Aaron’s manners left a lot to be desired, and he didn’t seem to have very good judgment from the reports I’d gotten. Damn, I was starting to think like my mother. “Mmhmm,” I mumbled, feeling old.
“So can I have a personalized one of these machines?” Ivy quipped.
I shook my head. My little sister was definitely growing up. “If you want one, I’m sure you can.”
“Thanks! I’m telling all my friends. Social media is blowing up with Ivy Barnes talking about sex toys.”
“I’ll bet it is. Thanks for being here.”
“No problem. I’m going to go join Aaron at the bar, okay?”
Nodding, I noticed Lucinda and Bridger’s mom, Barbara, over in the corner taking selfies together. Those two were worse than Ivy and her friends with their cell phone cameras, I thought as I walked towards them.
“What kind of trouble are you ladies getting into?” I teased, giving them both a kiss on the cheek.
“We’re trying to come up with an adult version of a book club,” Lucinda said.
“I guess you could read adult books,” I offered.
“Like kinky ones? I like that, Dynassy,” Barbara said.
“And we could have sexy cocktails. What’s that one I like so much, Dynassy?” Lucinda asked.
I covered my face with my hand as I muttered, “You mean a Buttery Nipple?”
“That’s the one!” Lucinda exclaimed triumphantly.
“Or Sex on the Beach!” Barbara added.
“Okay, you two are having way too much fun,” I said, and went to look for Bridger.
When I found him talking to Leo, I got the feeling I was interrupting a discussion of the latest Madden game.
“Hey guys. Our mothers are some dirty old ladies.”
“You’re one to talk,” Leo snickered.
I rolled my eyes.
“But seriously, man, thanks for taking care of my sister like that. Nick and I’ve been talking about it, and we’re awfully grateful to you for knocking out that douchebag who was trying to assault her.”
I’d tried to keep my family from hearing about what happened over at Sal’s garage, but of course the media found out about it, and so it was all over the news. Leo had been out of town when it happened, and Nick had been at a mini camp, so my brothers hadn’t had a chance to see either one of us since it happened.
“Of course,” Bridger said. “It was my fault for getting her involved in the first place.”
“Oh, like any of us could get Dynassy to do something she doesn’t want to do? Come on, man. In any case, I appreciate you, brother. She’s lucky to have you.”
“Thanks.”
Wanting to change the subject, I asked Leo, “It seems like everybody has a special order they want for a Luv Machine. Do you need one too?”
Leo considered this. “No, but I might want to send them out as holiday gifts to some of my best groupies. What do you think, Bridger?”
I made a gagging noise, while Bridger laughed. “I’m not sure I can help you with that one.”
“In fact, I think I see one over there right now.” Leo indicated a redhead dancing in the corner.
“That’s my friend, Celeste. She’s not one of your groupies.”
Leo raised a brow. “Not yet,” he said, sauntering off in search of Celeste.
I sighed. “He’s awful.”
Bridger slipped an arm around my waist. “Aww, come on, Dynassy, he’s not that bad. He’s just young. Life hasn’t kicked the crap out of him yet. Don’t worry. It will, and he’ll be a better man because of it. He’s actually got a pretty good head on his shoulders, considering.”
Considering he was a Barnes. Bridger didn’t have to say that last part. I could fill in the blanks.
But that was okay. It wasn’t always easy being a part of my family, and I was the first to admit that.
“Hey, can you believe we got all these people here, to a nice party, for a launch of our joint sex-machine business?”
“No,” Bridger replied. “I really can’t. If I would have told you a year ago that you would be selling machines built to screw you in the privacy of your own home, would you have believed that?”
“Um, hell no. I also wouldn’t have believed that I would meet a guy as nice as you, who would love me as much as you do, and who would take such good care of me.”
“And if you had told me that I’d be dating Dynassy Barnes, I probably would have said, ‘Who’s that?’”
I elbowed him gently in the ribs. “Come on. You would not!”
“Okay, but you were definitely not on my radar as someone I would potentially fall in love with.”
I shifted in his arms so I could look into his eyes. “I do love you so much, Bridger.”
“I’m glad you said that, because there’s something I want to ask you.”
“And there’s something that I wanted to ask you, too, but you go first.”
“Okay. You know how you’ve been staying at my apartment a lot recently?”
“Yessss…” Where was he going with this? Was he going to kick me out?
“Well, I wanted to ask if you’d move in with me.”
Whew! Relief flooded me, and I blurted, “Oh my gosh, that’s exactly what I was going to ask you!”
“What?” He looked confused.
“Yes, my house that’s been being renovated is supposed to be finished next month. I was going to ask you if you wanted to move in with me.”
“Um, well, that’s something we can think about. It doesn’t matter to me so much where we live, as long as we’re together.”
“Well, see, I was thinking with a house, there’s more room…”
“To start a family?” Bridger asked, a gleam in his eye.
I gulped. “Maybe we could start with a dog, but someday.”
“As long as I’m with you, I’m happy, babe.”
“Me too.”
He crushed his lips to mine, and I lost myself in his kiss, knowing that for Bridger and me, this was just the beginning.
BISHOP’S DESIRE
Barnes Family Romance Book Three
CHAPTER ONE
Eduardo
The phone woke me up at 1:17 a.m. Phone calls that time of night always sent a chill up my spine. They were never good news.
“Bishop Soto?” A female voice rattled over the other end of the line.
“Yes?”
“This is Kay Long. I’m sorry to bother you, but I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Yes, Kay. How can I help?” I made sure to sound more awake than I was.
Kay prattled on, and I could hear the worry in her voice.
“It’s George. He’s gone off the wagon again. Down on Bourbon Street, and I can’t get him to come home. I’d go after him myself, but I can’t leave the twins, and I can’t put them in a stroller and go get him. Not down at the strip clubs.”
“True.” That wasn’t a practical solution. Mrs. Long had twins who were going on about six months old now. Her husband had been attending AA meetings at the church semi-regularly. He’d been trying.
Rain pinged steadily on the roof, and I really didn’t feel like getting out of bed and heading down to the French Quarter. “Don’t you think he’ll catch a cab when he’s ready to come home?”
“Maybe, but I’m afraid he’ll get locked up, like last time. And I can’t afford the bail money. Not with all these diapers and formula. Can you please help me?”
I held the phone out and sighed. “Want me to go looking for him?”
“I hate to ask, but yes. Unless you can think of another way to get him home without an incident.”
I couldn’t. “I’ll see what I can do. Do you recall the name of a few of his favorite places?”
“Maybe check the Booby Trap or the Leopard Lounge. George likes all those titty bars. I’m sorry Father. I can’t imagine that you’d know much about those types of places.”
I smiled. Mrs. Long would be shocked to learn some of the th
ings I knew about.
“I’ll do my best to bring him home, Kay. You just sit tight, and I’ll call you when I find him.”
It wasn’t my job to round up drunks, but Kay had been the church secretary for years before she’d had the twins, and well, she was important to me. Because of that, I tried to maintain a charitable opinion of her husband George, but honestly the man was a piece of crap. He’d gone on a couple of benders since the twins were born, and I felt bad for Kay. Dealing with two babies must be hard enough without a husband who kept abandoning her for the bottle.
I guess he tried to stay sober, but the man was weak. The stress of fatherhood and its accompanying responsibilities were taking a serious toll on him, and apparently, the only way he knew to cope was through substance abuse.
Before I fell back asleep, I forced myself upright with a grumble, threw on a pair of jeans, a shirt with a clerical collar, and my shoes before grabbing my keys and heading for the car. It was drizzling out, the streets were wet, and the night was quiet until I got closer to the French Quarter. Then things grew livelier with people milling around. Jazz music wafted into the street under the brightly colored neon signs that differentiated one establishment from the next. Partiers stumbled along the sidewalks, a few singing, a couple holding hands, one man passed out on the corner up against the concrete wall.
This side of New Orleans was the side I associated more with tourists than with my usual day-to-day existence. I’d been a reverend at St. John’s for five years, and most of the times I’d been down to the Quarter had been to eat at one of the highly acclaimed restaurants there.
I parked my car on one end of Bourbon in a loading zone and said a quick prayer that number one I would find George quickly, and number two that my car wouldn’t be towed while I was gone.
Walking down the sidewalk, I got a couple of strange looks when passersby noticed my collar, but for the most part, people were too caught up in their own lives to be wondering what a priest was doing creeping around Bourbon street at two in the morning.
At each club I passed, I peeked my head in the door, or looked through the window, looking not for a glimpse of flesh, but for Kay’s wayward husband. The poor woman kept a stiff upper lip, but I knew deep down she was scared that her marriage was falling apart. Just last week she’d asked me about couple’s counseling. She was such a good woman, one who certainly deserved better.
But in my experience people frequently didn’t get what they deserved, not in this life. My faith told me women like Kay would realize their reward in heaven. Some days I believed that wholeheartedly. Some days it seemed like a pie in the sky platitude as empty as George’s promises to stay sober.
At the third bar I passed, I thought I saw through the window a man who resembled George. Same thinning bald spot in the back, a purple T-shirt that likely sported an LSU logo since that was the school George and almost everyone else in Louisiana supported. I made my way inside, only to be stopped by a burly guy with a beard. “There’s a cover, Padre,” he said.
I nodded and paid the ten dollars required to enter, all the while cursing George Long a blue streak in my head.
In my peripheral vision, I was aware that there were women on stage—naked ones, grinding against poles—but I made a conscious effort not to look at them. Instead I focused my attention on the man who thankfully did turn out to be George. He was sitting at the edge of the stage, bleary-eyed, and talking to a dancer, who was basically ignoring him while shoving her G-string in his face.
Clapping a hand on his shoulder, I bent to yell over the music in his ear, “George, Kay called me. I need to get you home.”
He stared up at me through glazed eyes. “Not yet.” Then he signaled for the nearest cocktail waitress, and I wasn’t sure he even understood who I was, he was so drunk.
A pretty dark-haired girl wearing what the kids called “booty shorts” and a bikini-style top came over. “What can I get you?” she asked George, but her gaze swept over me as well.
“I’m fine,” I told her, and gave George a pointed look. “I just came to bring him home.”
Her mouth formed an O shape, and I could tell she got my meaning. “Let me just get your tab, sir.”
George held his hand up in protest, but before he could get the words out, he leaned over and vomited on the floor. I managed to dodge most of it, but some of his stomach contents splattered the leg of my jeans and my shoes.
“Oh dear. Let me get something to clean that up with. I’ll be right back.” The waitress scampered away.
I helped settle George back into his chair, and took the seat next to him. When I looked up, I noticed the stripper who had been shaking her ass in front of him had moved to the far side of the stage, not that I blamed her. The smell of regurgitated alcohol made my eyes water, and I suddenly questioned why I’d agreed to perform this errand.
The waitress came back and when she handed me a rag to clean myself up, I was struck again by her beauty. She had that classic, almost Princess Kate-like wholesomeness, not the sort of hard look you’d expect to see in a strip joint. “Here ya go,” she said, tapping George on the shoulder trying to hand him his bill.
George sat with his head in his hands. I could tell he was babbling, but I couldn’t make out what he said.
“Just give it to me,” I told her, not wanting her to have to wait.
“Are you sure?” She bit her lip, and I could tell she was attributing saint status to me that I absolutely did not deserve, especially as impure thoughts about her were filling my head. Watching her bite that luscious red lip of hers gave me all sorts of dirty ideas not befitting a priest. How screwed up was it that I went into a club filled with nude girls, and I became aroused by the only clothed one?
“Yeah, I’ll take care of it,” I said, and handed her my personal debit card. I could only imagine the scandal if I’d accidentally given her the card for my church expense account. The thought of it made me laugh out loud.
She took the card and looked at me funny. “Did I miss something?”
“No. This is just not how I expected I’d be spending my night.”
“I’ll bet,” she said, nodding at my collar. “I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks,” I said and proceeded to wipe off my shoes and pants leg.
When she returned with George’s bill which, to my irritation, exceeded a hundred dollars, I gave her a big tip anyway, telling myself she could probably use the money or she wouldn’t be working in a dive like this. As I handed it back to her I noticed that she’d written Thanks with a heart then a dash, and the word Vixen.
My heart sank. I might be wrong, but something about that name told me that she wasn’t just a waitress, but that she was also a “performer.” I had no idea why it mattered to me, but it made me sad for her.
These days people in New Orleans talked a lot about being “sex positive” and that women who chose “sex worker” type jobs were empowered, but I thought it was garbage. It wasn’t something I’d want my sister or my daughter doing. Most women who had money didn’t choose those sorts of jobs, so it always seemed like women did them out of necessity rather than because they’d always wanted to grow up to be an “exotic dancer.”
Bringing my attention back to George, I hoisted him up, threw one of his arms around my neck and helped him to his feet.
“Y’all have a nice night,” Vixen said.
I gave her a big smile. “You too,” I said and then I dragged a wobbly George to my car, which was still in the illegal place I parked it.
Looking up at the twinkling stars just beginning to peek through the clouds, I said aloud, “Thank you, Lord.”
CHAPTER TWO
Chloe
I watched the priest carry the drunk guy outside. He’d left me a pretty good tip.
Wonder what the story was behind all that. It was weird. We didn’t get a lot of priests in Lulu’s. In fact, I couldn’t remember ever seeing one in a titty bar, and I certainly couldn’t remember see
ing one that good-looking anywhere ever.
Not that priests couldn’t be hot, but that one seemed to ooze sex appeal with his scruffy beard and stylishly cut hair. He looked more like a movie star than a man of the cloth.
Oh well, I’d probably never learn the story behind that whole situation. I didn’t expect to run into him again, seeing as I hadn’t been to church since I was a little girl when my grandmother used to take me.
Careful the club owner and the bouncer didn’t see me, I checked my phone. Only another couple hours left on my shift. The crowd was dying down, and I went to the back for a break.
The new girl, Tawny, called to me, “Hey Vixen.”
“Chloe,” I corrected. There was no need for her to use my “stage name” when it was just us.
“Chloe, do you think I could crash at your place for a couple of weeks? Just ’til I get my next paycheck?”
I didn’t like the sound of this. I relished my privacy and my apartment was already the size of a closet.
“Um, I don’t really have an extra bedroom,” I hedged.
“That’s okay. I can sleep on the couch.” The desperation in Tawny’s eyes made it hard for me to turn her down. I was afraid if I said no she’d wind up having to stay with one of the bouncers or with the owner Vince, and I knew how he’d want her to pay for the privilege.
“Only if it’s for a short time,” I warned.
She clapped her hands. “It will be. I promise. I’ve got a place all lined up. I just need to save up enough for first and last month’s rent, ya know?”
I nodded. Oh boy, did I know. Money, or lack thereof, was the theme of my life. It was the reason I worked two jobs, ran a tiny business on the side, and struggled every day. I was saving up to open my own bakery, and I only needed about two thousand more before I could afford the lease and have several months operation expenses on reserve.
I was tired of working for other people, and I was sick to death of working in this seedy strip club where people treated you like a piece of meat and customers threw up on you.
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