Troublemaker (New Orleans Bourdons Book 2)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  If I stayed here.

  And if I was the type to actually make long-term friends.

  Neither of those was the case. That didn't mean I couldn't enjoy their company for a few hours so I reluctantly accepted Addy's offer.

  We finally made it to a table, crammed in with half a dozen other tables immediately surrounding us. Dylan slid his chair away from the group next to us, close enough to mine that his thigh pressed against mine. I wasn't sure if the move had been deliberate or not but I wasn't going to complain, especially when he looked over at me with a slow grin that heated his eyes.

  No doubt about it, I was in dangerous territory. It would be so easy to blur the lines between reality and fantasy. So easy to tumble over the edge and forget that we were simply having fun together.

  Nothing more.

  Nothing less.

  As long as I remembered that, I'd be safe.

  Maybe.

  A harried waiter hurried over to our table and Addy ordered for all of us. A few minutes later, we each had a cup of coffee—no, cafe au lait—sitting in front of us, along with two plates of fresh beignets generously covered with powdered sugar.

  At least now I understood where all the white stuff on the floor and tables had come from, despite the staff that constantly cleaned and swept around us.

  I pulled several small napkins from the dispenser on the table then passed it around to the others. I wasn't sure what to reach for first—my cup or a beignet—then finally settled on the cup. I took a cautious sip, letting the taste rest on my tongue before swallowing. Addy had been right, this wasn't just coffee mixed with milk. It was slightly stronger and maybe even a little sweet even though I hadn't added anything to it.

  "Well? What do you think?"

  "It's good. Not exactly what I was expecting."

  Nathan rolled his eyes then reached for a beignet. "It's still coffee if you ask me."

  "When did you become such a damn cynic?" Dylan pulled the plate away from Nathan before he could grab one and handed it to me. I took one, surprised at how warm it was, then slowly lifted it to my mouth for a small bite. The fried dough was warm and soft, with just enough sweetness to dance on my tongue. I took another bite then looked up, surprised to see Dylan staring at me.

  I swallowed then started to ease back, suddenly self-conscious. "What?"

  "You have sugar on your lips."

  "Oh." I reached for one of the napkins, ready to wipe it off. Dylan's hand closed over my wrist, stopping me. I had just enough time to look back at him before his mouth closed over mine. The kiss was slow and deep, oddly gentle despite the urgency I sensed in him, just below the surface.

  He pulled away, a crooked grin tilting the corners of his mouth as he watched me. "Delicious."

  Heat immediately filled my face. I opened my mouth to say something then quickly closed it. There wasn't anything I could say, not when he looked at me that way. Heat and need and something else flared in the depths of his eyes, warming me from the inside out.

  I shifted in the chair, trying to tell myself not to read into it. It was just a kiss, like the hundred other kisses we had already shared. It meant nothing. It certainly didn't mean we were together. We weren't a real couple.

  We weren't.

  I repeated those words to myself, over and over as I shifted once more in the chair then reached for my cup. I felt more than saw Addy and Nathan watching us—watching me—and I reluctantly looked up.

  Addy was smiling, her dark eyes glittering with approval, and I knew exactly what she thought: that no matter what I said, Dylan and I were together.

  Nathan's piercing blue gaze said something completely different. I didn't see disapproval there, not really. What I saw was more subtle, with a hint of suspicion that let me know he was trying to figure out what was really going on between Dylan and me.

  That made two of us, though I seriously doubted he'd believe me if I told him that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dylan

  "I just don't understand what the hell you're up to."

  "Who says I'm up to anything?"

  "You have to be because that's the only thing that makes sense. This whole thing, whatever it is you're doing, isn't normal."

  I braced my hands against the boards and leaned back, refusing to meet Nathan's gaze. I knew he meant well—at least, I thought he did—but I was getting damn tired of the third fucking degree.

  "Do I have to remind you, again, about your own situation?"

  A muscle jumped in Nathan's jaw and a part of me wondered if maybe I had crossed a line. Too damn bad because turnabout was fair game as far as I was concerned.

  Nathan slid a little closer and I didn't miss the flash of irritation in his eyes when he looked at me. That same irritation echoed in his voice when he spoke.

  "My situation with Addy is nothing like what you're doing with Morgan."

  "No? Explain to me again about how that whole one-night stand thing worked out."

  "There's a big difference between a one-night stand and what you're doing."

  "Yeah? Like what?" The question had all the finesse of a five-year-old taunting another kid on the playground but I was beyond caring. I was also completely over being the brunt of my teammates' inquisitions. Maybe they meant well but enough was enough already.

  Nathan didn't seem to notice my lack of patience. Either that or he just didn't care. Maybe both. He leaned in even closer, his voice low and clipped. "I didn't invite Addy to live with me after she broke into my apartment."

  "Morgan had a key—"

  "So you keep saying."

  "—and she isn't living with me."

  "Really? Then maybe you need to refresh my memory and tell me exactly where she's living."

  "She's just staying with me. Temporarily."

  "I think maybe you need to look up the definition of temporarily because what you're doing is anything but."

  My patience finally snapped and I pushed away from the boards. The forward motion put me toe-to-toe with Nathan but he didn't budge. "Why the fuck do you even care?"

  "I'm just watching your back."

  As much as I appreciated the sentiment, I didn't need it and I said as much. Nathan's response was a simple roll of the eyes that left a lot open to interpretation. I shook my head in response then went back to leaning against the boards.

  "Listen, I appreciate it, but you're worrying over nothing. Morgan isn't going to take me for a ride or anything like that."

  "So you think."

  "No, I know. She's not like that."

  "How can you say that when you don't even know her?"

  "Because she's had plenty of chances to do that and she hasn't. And if you remember correctly, she actually tried to leave once already."

  "Yeah, but you stopped her—and I still don't understand why."

  Neither did I, not really, but I wasn't about to admit that to Nathan. "My point is, she didn't try to wipe me out and she could have. She hasn't asked for money. She hasn't asked for anything, period."

  "Doesn't mean she won't."

  "For fuck's sake, Shaw. What the hell do you have against Morgan? What the hell has she ever done to you?"

  Nathan looked equal parts surprised and stunned at the question. His gaze drifted from mine down to the ice then back again. "Nothing. I mean, she seems okay enough."

  "Then what's the problem?"

  "I told you, I'm just watching your back."

  "And I told you I didn't need it. Whatever is going on between Morgan and me is our business and nobody else's."

  "Fine."

  "Fine."

  "Just don't bitch when she wipes you out."

  I inhaled a deep breath of chilly rink air and ground my back teeth together. "That isn't going to happen."

  "I hope you're right."

  I took another deep breath, exhaled sharply, then changed tactics. "You think Addy is a good judge of character?"

  Nathan's eyes narrowed and for a few seconds,
I didn't think he'd answer. He finally relaxed and shrugged. "Yeah, she is."

  "Then maybe you should trust her if you don't trust me."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "It means she seems to like Morgan just fine. Her and Jacqui both do. If they didn't, I doubt that Morgan would be spending so much time with them."

  A frown creased Nathan's forehead and I could tell his mind was working overtime, trying to think of some argument. The truth was, there wasn't a single argument he could come up with and he knew it. Morgan had been spending a lot of time with Addy and Jacqui, damn near every day since that night we'd gone on the ghost tour last week. I got the impression that Morgan was glad for the company even though she hadn't said as much. I also got the impression that she wasn't really used to having many friends so I was secretly thankful that the two women had kind of taken Morgan under their wings,

  I was also extremely grateful to both of them because Morgan hadn't made any mention of leaving. Of course, we hadn't really talked about her staying, either, but I'd take what I could get.

  I also had to admit that Nathan had a point, even if it was a small one: I had no fucking clue what I was doing, not when it came to Morgan. A part of me could admit that our situation wasn't normal, not by a long shot. Morgan was a runaway bride who showed up at my apartment and, for reasons I didn't understand, I invited her to stay. Not just for a night or two but for more than three weeks. We were practically living together.

  Normal? No, not really.

  Did I care? Oh hell no.

  I liked Morgan. A lot. I enjoyed spending time with her. The sex was out of this world but that wasn't the only reason why. I actually looked forward to going home now, knowing Morgan would be there waiting for me. We'd settled into a routine, a comfortable one, and I didn't think that was a bad thing.

  Normal, no, but definitely not bad.

  The problem was, I had no idea how Morgan felt about the whole thing. For all I knew, she was still planning on leaving. We hadn't talked about it and I'd let myself think that her leaving was no longer an issue but maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part. Maybe I was just fooling myself.

  Or hell, maybe I'd simply become obsessed and refused to see reality.

  No, I hadn't reached that point—and I wouldn't. But maybe I needed to sit down with Morgan and talk, make sure we were on the same page.

  Whatever that was.

  A door slammed to our right and I turned in time to see Coach Somers stalk out onto the ice, followed by the rest of the coaching staff. Break time was over, which meant Nathan's interrogation was coming to an end.

  It also meant we were probably going to have our asses handed to us for one reason or another. Coach just had that look about him. I couldn't really blame him, considering our play had taken a dive this past weekend. We were still in last place—surprise, surprise—and sinking deeper with each loss.

  "Everyone, center ice. Now."

  I swallowed back a groan, shoved my helmet into place, then skated toward center ice with Nathan and the rest of the team. Everyone had similar expressions of doom on their faces, like we all knew what was coming. Maybe not the details, but there was no doubt it wasn't going to be good.

  Coach Somers made a pretense of studying the clipboard in his hands for several long minutes. Silence dragged out around us as we waited and I wondered if he was really looking at something or just torturing us. Maybe a little of both.

  He spun around and threw the clipboard, the sudden motion making more than a few of us jump. The metal clipboard sailed across the ice then hit the boards with a bang that sounded much louder than it really was.

  Coach ran a hand over his face then tilted his head back and stared at the metal rafters overhead. "I'm tired of the fucking games. And I'm damn tired of losing all the time."

  I slid a glance around, wondering if he expected us to answer or not. How the hell could we answer? Coach had to know we weren't any happier with our play than he was.

  He released a heavy sigh then looked around, his gray eyes impaling each one of us in turn. "We've got two at home Friday and Saturday before we head north on Sunday. I damn well expect two wins in the column before we hit the road. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, Coach."

  "You sure about that? Because it sure as hell doesn't sound like it."

  "Yes, Coach."

  "Yeah, right. Excuse me if I don't hold my fucking breath." He shook his head, reminding me of a parent that had received another disappointment in a long line of them from his wayward children. "We're changing up the lines and we're going to keep changing them until something fucking clicks. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, Coach." We were a little louder that time, but I could hear the apprehension just beneath the surface. Or maybe that was just me projecting my own inadequacies. I'd been bouncing back and forth from the second line to the third, with most of my time on the third with Logan Byrd. We hadn't really clicked but then, I hadn't really clicked with anyone else yet, either. And it wasn't like I could go down since defense only had three lines.

  Unless Coach scratched me.

  A knot formed in my stomach, growing tighter and tighter as Coach ran through the lines, shifting players and really mixing things up. He went through our offense first and I sensed Nathan stiffen in surprise when Coach put him on the first line with Tristan and Sean Worthington. It wasn't really a combination I would have considered but it wasn't like we had anything to lose, not at this point.

  Coach's gaze moved over the rest of us, his face completely expressionless. I had to fight the urge to look away when he looked over at me, like I was some little kid caught in the act of setting a trash can on fire.

  That feeling didn't leave as he started calling off names for each line.

  Blake Roody and Jared Thayer, third line.

  Logan Byrd and Evan Richards, second line.

  Fuck.

  My stomach dropped somewhere below my knees and I could almost hear it hit the ice with a small thud. This wasn't good. At all. I was being scratched and who knew how long that might be for. Just this weekend? Or was it the beginning of the end for me?"

  "First line." Coach paused, his gaze completely unreadable as he dragged the suspense out. "Christian Tracy and Dylan Gleason."

  I blinked, wondering if I'd heard wrong, if maybe I had just imagined my name being called. No, I hadn't heard wrong—he was moving me up to the first line.

  My hand tightened around my stick damn near hard enough to snap it as a wave of relief washed over me. I glanced over at Christian, each of us giving the other a slight nod.

  Coach kept talking, his voice booming in the cold air around us. "Drills, now. And I want to see some fucking hustle. If I don't, I have no problem changing things around again. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, Coach."

  "Good. Now move it."

  Everyone moved as one, damn near stumbling over each other in our haste to start the drills. I tamped down the bubble of elation that threatened to burst from my chest. Being moved to first line was a sign that I was finally doing something right—but it wasn't permanent. Not by a long shot. Coach wouldn't hesitate to move me—or anyone else—back down if we screwed up.

  I had no intention of screwing up.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Morgan

  I stared at the bowls of ingredients spread across the counter and asked myself for the twentieth time if I knew what I was doing.

  The same answer came back: probably not.

  But I'd already committed myself so there was no turning back. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't, not after spending so much money on everything. If I had known how much everything was going to cost, I would have never gone through with it. Yes, I could have put everything back when I was at the store but I didn't.

  The idea of cooking dinner for Dylan had been mostly impulsive. I'd passed a cooking place a few times between Dylan's apartment and Jacqui's shop and had finally stopped in on a whim.
A cooking class had been ready to start and, spurred by an impulse I didn't understand, I decided to spend money I didn't really have to take it.

  It had been more of a demonstration instead of an actual class since we didn't actually do any of the prep work or the cooking. The instructor had been friendly and drew everyone in, all seven of us. I'd been the oddball single student in a room full of couples but that hadn't bothered me. I was used to being alone and doing things by myself. That didn't stop me from imagining Dylan by my side as we took the class together, a wayward thought that I quickly smothered.

  At least, I tried to.

  I'd enjoyed the class more than I thought I would, and walked away with three recipes and a stomach comfortably filled by a taste of the dishes the instructor had prepared. I'd also been inspired to make one of the dishes for Dylan for dinner, as a kind of thank you for everything he'd done for me.

  Which is why the kitchen looked like a small food bomb had recently exploded in it.

  Okay, maybe it wasn't quite that bad since I'd been cleaning as I went, but the actual cooking was definitely a degree or two harder than the instructor made it look. But I was a woman on a mission and determined to see this through to the end.

  The easy part had been the salad, which was already cut up and sitting in the refrigerator, ready to go. I'd opted to cheat and went for the instant rice so that wouldn't take too long when I was ready for it.

  It was the main dish I was a little worried about. The instructor had made it look so easy and I was determined not to be intimidated by the Chicken Fricassee.

  Maybe.

  I turned back to the recipe and read it through a third time. The chicken had already been browned and was sitting off to the side. I'd added the rest of the oil and flour until it looked like pancake batter—maybe—and was now stirring like mad, waiting for it to turn a dark brown. This was supposedly the tricky part because the mixture could just as easily burn or even catch fire.

  At least, that's what the instructor had told us. I hoped he was exaggerating because I didn't think Dylan would appreciate it if I set his apartment on fire. That was why I had opted to skip dessert—no way was I ready to try Bananas Flambe.