by Karen Gordon
“You paid him off to leave?” I shout to Sebastian over the noise.
“No, I paid him to save the spot for you. I’ve been letting him sit here and drink free for the past hour and a half.” This makes me laugh even more. He paid a guy to hold a spot for me.
He clears away the man’s beer glass then leans into me to ask, “What are you drinking?”
I’m tempted by the big, fruity drinks with all the fancy toys sticking out the souvenir glass, but I decide to stick with what I know. “Jamison and water with lemon.” I shout back at him.
“Whiskey girl, huh?” Sebastian nods his approval. “Impressive.”
He reappears with my drink (poured very strong) and a menu. “Your wish is my command.”
If I only had a few more of these strong drinks in me I might answer. “What’s good smeared on your body?” But I don’t. Instead I order some dirty rice and a side of Cajun shrimp and I spend the next hour sipping whiskey, stuffing myself with amazing food and watching Sebastian. Best. Night. Ever. He’s too busy to notice me gawking and even if he did, he’s behind the bar. Where else am I going to look?
What can I say, I’m a smitten kitten. He just has an easy way about him that’s beautiful to watch. The entire scene before me is utter chaos except for Sebastian. Each movement as he mixes a drink is purposeful, never hurried or sloppy. And the whole time he smiles at customers and chats them up like they’re the only people in the place. When my food comes out of the kitchen he takes a minute to set my place at the bar, even stopping to polish my fork to a high sheen before placing it in front of me. I want this attention to be special, to be just for me, but I know better. He’s charming to everyone. I’m definitely not the only female at the bar vying for his attention. I choose to ignore them though, and let my overthinking imagination take me to all kinds of sensual places with him.
When the dinner crowd dwindles, a band sets up in the far corner of the room. Tables are pushed back to make a small dance floor but no one protests losing more space in the already crowded room. There’s a shared party mood to the place, bolstered by lots of large glasses of sweet red drinks. Full-volume Zydeco music fills the room and the horde goes nuts, dancing anywhere there is an open space. The energy is fantastic. I dance on my stool, moving and clapping to the music.
I absolutely love this place and I think of my two friends who would love it too. If Dom and Annalize could both be here with me; crazy Dominican meeting crazy Italian, that would make this night perfect. I would also have their help with Sebastian. I glance over at him and hear both women goading me on, talk to him!
It’s too loud in here, I argue in my head. But I know they would both say, bullshit! All the more reason to lean in close and touch him. I’m so lost in my mental sparing that I don’t notice the mood has changed because the band is playing a slower song. A hand wrapping around mine then gently pulling me from my stool brings my focus back to the bar. I look up to see that the warm hand belongs to Sebastian and he’s pulling me to the miniature dance floor.
✈ ✈ ✈
Let me just say that I can dance. I happen to have a good sense of rhythm. No one could ever accuse me of being a bad dancer, until now. The thing is I can dance alone, to fast music. I’ve only slow danced a few times in my life and that was at high school dances where all you had to master was a side-to-side rocking movement. I didn’t realize that true slow dancing, waltzing, was so damn difficult.
The cocktails help a little. They keep me from becoming a nervous, stiff board when he first holds me. But things go way downhill, fast, once we start to move. He has a direction and there are steps, not just shuffling, but actual steps. I don’t know them and I have no idea which way he’s headed. We pull in opposite directions, I stumble into him stepping on his feet. We bump into other couples and he tries to compensate by holding me tighter. Then he says it, the one thing that I hate to hear because I absolutely do not know how. “Relax.” It has the opposite effect and I completely lock up. I push away from him, offering a lame, “I don’t know how to dance,” and try to walk away.
But before I can pull my hand from his he reels me back in, adding a spin that catches me off guard. I stumble a little and fall into him. My cheeks are hot and red with embarrassment so I look down. Maybe I can figure out this dance pattern if I study it. But I can’t. I only see a jumble of feet moving and most, unlike mine, are in time with the music. I’m flustered and I really want this damn song to end.
I look up at him and shake my head in apology. “Sorry, I really don’t know how to dance.”
He stops dancing but keeps holding me. He studies the frustration evident in my eyes. “There are so many ways to dance.” His words, thick with innuendo, cause my breath to catch.
He pulls me tight against him with his hand on my lower back so we are hip to hip, chest to chest. My other hand is wrapped in his and cradled against his chest. We become one unit, moving slowly, off-time to the music, but I’m too mesmerized to care.
“See?” He bends to whisper speak quietly in my ear. “Just let go, trust me. I got you.” His words are an aphrodisiac and I allow myself to soften into him just a little more.
I’m still trying to process this dance, possibly overthinking, when Sebastian catches me off guard and short circuits my anxiety. He squats a little then lifts me just enough so my feet are off the floor. We’re still dancing, or at least he is. He moves a little faster, more in time with the music, and my feet start to swing from side to side. I’m more of a rag-doll than a dance partner. When he tells me, “You are so light on your feet, mademoiselle,” I blurt out a laugh. For a moment I forget about my inability to dance, and the possibility of everyone watching me flounder, and I laugh hard. Which makes him laugh. I’ve never laughed this easily with anyone except Dom. It’s a fantastic feeling that I realize I don’t feel often enough.
The song finally ends and he dips me backward, again catching me off guard. I flop, so incredibly ungracefully, but it only brings on another burst of laughter. When he tips me back up I grab him for a hug. I want to tell him how much I appreciate the laugh, how it’s been, so long I’d almost forgotten how. “Thank you. You are an amazing dance teacher.” I can’t suppress my smile and giggle when he tosses off the compliment.
“I told you to trust me.” I walk toward the bar and he follows. “I got all kinds of things I can teach you.” It’s another innuendo that I should brush off, but the idea settles in my head then trickles lower as I imagine all the ways he could make me feel that good again.
Chapter Twelve
I dance again, once, around midnight. By that time I have enough whiskey in me to make me not care that I will be a fumbling mess. I’m not stupid drunk. (Or at least I don’t think so.) But my overthinking is at least tamped down by the Jamieson. I am definitely feeling much lighter on my feet as we spin around but then it spreads to my head. We are spinning but so is the room, possibly in another direction. I hold tight to Sebastian and he does the same, essentially propping me up by the time the song ends.
He doesn’t dip me this time. Instead he leans to talk in my ear. “You ready to go upstairs?”
I, of course, assume this is a come on because, hey, I’m sure I am one hot babe when I’ve had a few. “Yeah!” I’m only stopped from trying to lay a huge wet kiss on him by him leading me back toward the bar then through the kitchen. He stops to grab a basket of rolls and tells a cook lingering by the back door to let Marguerite know he’ll be right back.
I ace the stairs and I’m really proud of myself. I make sure Sebastian sees my huge accomplishment. “I didn’t trip once.” As if this proves that I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. He just smiles at me then stuffs a roll in my mouth as he opens the door and turns on the lights. I’m about to spit the roll out in protest when I realize it’s buttery and soft and delicious. I moan as I chew. I didn’t realize how much I wanted a roll right now. It’s perfect.
Once we are inside I grab another one
and plop down on the couch. Oh, yeah, the super soft couch. I love this couch. I love these rolls. I’m fading a little, drifting off into a buttery soft haze when I feel the couch dip next to me. Oh yeah, Sebastian. He invited me up here to fool around. I push myself to wake up.
He looks at me, studies me, and smiles.
Ok, this is it! My fantasy is coming true.
Or not.
I’m waiting for him to kiss me, looking up at him all moony-eyed, when he leans down and lifts my feet onto his lap. Huh? He unbuckles the strap on one shoe and slides it off, slowly, watching me the entire time. Then he does the other. I’m confused and tired and…ok, pretty drunk.
He rubs my calves through my jeans. “Get some sleep.”
“But you…” He doesn’t let me finish.
“I have to get back downstairs. Margs needs me right now.” He checks his watch. “This is the time the drunks start to get stupid. I’ve got to make sure there aren’t any fights.” He gets up and arranges my legs so I naturally slide down onto the pillow at the end of the couch. I quickly start to drift away. Noooo. I don’t want this night to end, especially not like this. But he seals my fate by laying a blanket over me. My body relents and I drop off. I don’t even hear him leave.
✈ ✈ ✈
My head hurts, my mouth is dry and I have to pee. I open my eyes and look around me. I don’t recognize the room at first but then remember: New Orleans, the B&B, Sebastian. There’s a half light coming in through the sheers on the French doors. It must be just before dawn.
I hear noises on the other side of the apartment; the metallic clink of pans in the kitchen and the hiss of food frying. Bacon! I smell bacon and bread toasting. Sebastian must be here making breakfast.
I push myself upright and do a quick body scan. Head: slightly achy but tolerable. Clothes: on. They smell like smoke but no blood stains or puke. I must not have done anything too stupid. I get up slowly. Balance: definitely better than last night. I shuffle towards the bathroom, hoping my curtain of tangled hair will hide the black mascara pools that must be under my eyes. I don’t know if he sees me or not but Sebastian doesn’t say a word to me.
I pee (sweet relief) and use a Kleenex to remove as much errant make up as possible. I push my hair back and study myself in the mirror. Not too bad. Except for the blood-shot eyes, I could pass for kind of cute. At least I think so. I still really have no idea what Sebastian thinks.
He does greet me when I come out of the bathroom. “Morning.” His scratchy voice stokes my hormones and wakes them up. I glance over at him to reply but I can’t. He’s shirtless again. Of course. Let the embarrassment begin.
“Morning.” I mumble back. I don’t know what to do. I’m like a deer in headlights. Do I pull up a chair and assume he wants to have a predawn chat? Do I try to go back to sleep and leave him alone to his breakfast?
He saves me. “You want some breakfast?” I nod and sit down at the table. “Sorry if I woke you. I thought I was being quiet and you looked pretty wiped out.”
Oh, shit. He watched me sleep. Was I drooling? Snoring? The idea is really unnerving. “No, no. You didn’t.” I struggle for something to say but I’m still pretty foggy and drowsy. “That smells great.”
As he brings two plates of food to the table he says. “Just bacon, eggs and toast.” He sets one in front of me and sits down with his. “I like to cook when I can.” He takes a big bite of eggs then adds. “And I sleep better with a full stomach.”
I can only nod and take a bite of my eggs. Either I’m crazy hungry or these are the best scrambled eggs I’ve ever had. They’re richer, somehow. “Wow, these are fantastic.”
He takes another big forkful and agrees with me. “You’ve got to cook them in good butter and add a little cream cheese and a hint of garlic.”
I nod as I file these tips away. “I’ll remember that. I like to cook too.”
He takes a bite of bacon and leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him like he settling in for a long conversation. “And where do you do that?”
I almost say, the kitchen, when I realize he’s asking where I live. I’ve been here almost twenty-four hours and we’ve barely had a conversation. Now he wants to get to know me, I’m charmed. “Savannah, Georgia.”
He washes down his bacon with some coffee. “Never been there. I’ve heard it’s nice.”
“It’s beautiful, really. You should…come visit sometime.” Ok, I didn’t exactly invite him into my bed but for me that was an overt invitation.
He nods. “I’d like that.” He’s back to studying me intently. “So I’m guessing you got into aviation through JetStream.”
I astonished. Most people don’t know where JetStream is located unless they are somehow involved in the world of private jets. “Uh, yeah sort of. How do you know where JetStream is headquartered?”
“I fly…helicopters, not planes.”
Ok, he cooks, flies helicopters and looks like this. I want, I want, I want. “For who? If you don’t mind me asking.”
He shakes his head as he reaches for a slice of toast. “Contract work, mainly for Entergy but I do some work for the oil rigs too.”
“Entergy? Is that the power company here?”
“Yep.” He gets up to get the coffee pot and bring it back to the table for refills which I take as a signal he wants to stay awake and talk for a while. “I fly the lines for them and ferry people out to the rigs. Not very exciting, but it pays, and keeps me on the road.”
I chuckle at that. “I get that. I’m on the road a lot too.”
“Yeah? Where at? Who’s buying eighty-million dollar jets?” He settles back in his chair again and I am loving this man’s undivided attention. Despite lusting him, fueled by his lick-able half-naked body, he has put me at ease enough to talk to him.
“Well, I was in Palo Alto when I got the call about my step-mom and I have a meeting in Montreal as soon as I leave here.” He nods and sips his coffee, in no hurry. “Then it might be back to California. I’m trying to coordinate a test flight.” I wince a little, remembering that Evan is the buyer I need to meet. But I don’t want to think about him right now. I have no commitment to him, as much as he might like one, and Sebastian is exactly the reason I don’t want one right now.
“That’s a lot of traveling. You might have me beat.”
I look around the too-feminine apartment. “So, this is your sister’s place. Where’s home for you?”
“Hmmm” He looks to one side as he thinks about what should be a simple answer. “Right now, I would have to say my cabin. It’s mainly for hunting and fishing but I’ve got most of my stuff stored there. I could move back into the unit I’ve got in Gentilly when the renters move out, but I’m thinking I need to avoid this city for a while.”
I’m not sure where to go with that because there was so much info there. He owns at least one rental property, he keeps his stuff in a hunting cabin and he wants to avoid New Orleans. Yeah, that’s the one I really want to know more about. “Cops looking for you?”
He chuckles. “Naw, they’d be easy to get away from.” He picks up the magazine Marguerite brought last night. The one he threw down on the table after he saw it. “Now her.” He points to the beautiful woman on his arm, the one he doesn’t look like he wants to get away from. “She’s just stirred up a whole lot of trouble.”
“Because she’s married?” I tread cautiously. I’m dying to know but it’s really none of my business.
With a shrug he replies. “Sort of.” Then he studies me before continuing, but for what? To decide if I’m going to tell a secret? I don’t even live here. He must decide I’m safe because he continues. “She’s married but her husband knows that she sees other men.”
My eyebrows shoot up before I can stop my response.
“They have an agreement. She can have her fun, as long as he doesn’t hear about it.” He holds up the magazine and points to it. “This isn’t good.” He drops it back on the table aga
in. “He’s big money around here, old money. His family’s been in shipping since the eighteen hundreds. They’re part of society and have a reputation that doesn’t allow for wives who date.”
“So why take the picture?” I should be censoring myself, possibly keeping my mouth shut, but logically I want to know.
“She set it up. I turned around and there was a photographer there.” He looks at the incriminating photo. “I just smiled, out of reflex I guess. It didn’t hit me for a while, what she had done.”
“She did it? On purpose? Why?”
“She’s pushing him, I guess. I don’t know. One day she wants out of the marriage, one day she doesn’t. I’m sick of being caught up in this.”
“So why even start dating her, if she’s married?” My voice is quiet, as if that will lessen the sting of such a blunt question.
“We met…” He stops and shakes his head, deciding not to share that part of the story with me. “I didn’t think it would go anywhere. I knew she was married. Everyone around here does. I just thought it would be for, I don’t know, a short time.”
There is so much regret in his voice that I drop it. I take a bite of toast and Sebastian starts to clear the table.
“You going back to the hospital today?” He asks from the kitchen.
“Later, but I need to look into some of these respite care facilities first.” I pull the list from my laptop bag and open it.
Sebastian stands behind me and reads over my shoulder. “Scratch that one. It’s shit.” He points to the second place on the list. “That’s in a nice area but I don’t know what it’s like. Don’t know where that address is.” He points to the last one on the list. I take out a pen and put an x through the shit one and I smile at how easy and familiar our conversation feels. It’s like we’ve known each other for a while.