by Jiffy Kate
“You know what you want to eat?” Deacon asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Oh, sorry. I kinda got lost checking the place out.”
“You like it?”
“I do,” I reply, nodding my head. “It’s very . . . unique.”
“That’s a good word for it.” He laughs, throwing his arm over the back of the bench. “Can I make some suggestions?” he asks, pointing to the menu.
“Sure.”
Deacon begins to excitedly tell me about the menu. His eyes light up as he goes over all of the interesting combinations in the pockets, anything from your average pepperoni pizza, to barbeque, and even gator. Like, they really have a pocket with alligator in it. I’m intrigued, but I end up going with a pulled pork pocket with fresh slaw and order one of their dessert pockets with blueberries and whipped cream.
His pale bluish-green eyes that seem so familiar and friendly, scan the room, but it’s the proud smile he wears when he sees me watching I find the most endearing. Well, that, and his over-sized dimples. He definitely gets those from his dad, and the chestnut-colored hair from his mom. It’s an identical match to Annie’s, even the natural wave is the same.
“I’m going to go to the ladies’ room and check my voicemail before our order gets here,” I tell him, looking around for a sign.
“Yeah, the bathroom is just down the hall by the bar. You can’t miss it,” he says, pointing over my shoulder.
I walk down the hall and head straight for the bathroom. When I’m finished washing my hands and patting my face with a damp paper towel, I take a look at myself in the mirror and wish I would’ve gone back to the motel to freshen up before coming out with Deacon. I run a hand through my hair, trying to tame the fly-aways. I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone.
Once I’m finished in the bathroom, I step out into the hall and turn the opposite way of the dining room to check my messages. I hope Graham has called to check in, but deep down, I know he hasn’t. When I see the one missed call is from an unknown number, I go to my voicemail, but there’s nothing there. Piper left a text message a couple of hours ago, but I hadn’t received it due to lack of service out at the plantation. I shoot her a quick one back, letting her know everything is going well and she should expect some shots in her inbox later tonight.
As I’m pushing send, I turn to walk back to the table and collide with a person and a large tray of food and drinks. Things splatter and spill all over the floor and I find myself lying flat on my back with something warm and gooey stuck to my forehead. When I try to sit up and assess the damage, the slight spin in my head and feeling of unsteadiness forces me back down. Only me. I groan, not wanting to face the mess I just made.
“I’m so sorry,” I finally tell the person I ran into from my horizontal position, peeking up to see the girl with curly brown hair staring down at me with a scowl on her face. Of course, it would be her. “Are you okay?” I ask, trying to smooth things over.
“I’m fine,” she huffs. “Don’t worry about it.”
She’s definitely going to spit in my food.
I attempt to sit up again, feeling the need to help clean the mess, when a pair of strong hands come from behind and gently grip my arms, helping me stand. For a second, I think it might be Deacon coming to my rescue, but when I turn around, dark, messy hair and bright blue eyes greet me.
Micah.
“The better question is, are you all right?” The sexy as silk voice from yesterday pours over me like warm honey.
Micah
“LET’S GET THIS MESS CLEANED up.”
“Sure thang, Boss,” Jamie says, shaking her ass a little extra as she walks off. For my benefit, I’m sure. She’d be happier than a tick on a fat dog if I’d just fuck her already, but she ain’t my type. Besides, she’s an employee, and I don’t mix business with pleasure . . . or, at least, not that kind of pleasure.
“Sorry for your little run in with the food,” I tell the beautiful woman standing in front of me. I recognize her from the parking lot last night, and my smile turns into more of a smirk. “It looks like you’re wearin’ a bit of it. Can I get you a clean shirt?”
“Oh, I’m fine. I’ll just, um, go back in the bathroom and, uh . . .” She looks down at the gumbo splattered across her chest and midsection . . . and maybe a little étouffée right by the collar. “Uh, on second thought, I’ll take that shirt,” she says.
There’s a smear of barbeque sauce on her forehead, and I have to admit, it’s pretty damn cute.
“Micah Landry,” I say, offering her my hand.
She blushes and cocks her head, giving me a funny look. “I know. I’m Dani Reed,” she replies. “I saw you last night.”
“I remember, but we didn’t exchange names.”
“No, we didn’t, but I’m in town doing an article on the Landry Plantation for Southern Style Magazine.” She gives me a quirk of an eyebrow, like I should know who she is. I do vaguely remember Mama saying something about a magazine article.
“So, you’re the city-slicker New Yorker who came all the way down here to snap some pictures of our house?”
“Yep, city-slicker New Yorker, that’s me.” She huffs out a laugh.
“You always so clumsy, Ms. Reed?”
“I have tendencies,” she says, looking away and giggling, like she has an inside joke with the wall.
“Lemme get ya a clean shirt.”
After finding one that looks to be her size, I walk back into the hallway and hand it over to her. She thanks me and goes into the bathroom to change.
Walking back out into the main part of the restaurant, I see my brother sitting in the corner booth talking to a few of the regulars. While I slide into the booth across from him, I ask, “So, did you bring the city-slicker?”
“Who, Dani?”
“No, that other city-slicker who walked in earlier, ‘cause we have so many of ‘em ‘round here,” I deadpan. “Yes, Dani.”
“So, you two met?” he asks with a wide grin, and I ignore his waggling eyebrows. My brother loves to stir shit.
“Yeah, she had a little run-in with a food tray. She’s in the bathroom cleaning up.” I laugh a little under my breath, thinking about her clumsy ass and the barbeque sauce on her forehead.
I look up just in time to see Dani walking past the bar toward the booth where Deacon and I are sitting. She’s not just cute. She’s beautiful. Her dark red hair falls past her shoulders and kinda bounces. Her head is down and she’s walking like she’s on a mission—which is probably how she ended up with pockets all over her. If she’d pick her damn head up and look at the world around her, she might not—shit, she almost fell again. Maybe it’s a condition.
She’s a little on the shorter side, but she definitely has curves in all the right places. There’s nothing showy about her, but she’s wearing the shit out of the new t-shirt I just gave her.
When she gets closer to the table, I clear my throat and she finally glances up,
“I see you almost bit it again back there,” I say, pointing from where she came from. “You should really watch where you’re goin’.” I smile up at her, waiting to see how she takes the jab.
Her eyes light up a little and she quirks an eyebrow. “Well, maybe you should smooth out these hardwood floors. I swear, it jumped up and tried to trip me. It could be a lawsuit waiting to happen.” She laughs, sliding back into the booth. “Honestly, there are days I’m a hazard to myself.” She pauses, rolling her eyes. “The crazy thing is I can walk perfectly in heels. Maybe it’s because I practiced so hard when I was in college.” Her shoulders shrug and she goes for a drink of her beer before continuing. “When I’m not wearing them, it’s like a switch is flipped and I’m back to my normal, clumsy self,” she says as she laughs and kicks up a leg to show us her Chucks.
I laugh. She’s probably the only person in the world who has trouble walking in them. “Has she already been introduced to the bar?” I ask Deaco
n.
“No, just ordered us some food and a couple of beers. Unless she was drinkin’ on the job. I did catch her asleep out by the big oak tree at the back of the property this afternoon.”
I whistle through my teeth. “Sleepin’ on the job, Ms. Reed?”
“Hey, for your information, I was finished for the day.” She holds her own with Deacon and me as we continue to give her a hard time, but she’s able to roll with the punches, which says a lot about her. Sometimes we Landrys are hard to handle.
“Whatever you say, Chuck,” I tease.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Here’s your food,” I say, standing up and helping Jamie with their plates before sliding back into the seat across from Dani.
“Mmmm. Unnhhh. Oh, God. This is amazing,” Dani moans, tilting her head back and closing her eyes in satisfaction. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was getting ready to have a Meg Ryan moment in the middle of my restaurant.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say slowly, unable to take my eyes off her.
She opens her eyes and looks at me. “What?”
“I said, I’ll take all the moaning and ‘oh, Gods’ as a compliment,” I reply, giving her a smirk. There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of innocent flirting, right? I mean, a girl like Dani isn’t usually my type, but I can’t deny the attraction I feel toward her. Valerie and I are technically on at the moment, but that never lasts long anyway. And Lord knows she’s done her own fair share of flirting while we’re together. Just last week, she was hanging all over Jack Wilson at the Owen’s barbeque. Even when she saw me, she still kept her hand on his bicep while she winked at me. She wants me to be jealous or some shit . . . go all caveman on her ass, but that ain’t me.
“Well, if you made this fuck awesome pocket, then yes, it’s a compliment. If not, please pass my compliments on to the chef.”
“I told ya you’d have to try them for yourself,” Deacon says, his mouth half full. “No one ever believes how amazing they are until they finally have one.”
Dani picks up her beer and finishes it off. For a girl from New York City, she’s not too bad.
“Test. Test . . . one, two . . . test . . . one, two, three,” a familiar voice speaks, emanating over the entire restaurant.
“This thing on?” he asks. “Y’all seen French Settlement’s most eligible bachelor? Where’s Micah Landry?” Dani looks over at me with a wicked grin, eyeing me expectantly. When he continues with, “he and his glory cock must be ‘round here somewhere, charmin’ the panties off some unsuspectin’ young lady, I’m guessin’,” she begins laughing hysterically with her head tossed back.
“For the love of all things good and holy, Tucker,” I mutter under my breath. “Wait right here. I gotta kill me a coonass.”
I make my way up to the stage where Tucker and his band are tuning up.
“There he is,” he shouts into the microphone, earning me a few cheers from the women who have gathered at the tables by the stage. Tucker gives me his gleaming smile—the one that gets him outta more shit than it should.
“For the record, I plan on taking you out back and kickin’ your ass later.”
“Empty promises, brah. Who’s that lovely little lady sittin’ with you and Deacon?”
“Oh, Chuck?”
“Dude, her name is Chuck? What the hell kinda name is that? Her parents had to been smokin’ some wacky weed.”
“Nah,” I say, laughing to myself as I glance back over at her. “It’s actually Dani. She’s just in town for a week or so to take pictures of the plantation. She works for Southern Style Magazine.”
“Where’s she from?”
“New York.”
Tucker whistles through his teeth. “Son, she’s finer than a frog hair split four ways. You ever been with a Yankee?”
“Nope. Planted my flag in all the states south of the Mason-Dixon Line . . . and a few north of it . . . and Mexico. Oh, and there was that foreign exchange student from France who stayed with the Barrows.”
“So, never New York?”
“Never.”
“Well, Micah,” he says decidedly, slapping me on my shoulder as we both look over to where Dani and Deacon are sitting, “I think you have yourself a mission. You need to go forth and plant your flag in New York. Do it for the greater good. Do it for the south! We shall rise again!” He turns to me and salutes.
“All right, General Fuckin’ Lee. Save it for battle.” I laugh, rolling my eyes at his dramatics. “She’s here on business, and I have a feelin’ she’s not the type to just hook up with the locals. She may have a city-slicker boyfriend back home waitin’ on her.”
“Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, y’know,” Tucker says, barely loud enough for me to hear him.
“Want me to introduce you to her?”
“Abso-fuckin-lutely.”
We start to walk back over to the booth when Jamie steps right in front of us.
“Shouldn’t you be takin’ some orders?” I ask sternly.
“All caught up, Boss!”
“Well, go find somethin’ in the back to clean. Make yourself useful.”
“You know, I was thinkin’ . . .” she says with mock shyness as she tilts her head to look at me.
“That’s scary as hell.”
She continues, ignoring my insult. “Valerie’s outta town tonight, and I wouldn’t want you to be lonely.”
Tucker snorts at my side and I jab him with my elbow. Lord knows, she doesn’t need any encouragement.
“So,” she continues, “I thought maybe I could come over and we could watch a movie or just talk. Maybe you could show me exactly how you stuff your pockets . . . or maybe you’d like to stuff my pocket?” She eyeballs my crotch and licks her lips.
“Jamie,” I say a little more forcefully than I normally would when speaking to my employees, but I need to get her attention. “Get back to work. I wouldn’t wanna have to fire your ass on a busy night like tonight.”
Her ponytail almost slaps me in the face as she turns around and stomps off. I swear, she’s like a petulant child. If her daddy weren’t the mayor, I’d have given her the boot a long time ago. She’s one of those girls who was born here and will die here. All she’s waiting for is a sugar daddy or somebody stupid enough to knock her up . . . and that somebody sure as hell won’t be me.
Tucker and I finally make our way back across to the booth where Dani and Deacon are laughing hysterically.
Dani looks up and wipes tears from her eyes. When she notices Tucker standing next to me, she smiles brightly, and I’ll admit, I don’t like it. I’m hoping that’s not an I’d-like-to-show-you-my-panties smile. If I can’t have her, Tucker sure as hell can’t have her. If I can have her, or want her . . . or whatever, then he really sure as hell can’t have her. Bottom line: Tucker can’t have her.
Fuck, what’s wrong with me?
It’s like we’re seven years old again and I’m trying to prove I’m King of the Mountain.
I run my hands through my hair a few times, willing myself to get a grip before I introduce my best friend to our guest.
“Tucker, this is—”
“Chuck! Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Tucker says, interrupting me.
Dani looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Chuck, huh?” she asks, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “I knew that was what you said earlier.” She moves her gaze from me back to Tucker and her lips morph from a hardline to a smile. “Well, it’s Sheridan, actually, but you can call me Dani.” She accepts his hand and he gently raises hers to his mouth, placing a suave-ass kiss on the top.
Who the hell does he think he is? The Cajun Casanova?
“Nice to meet you, darlin’.”
I feel my face heat up. Damn him.
“Well,” I draw, trying to take her attention from Tucker. “It’s because you said you can walk just fine in those fancy shoes you were talkin’ about, but when you put on your Chucks, you’re tr
ippin’ all over yourself. I thought it was cute, so—”
“So, you thought you’d give me a nickname?” she asks, looking back at me. “And Chuck, of all things?” She laughs lightly, rolling her eyes, the annoyance slipping.
“I could’ve called you Tripsy . . . or Miss Trips-A-Lot.”
Deacon laughs while Dani tries to hold her composure, but I see the crack in her façade. “I hate you, Micah Landry. I just met you, and I already hate you.” I don’t miss the twitch of her lips as she tries to force a scowl on her beautiful face, so I give her another smirk, letting her know I’m on to her.
“I see my work here is done,” Tucker says, slapping me once again on the shoulder. “I’m gonna head back to the stage and get this party started!” We all watch as he turns around and does some crazy jump-and-roll bit to get onto the stage. If I hadn’t known him my whole life, I’d swear the boy had been dropped on his head or teethed on paint chips as a baby, but the truth is, he just loves life and has a no-holds-barred approach to everything he does. It’s one of the things I love most about him. He completely encompasses the joie de vivre way of life.
The band starts playing What’s Your Name, my favorite Lynyrd Skynyrd song, and I’m more than certain the song choice is for my benefit. I make a mental note to thank Tucker for that later . . . while I’m kicking his ass.
For the next two hours, we listen to Hard Limits, drink lots of beer, and exchange smart-ass conversation. The evening feels easy, light . . . effortless. I don’t know a lot about Sheridan Reed, but she seems different from girls around here. It could be that new-girl appeal, like a shiny new toy, but something deep inside tells me it’s more than that.
Deacon gets up from the table, stretching and yawning. “Well, kiddos, I think it’s our curfew.”
Dani looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “Really? You guys have a curfew?”
“Not technically, but it is Saturday night, which means we have mass in the morning. No matter how late you stay out or how drunk your ass gets, you cannot be late for mass.”
“Well, sounds like you boys better get home.” She’s enjoying this little tidbit of information a little too much, I think.