Page 90 of Bourbon Kingdom
“Gah, you’re annoying,” I replied, removing my hand and turning away from him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his chest rise and fall from the silent chuckling he was doing. Never did I think Jett would have the joking personality of Diego, or the ability to infuriate me like Kace. It was like all the men in my life came together and morphed into one mega man to drive me bat-shit crazy and make me horny as hell.
For the rest of the contest, I ignored the piercing hand of Jett Colby burning through my skin as I tried all different types of vegan gumbo.
Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. They had all the classic flavoring of the dish, it was just the textures that were different, which I tried to ignore, because if I thought about it too much, I started to gag. There was one bowl that said it had faux chicken in it that was a brown square in a pile of rice and gravy. That was the hardest bowl for me to swallow because what kind of “chicken” is a perfect little square? Fuck was it nasty, but like a good girl, I swallowed it down and held back the shiver that wanted to overtake my body from the “chicken” burp that followed. Needless to say, “chicken” gumbo didn’t win.
Once the winner was crowned, a very excited lady wearing a peasant skirt and a tank top with no bra—it was obvious—Jett helped me out of my seat, shook hands with the judges, then led me out to the festival. Job one, get some real gumbo to help me forget the brown chunk I had to take down.
“Did you have fun?” he asked, guiding me flawlessly through the crowd.
“I did, but can we just discuss that chicken bowl?”
“I’d rather not. I think I’ll have some indigestion problems from that bowl for a while.”
“Thank you!” I said relieved, glad I wasn’t the only one who had a problem with it. “I don’t care what you say, you can’t pass tofu off as chicken. There is something just so wrong about that. If you’re going vegan, then own up to it.”
“Yeah, bad move on that person’s part. Although, it looked like the mayor rather enjoyed that bowl.”
“The mayor liked every bowl.”
“True,” Jett laughed. “So, what’s your pleasure? You have your pick of any gumbo dish out there. What can I get you?”
“Chicken and sausage, I need the classic stuff right now,” I requested.
“Right this way,” Jett said, as he took me to a small station off to the side where a large black woman stood over a pot of gumbo, stirring it with a giant spoon. Her form reminded me of someone I knew, but I couldn’t quite place her until she turned around.
Miss Mary, the she-devil herself, stood in front of me with her wooden spoon in one hand and a towel in the other. Flashbacks of her ruler smacking my armrest during “reform school” flashed through my mind and I winced as she moved toward us. The lady still scared the ever-living fuck out of me.
“Why, if it isn’t it Miss. Lo and Mr. Colby. How lovely to see you both.” The smile on her face seemed absolutely genuine, but I didn’t trust it for a minute. I knew what she was capable of, so I kept my distance.
“Miss Mary, so glad we were able to find you in this crowd of people. My girl here is looking for the perfect bowl of gumbo, think you can help us out with that?”
“Always a charmer,” she winked at Jett as she grabbed two bowls and dished us both a heaping scoop of gumbo. Steam rose off of the bowls as she handed them over to us with spoons.
Jett reached into his back pocket to pay for our food, but Miss Mary held up her hand and shook him off.
“Your money is no good here, son. Just enjoy.”
It wasn’t like Jett couldn’t afford the gumbo, the man was dripping in cash, but he knew when to step down. Miss Mary wasn’t one to mess with.
Jett held the bowl up to Miss Mary and gave her that devilish grin of his. “Thank you, Miss Mary. I appreciate it.”
“Any time,” she winked again and then went back to stirring her pot, leaving us both alone.
The interaction with Miss Mary almost made her seem human, not like a ruler-wielding, crazy-eyed, manner police.
As we walked to a bench in the back of the park, I asked, “Do you and Miss Mary have a close relationship?”
“You could say that,” Jett said, as he stared down at his bowl of gumbo.
“Want to tell me about it?”
This was a test; if he was serious about making something happen between us, about having a relationship, then it was time for him to open up. It was time to bring some substance to this uncontrollable force that was bringing us together.
Clearing his throat, Jett leaned back on the bench and said, “Miss Mary was my nanny growing up. She took care of me when my dad was taking care of his businesses; she’s the one who raised me and she was the one who made sure I still saw my mom, despite my father’s demands.”
Right then and there, I felt like my mind was blown. I didn’t know much about Jett’s mom, except for the fact that she died from AIDS, but I never would have thought Miss Mary raised him. They didn’t seem that close; maybe they kept a more distant relationship.
