Taking It Easy: Boys of the Big Easy book two

by Erin Nicholas

  Dana was staring at him. “You really saw all of that?” She didn’t remember any of those things.

  “I did.”

  “And you were drawn to the idea of having someone take care of you?” she asked, kind of teasing. And kind of not.

  He laughed. “I was just impressed. And you were gorgeous. And you were unimpressed with me. And…yeah, I got a little crush. And it grew every time I was around you. You’re so fucking capable and yet, when you look at your girls, you go all soft. And when someone in the group needs something, you’re there. There was one party where you gave your sweater to Bea, your cookie to one of Austin’s girls, and twenty bucks to Lexie.”

  She felt her mouth drop open. “You were really watching me.”

  “I couldn’t help it.” He lifted his shoulder. “You sacrifice for other people. That’s sexy to me.”

  Dana tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling a little flummoxed. “Cookies and sweaters are hardly a sacrifice.”

  Logan reached to tip her chin up with his finger. “Bullshit,” he said softly. “Those are just examples. You put other people first. Without even thinking about it.” He paused. Then added, “I’ll be honest—” He brushed his thumb over her chin. “I probably didn’t put all of that into actual thought before all of this with the baby and everything. It was just a general impression of you. Something about you drew me in. But I do know what it is now. You think I’m fun and the life of the party and make people comfortable and happy. But so do you. Not with the same techniques, but being with you is easier on people than being without you.”

  She sucked in a little breath. That was, by far, no question, the best thing anyone had ever said to her.

  She wet her lips. “You know how the no-panties thing was a little bit of a drawback for dancing?”

  His eyes darkened and he moved his thumb to run it over her bottom lip. “Yeah?”

  “Well, there are no drawbacks to it in the back of a truck in the dark down by the bayou.”

  “You decide where you want your next kiss?” he asked, his voice rougher.

  “I have. But I also think that I’ve racked up way more than one.”

  He nodded slowly. “I do believe you are right.” He laid her back onto the sleeping bag. “Just tell me where to start.”

  “My mouth,” she said. “And then just...don’t stop.”

  The man did exactly as she asked. The dress pulled down from the top and up from the bottom perfectly, allowing him to get at every inch they both needed him to get to. The touching, talking, kissing, and stroking was hot, but slow and sweet, and when her body tightened around him, taking him over the edge with her, Dana felt the way he said her name as he held on to her. And when it was all over, he rolled to his side, pulled her in against him, and kissed the top of her head.

  9

  Two weeks, three dress rehearsals, and another cemetery tour later, Dana answered the front door and came back into her kitchen carrying a huge plate of brownies.

  “These are for you,” she told Logan. “From your fellow dance moms.”

  “Oh?” he asked, pretending he had no idea what would have prompted such a gesture. “That’s nice.”

  “You’re considered one of the dance moms?” she asked, setting it down.

  He was. By some of them, anyway. He shrugged. “I guess so.”

  She turned and gave him a smile. “What happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, why did Molly Anderson just bring you a bunch of brownies from her and all of the other moms?”

  Well, they weren’t from all of the other moms. “Because I’m awesome?” he guessed.

  She laughed. “Maybe. But you’ve been awesome for a while now. What happened that suddenly deserved brownies?”

  He looked at her. “Did she tell you and you’re trying to corroborate the story, or she didn’t tell you and you want the story from me?”

  “So there is a story.”

  Crap. “And you really don’t know it?”

  “Do I need to ask Chloe?”

  He sighed. “No.” He leaned back against the counter. “There’s just this one mom, who hasn’t, by the way, been to any of the dress rehearsals and almost no classes at all, who suddenly has an opinion about the hairstyles.”

  It was clear that Dana was fighting a smile. “I haven’t been to many of the rehearsals or classes.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like you. And you give me blow jobs.”

  She snorted. “Okay, maybe I get a little leeway there. But you get along with a lot of people who don’t give you blow jobs.”

  He shrugged. And realized that he probably looked a little…pouty.

  She grinned. “Is it maybe because she’s not appreciating you and you’re not even a little bit used to being criticized? Especially by women?”

  “Maybe.” That was exactly it, actually. “But Tiffany thinks she can just come in now, without being there at all, without contributing anything up to this point, just when everyone is really good at the style and likes it, and change everything?”

  Logan realized that he was ranting about little girls’ hairstyles for dance class. He knew that Josh and Gabe and Owen would get a huge kick out of this. He knew he should reel it in. It was barrettes, for fuck’s sake. But dammit. He’d come up with that style and everyone loved it. Especially Chloe. That was really the bottom line. Chloe was proud to have him there and involved. And now Tiffany was trying to screw it all up.

  “Okay, so what happened?” Dana asked, crossing her arms. “Tell me the story.”

  “Fine.” He blew out a breath. “So last night, we’re all there, everyone’s ready and she and her kid—”

  “Jada,” Dana supplied.

  “Right. Jada. The diva.”

  Dana’s eyebrow rose and Logan nodded. Yes, he’d just used the word diva. Out loud.

  “Anyway, Tiffany and Jada just blew in there last night, late, and started talking about how we needed to rethink the style. I’ve never even seen her there so I was just kind of hanging back, but I’ll admit, I was getting annoyed. But then the other moms pointed out that I’d come up with it, and she looked me up and down and said, ‘I guess that explains it.’” He paused. “She said it with this tone.”

  Dana bit her bottom lip.

  Logan sighed. “I know. I hear myself. But—”

  “Welcome to mom-hood.”

  “God, women can be such bitches.”

  “This is a surprise to you?”

  “I guess…” He blew out a breath. “Kind of. I mean I know it, intellectually. Just like men can be assholes, women can be bitchy. But I’ve never really been the target.”

  “Even with girlfriends? Exes?” Dana asked.

  He shook his head. “I tend to stay friendly with women. And I mean…” He trailed off and actually dropped his gaze.

  “You mean what?” Dana asked. She sounded amused.

  He felt completely sheepish, but he looked up and confessed. “I don’t let things get too serious or let expectations build to the point where breakups are super dramatic.” Until now. He didn’t say it. He didn’t need to. He knew Dana realized this was different for him. And yeah, a breakup would be dramatic. That was one word for it. Another word was devastating. And that scared the shit out of him.

  Dana nodded, clearly not surprised that he hadn’t had a serious relationship before. At all. “Okay, so Tiffany is one of the point three percent of women in the world who don’t think you’re amazing. I can understand how that might be hard to deal with,” she said.

  “You’re hilarious,” he said. Then he frowned. “I don’t care if she likes me. But she made it all dramatic for everyone. Unnecessarily. And Chloe was upset. And that pissed me off.”

  Dana looked surprised. “She was?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I think she liked that the team was doing something that she and I came up with.”

 
“Okay. I can see that.” Dana paused. “And?” she said after a moment.

  “And what?”

  “Are you telling me that those brownies are just don’t-feel-bad-we’re-on-your-side brownies?” she asked.

  He could lie. But she could ask Chloe what had been said. Or any of the other moms. “No. Those are you-said-something-we-all-wanted-to-say-but-couldn’t brownies,” he admitted.

  Dana nodded, obviously not surprised by that either. “So what did you say?”

  “Oh, trust me, I know all about what looks good and what doesn’t.”

  Dana’s eyes widened. “Did you say it in that drawl of yours?”

  “The one that makes your panties melt off?” He gave her a grin.

  “And with that grin?” Dana asked, pointing at his nose and not admitting—or denying—what his drawl did to her.

  “The grin was probably more of a I-know-you-think-you’re-all-that-but-I-disagree.”

  Dana nodded. “And you looked her up and down when you said it, and it was perfectly clear that you thought she was in the ‘not’ column, right?”

  Logan nodded.

  “And it didn’t work. She didn’t actually care what you thought,” Dana guessed. “And that annoyed you as much as her perfect hair and snotty attitude.”

  “Not quite as much,” Logan said. “But yeah. A little.”

  Dana chuckled. “She’s a piece of work. And I wish she hadn’t stirred things up. But I gotta admit, it would be funny seeing you meet a woman who doesn’t swoon for you.”

  “You didn’t swoon for me. At first.”

  “I did. I just hid it.”

  He liked that. He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe that’s what she’s doing.”

  Dana laughed. “I don’t think so. Tiffany Custer is not the swooning type.”

  Well, then, yeah, he didn’t know how to deal with her. “Does she always dress like that for dance class?” The woman had been wearing a short skirt, heels, about five pounds of makeup and a bottle of hairspray. Yes, she had the body for the skirt and heels. But it was clear that she liked to be looked at and knew how to accentuate her assets.

  “She’s beautiful. Always very put together. Always dressed to the nines,” Dana said. “She’s a plastic surgeon. And a yoga instructor.”

  Jesus. Logan tipped his head. “She’s high-maintenance.”

  “For sure. But you have to admit she looks good.”

  “But that’s not how the girls should look. They’re ten. And they’re already wound up enough about getting the steps to the dances right. We hardly need to pile on with how they look and if their hair is perfect. That was what I was trying to do—show them that it wasn’t all such a big deal and that it could just be fun and be…them. You know? They each picked the barrettes they liked the best, and it’s something everyone can do because it works for all the hair types and doesn’t have to be perfect.”

  Dana was watching him with an expression that was part wonder and part amused. “I can’t believe how worked up you are about this.”

  “She offered to pay for a hair stylist to come with the team to do everyone’s hair!” he exclaimed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Dana agreed.

  “So then she was super pissed when I suggested we vote, and insisted that everyone write their votes down instead of just a show of hands because I could tell the girls were getting intimidated by her. And then she lost. There were only three votes for the hair stylist, which means one person besides her and Jada.” He knew he should not be this into this. He glanced at the brownies on the counter, though, and felt a stab of triumph. “I hate that the other moms don’t feel like they can stand up to her.”

  Dana sighed. “Well, in some cases, they’re just tired and don’t want a fight or for things to be awkward among the families or the team. Some of them just don’t see it as a big deal and are more focused on things like getting off work to go to the competition and living out of a hotel room with a bunch of little kids for the weekend. And yeah, some probably just don’t really care as long as the girls are happy.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Which one are you?”

  “Maybe a tiny bit of all of those?”

  “So I’m making a big deal out of this?”

  “I’m not saying that. I think it’s great that you care about this. And Tiffany could use a little opposition.” Dana glanced at the brownies. “Clearly everyone agrees.”

  “Almost everyone,” Logan muttered.

  Dana laughed and crossed to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Don’t worry, Trahan, I like you enough to make up for all three of those females who voted against you.”

  He hugged her and grinned in spite of himself. But he made his voice solemn when he said, “Yeah, you know, that was really hard on my ego. I might need someone to reassure me that I’m amazing.”

  She pulled back and looked up at him. “Gosh, how can I help?”

  “How about you meet me in your bedroom thirty minutes after the girls go to bed and by then I’ll have a list.”

  “Okay,” she agreed with a grin. “And how about tomorrow night, instead of hanging out at Chloe’s rehearsal, you and Grace go find a haunted house or something.”

  “Stay away from the drama at dance?” he asked.

  “You won the vote. They’re staying with your idea. Just let that be.”

  “But—”

  “Logan.”

  “But I like dance class,” he mumbled.

  She laughed. “You like being the only dance dad.”

  Emotion speared through him with that. A feeling of yes. But not because he liked the attention of being a one of a kind. But because of that last word. Dad. Yeah, he liked that. A lot. He nodded, without a touch of humor. “I do. I like feeling that I’m doing something important. Something that matters to Chloe. And you.”

  “And it does. You’ve helped me a ton by handling all of that, and Chloe loves having you involved. And Tiffany can’t change that, okay? She’s just a mean girl. In the end, the hairstyle doesn’t matter as much to Chloe as just knowing that you care about it for her. I’m sure Chloe is fine. Okay?”

  “So I should just back off and go with the flow.”

  She nodded. “You’re good at that, remember?”

  Yeah. He was. Supposedly. At least he used to be. Until someone messed with one of his girls’ happiness.

  And the phrase his girls caused that same flash of emotion that went through him when Dana used the word dad. A mix of possessiveness and pride and happiness and…love.

  He was in love. With all three Doucet girls. And he was going to make sure they were happy. Dammit.

  “Fine. I’ll take Tuesday night off from dance,” he said. He hadn’t taken Grace over to Muriel’s yet.

  Muriel’s was commonly known as the most haunted restaurant in New Orleans and was right across Jackson Square from Trahan’s. One of the waiters, Ken, had worked there for twenty years and knew all the stories. And he was great at reading his audience and embellishing. He’d love Grace. And vice versa.

  “Yes, do that,” Dana said. “Hang with Grace. Have some fun. Let the drama go.”

  He nodded. “Fine. But you know, that whole thing with you getting your way with me because of the blow jobs?”

  She ran her hand up his chest. “Yes. I remember that theory.”

  “Oh, it’s not a theory,” Logan said. “Tell me again about letting it all go after you use that sweet mouth on me. I’ll be a much better listener then.”

  Dana rose on tiptoe and put her mouth on his. “Deal.”

  “I can’t believe I heard it!” Grace said. Again.

  Logan chuckled. Ken had done a great job regaling Grace of tales of the things he’d seen, and heard of, at Muriel’s over the years and then he’d taken them up to the séance lounges on the second floor, and Grace had fallen head over heels. The rooms on the second floor were decorated in deep jewel tones with plush sofas and heavy curtains and elaborate wall hangings, lamps, tabl
es, and even two crazy, huge, gold Egyptian sarcophagi.

  The rumor was that the upper rooms were the ones where the primary ghost that haunted Muriel’s spent his time. It wasn’t uncommon for people to hear the sound of someone knocking on the brick wall up there. Grace swore she’d heard it tonight.

  And instead of being freaked out like most six-year-olds would be, Grace was completely enthralled.

  “I’m glad you liked it, honey,” he told her sincerely. Yeah, okay, so this had been more fun than arguing with Tiffany Custer about hairstyles.

  Grace had wanted to know what a séance was and instead of being creeped out by the idea of actually communicating with dead people, she’d been fascinated. Briefly, Logan wondered if he needed to reel all of this in. He didn’t want her asking for a crystal ball or tarot cards for Christmas, and he didn’t want her to be the weird kid at school. Then again, he knew the majority of people who lived in New Orleans, particularly the ones who had grown up here, had a pretty open-minded view of the fact that the place was haunted. A combination of the age of the city and numerous traumas, from fires to the yellow fever epidemics to the slave revolt of 1811, almost guaranteed there were some spirits hanging around. Most New Orleanians would claim to have had a paranormal experience or two in their lives.

  Logan saw Chloe coming down the steps of the school a few minutes later as Grace was wondering if she could have her birthday party at Muriel’s. Yeah, okay, that might be weird. He would put pretty good money on the fact that Muriel’s had never hosted a little girl birthday party in the haunted séance rooms of the restaurant. And what would the party favors be? But as he thought about it, he decided that, as a matter of fact, he and Grace could throw a kick-ass séance-themed party. Everyone could have their own turban, and they could use dry ice to create a spooky atmosphere. Everyone could write their own epitaphs...

  Every thought was derailed as Chloe opened the door to his truck, her cheeks streaked with tears.