Page 83 of Bourbon Sins
Sooo . . . it must have been my comment. Now feeling guilty, I waited impatiently for Jett to come back to the table. He was a hard man to read. At one point, he was tenderly kissing my shoulders, my cheek, my hand, but then the next minute he was retreating, physically and emotionally. I was getting mixed signals and, frankly, didn’t know what to do about it.
A part of me wanted to throw caution into the wind and press my lips against his and take what I wanted. It wasn’t lost on me that he hadn’t kissed me on the lips yet. I could see that he wanted to, but he never did, which being a woman with needs, his limited action was driving me crazy, as if he was doing it on purpose. Fucker.
I saw him walk back as he looked down at his phone with a crinkle in his forehead.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.” He sat down and grabbed the check the waiter left. He put more than enough cash in the black folder and got up.
The mood between us dramatically changed, and I didn’t know what to do to make it better. I felt stupid for saying something that wasn’t to his liking. I felt almost ignorant for not knowing how to act like a “lady” around him. I knew the bib napkin was a little much, but I didn’t want oyster juice all over my pretty dress.
I threw the strap of my purse over my shoulder and fiddled with my dress before I stood up. The minute I looked up, Jett was at my side, holding his hand out for me.
I gripped his hand with mine, not knowing what to say or how to react as he pulled me up next to his body. I raised my hand to his cheek and said, “I’m sorry if I offended you—”
“You didn’t. I’m sorry I freaked out for a second. You were right, I was showing my inner snob to you and it was the last thing I wanted to do, to make you feel less than me, because that is not even close to the truth. You are so far above me in so many ways; it’s not right for me to make you feel less.”
I snorted, not meaning to offend him. “I am, by no means, above you. Hell, I used to have sex for money.”
The side of Jett’s cheek clenched from my confession. “I’m well aware, and that won’t be happening again, especially now that you’re mine.”
We were walking out of the restaurant when he casually said I was his. I pulled on his hand that was holding mine and looked him in the eyes. “Jett, what is this?”
“What is what?” he asked, seriously perplexed.
His car pulled up to the curb and the man who met us at the beginning of our date now opened the door and shut it for me as Jett got in the driver’s side.
I thought about dropping the subject, but the inner annoying girl in me was starting to come out, thanks to a couple of drinks, so I asked again, “What is going on between us?”
Smoothly, Jett pulled out into the streets and started working his way toward the Garden District, indicating that our night was over.
“I still don’t understand? Do you want a definition of our relationship?”
“Well, I guess so . . .”
“That was made clear when you signed the papers to be a Jett Girl in training. Do you need to go over them again?”
The cold Jett Colby had reappeared, putting me in my place. It was foolish of me to think that there was a possibility of something else going on between us, even though at times it felt like Jett wanted more, like he wanted me, needed me for more than just a booty call at night. I guess I was reading him wrong.
“No, that’s okay,” I responded, as I looked out the side of the car, watching the dim lights of the city pass by. We rode in silence for the rest of our date and what felt like forever was only minutes until we pulled into the driveway of the house.
I opened my door, not waiting for Jett to open it, not wanting him to open it. Why would I, if we were only bound by a contract? I walked toward the house as Jett called out my name.
“Goldie, where do you think you’re going?”
“To my room,” I replied, not turning back around.
I heard him walking toward me and my brain was telling me to keep going, but my treacherous body didn’t move.
“We’re not done here. I have something else planned for us,” he said right next to my ear, sending a chill up my body.
“I’m not in the mood for the Bourbon Room, Jett,” I lied.
“I’m not talking about the Bourbon Room.” His hands ran up my arms and he gently turned me around. His eyes were laced with insecurity as he said, “Come with me.”
Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t say no. There was no way of denying him what he wanted when he looked at me like that. His soulful eyes had a power over me that was unmistakable; he owned me.
I nodded my head and he led me up a back set of stairs that ran up the outside of the house. Once we got to the top, there was an old Crosley record player set up next to a picnic basket, a mini telescope, and a mountain of assorted blankets.
