if that meant I was able to go back to her place and slip under her covers with her, and possibly worship that perfect body of hers.