I threw my arms around her for a quick hug then stepped back. "Thank you. I just know you're going to find him as irresistible as I do. It'll be fun. You'll see."
"Fun might be a bit extreme but I have no doubt it'll at least be interesting." Jacqui looped her arm through mine and led us out to the front of the shop. "Now let's go see what your man is really made of."
Chapter Four
Addy
A fresh wave of disappointment washed over me, the bitter taste of it even sharper than the last one. As awful as it was, it wasn't nearly as bad as the knowing expression—and the sympathy—in Jacqui's eyes when she looked over at me. I forced a smile I didn't feel and reached for my drink, hoping the sweet taste of the Hurricane would wash away the lingering taste of disillusionment on my tongue. This was my third drink in a little over an hour. The fact that I was still tasting anything probably wasn't a good sign.
I pulled a long swallow through the straw, placed the tall glass on the table, then dropped my head into my hands. I stopped just short of sighing—that was too much drama, even for me. Besides, Jacqui was doing enough sighing for both of us. Of course, hers was more of a sigh of I told you so.
She reached over, patted my shoulder, then took a sip of her own drink. I had no idea what it was, couldn't remember what it was she'd ordered. Something dark in a short glass with ice and a cherry that she'd long since eaten, something named after a city somewhere. Maybe. I'd been too busy wallowing in my own misery to pay much attention. It wasn't a touristy drink, like my Hurricane, I knew that much—because Jacqui had made a point of teasing me about my drink choice. I didn't care then and I didn't care now.
Nathan had stood me up.
For the first time since we'd met three weeks ago, he'd stood me up. At first I tried telling myself he was just running late. Then I wondered if maybe I'd gone to the wrong place, even though I was positive we'd agreed to meet at the oyster house. He'd been in New Orleans for two months and the famous place was only a couple of blocks away from his apartment but he'd never even heard of it, let alone eaten there. I had wanted to watch him as he ate his first chargrilled oyster, wanted to tease him if he didn't like it or praise him if he did.
But that wasn't going to happen because he never showed up. I'd studied all the faces in the long line to get in and even did a quick walk-through inside, in case he was there waiting.
But he wasn't.
We'd waited for fifteen minutes, in case he was running late, sipping on the frozen Hurricanes Jacqui had bought at the corner even though she complained about feeling like a tourist doing it. Another fifteen minutes had convinced me Nathan really wasn't going to show at all and I'd been tempted—oh so tempted—to head to his apartment to look for him. Jacqui had curled one strong hand around my arm and tugged me along Iberville Street, telling me in no uncertain terms that I would absolutely do no such thing. Now we were in a crowded bar and lounge attached to a historic hotel on Royal Street, sitting at a table by the window and munching on blue crab and crawfish beignets with remoulade while I wallowed in misery.
Not exactly my idea of a fun night. And certainly not the impression I wanted Jacqui to have of Nathan.
"Maybe he got held up at work."
"Hmm." It was the same thing she'd said the other twenty times I'd made excuses. I drained the last of my Hurricane then finally gave in to the sigh that had been fighting to break free for the last hour.
"I just don't understand why he didn't show up."
Jacqui watched me for a long minute and I could see that she wanted to say something—a lot of somethings. But she surprised me by saying nothing. Instead, she raised her hand, wiggling her fingers in the air to call over our waiter. I started to order another drink but she stopped me and asked for the check instead.
I stabbed the last piece of beignet with the tines of my fork—maybe a little harder than I needed to—dragged it through the remoulade, then popped the bite into my mouth. "You're right. I should probably go home."
"You're not going home, cher."
"I'm not?"
"No. Number two, you're in no condition to drive." Jacqui took the check and her credit card from the waiter, scrawled her name at the bottom of the slip, then handed the leather folder back to him. "And number three: this calls for some additional liquid therapy."
I frowned then leaned forward. "What happened to number one?"
"Number one is a hefty dose of I told you so and you don't need that right now." She slid from the bench and waited for me, her hand hovering near my arm in case I decided to tumble face-first onto the floor. I only wavered a little bit and I could get away with blaming that on my shoes. I didn't bother, though, because we both knew my wavering had nothing to do with my heels and everything to do with the three Hurricanes I had sucked down—and that number didn't include the frozen one we'd had while standing outside the oyster house waiting on Nathan.
Who had stood me up.
I stepped outside into the heavy air and inhaled deeply, then immediately winced when the warm, muggy air that was uniquely New Orleans filled my lungs. Jacqui laughed then led me down Royal and, like a lost puppy, I followed. "Where are we going?"
"I told you: times like this call for some liquid therapy. And where better to find that therapy than Bourbon Street?"
"But you hate Bourbon Street." Truth be told, so did I. It was too crowded. Too loud. Too...well, too everything, filled with tourists eager to party their troubles away, to adopt the mantra of laissez les bon temps rouler and believe that letting the good times roll was a life motto.
At least for one night.
Not that I could blame them. Hadn't I done the exact same thing the night I ran into Nathan? Yes, I had, and look where it got me.
He'd stood me up.
The ass.
Except he had such a nice ass. Hard and firm and round and—I stumbled on the uneven sidewalk and caught myself at the last second, aided by Jacqui's strong hand. "I'm fine. I was just distracted by thinking."
"I always said thinking was a dangerous thing." She released my arm as we turned the corner from Iberville onto Bourbon and we both paused, momentarily taking in the sights and sounds and smells exploding around us. Part of me wanted to turn and run. Another part—the saner part that knew running would be impossible in my boots and in my current condition—just stood there, gawking like I'd never seen the sights before.
Jacqui laughed again, looped her arm through mine, then guided me into the crowded street. We made it half a block before we veered to the side, detouring long enough for her to buy us two frozen drinks in large cups. I accepted mine with more greed than I probably should have and took a long sip. The brain freeze was instantaneous and I pinched my eyes closed, waiting for the sharp pain in my head to subside.
"You don't have to drink it like you'll never have another. There's plenty more where that came from."
I nodded, took another sip—a careful one this time—then moved along the sidewalk next to Jacqui. She found a clear spot and we lounged near the wall, watching the crowd stopped in the middle of the street in front of us. Ten women, most of them probably my age, huddled together, shouting and waving to the group of men on the balcony above them. More people had stopped to watch, laughing as the compliments and dares were tossed back and forth between the two groups until the men were rewarded with what they wanted. They threw down a handful of colorful beads and the women scrambled to collect them from the dirty street, adding them to the strands already hanging from their necks.