Page 86 of Bourbon Truths
“Call Jett,” I said to Goldie, and then I eyed Lyla up and down and said, “Let her call Jett.”
“Give me your number, and I’ll keep my mouth shut.” Her gaze spoke future promises if I did.
“Say nothing, and I’ll think about giving it to you,” I teased, wondering who the fuck the man was who was living in my skin right now.
“Good enough for me,” Lyla responded as she followed me out of Goldie’s room.
“Traitor!” Goldie shouted as I shut her door.
Lyla walked in front of me as we descended the stairs. The minute we exited the back door, the thick Louisiana air hit me hard. Lyla stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, her hands in her back pockets, and spun around to face me. Her breasts were propped up from the position of her hands, making it impossible to look away.
“Do you have any plans?” Lyla asked, looking confident and sexy.
“No,” I responded, running my hand through my hair.
“Treat me to lunch?”
“That’s awfully presumptuous of you to think I would buy you lunch.”
She gave me the once-over, a smirk crossing her lips. “By the way you eye-fucked me upstairs, pretty sure you’ll be buying me lunch. Let’s go, beefcake. I’m hungry.”
Without me agreeing to her terms, she grabbed my hand and started walking me toward Jackson Square. I should have known Lyla would be trouble. She was friends with Goldie, and right now, it was looking like Lyla was more of a sassy counterpart than Goldie.
If that was the case, I was in for a world of trouble.
* * *
I sat backin my chair at the café and studied Lyla as she placed some sugar in her tea. She stirred the straw in her cup and her eyes shone bright. She leaned forward, her legs crossed under the table, her toe dancing intimately with my knee, letting me know she was close enough that if I wanted to make a scene, I could grab her from across the table and pull her onto my lap.
“Tell me, Kace, what’s your story.”
“Not much of a story to tell,” I responded vaguely. I didn’t know this woman. Therefore I wasn’t about to tell her about my life, especially given my horrid past.
“Enlighten me,” she smiled.
“Tell me about your life first,” I countered.
Her smile turned into a knowing smirk. “All right. No questions about the past.”
From her brush-off, I could tell she was hiding something as well, but I wasn’t about to pressure her to tell me because I’d just gotten a free pass. I wasn’t about to have it taken away.
“Fine with me,” I responded as we came to a standoff.
Our waitress brought over our food, replenished our drinks, and then took off. Lyla got a shrimp po’boy, same as me. I was impressed with her candidness about eating in front of a guy, ordering a sandwich just as big as mine. Most women I ate with were dainty with their meals, but not Lyla. I surveyed her as she picked up the loaded sandwich and took a giant bite out of it.You would think I’d have gotten sick of the food in New Orleans, but that wasn’t the case. I couldn’t get enough of the traditional cuisine. When I was in a good mood to appreciate things, I knew when I was fortunate enough to experience some good cooking.
“All right, so no past questions. Then tell me, what do you like to do on a typical Saturday?”
I took another bite of my sandwich and then wiped my mouth with a paper napkin that shredded under my sauce-coated fingers. “Well, when I’m not trying to wrangle up your friend at the club, or preparing for a presentation in the Toulouse Room, I like to spend time in the gym.” It was an honest answer. Wasting away my life in my room didn’t seem like something she would have liked to hear, and for some reason, I felt like trying to impress this woman.
“Workout? Seriously? You don’t have to tell me you work out. I can tell.”
“Ah, so you’ve been checking me out.” I smirked at her.
“It’s hard not to when I have fear that one of your muscles will poke me in the eye while we’re eating.”
“You would only be so lucky if my muscle poked you in the eye.”
Lyla eyed me and said, “Are you referring to your penis?”
