Music flows through the air along with the chatter of voices. Buildings line both sides of the narrow street, decorated with neon lights.
Vanessa coughs. “It stinks,” she says.
I nod. “The only time this place doesn’t smell is in the morning after they’ve hosed it all down.”
Chloe’s nose crinkles, but only slightly, her curiosity stronger than the putrid scents of urine, alcohol, and sweat. Her gaze crosses the street and roves over the crowds before she looks back at us, her lips tipped with a smile. “It’s loud.”
I struggle not to laugh, knowing that Chloe Robinson is one of the most observant people and certainly took in far more than the most obvious fact she just shared.
“Let’s go.” Vanessa leads the way, her grip on Chloe tight, pulling her toward the traffic light that allows us to cross onto Bourbon Street.
And without thought, I’m traipsing after them, crossing the busy street as cars honk and men yell their awareness of the sisters.
“I’m going to hate this city, aren’t I?” Cooper grumbles.
Ahead of us, Chloe bestows a smile on an unsuspecting bloke who looks like he walked around with binoculars and a wide-brimmed hat all day. He’s startled by her, caught off guard by her quick approach and even more so by her beauty. She’s too far away for us to hear what she says, but we watch as he takes a strand of beads from around his neck and gives them to her.
She turns back toward Vanessa, victory shining in her bright eyes as she hurries back over to her.
“Yup,” I answer Cooper.
“Let’s get something to drink,” Vanessa says. “I read that there are bars down here that have specialty drinks. I want to try a hurricane.”
Chloe shakes her head. “I think I still feel a buzz from that drink at dinner.”
Vanessa laughs. “It was one drink.”
Chloe shrugs, her attention bouncing between the buildings and balconies and the busy street. “Although, a bar might be a good spot to get…”
I lean closer, missing the last of her words as we pass open doors where the music pours onto the street, competing with the music from other nearby bars and restaurants and the buzz of conversation
Vanessa turns to me, wearing a smile I recognize because while I haven’t seen it on her, it’s the same look a girl gets when she’s about to ask me for something. “Which bar should we go to?”
I shrug. “Depends on what you’re wanting.”
“Fun,” she says. “I want to have fun.” She glances at Chloe, and I understand her intention—she wants her sister to have a good time. I think of our brief conversation at dinner about Chloe being declined admittance to the program she’d applied for and their plans to get drunk, and though there’s a warning in my head saying this could go very badly, I jerk my chin forward.
“There’s a place up here with live jazz music and the best hurricane you’ll find on Bourbon Street.”
Her smile radiates with appreciation.
Then some fucker with too much liquid courage stops in front of Chloe, his gaze lewd and purposefully slow as he takes her in. His glassy stare settles on her face. “You’re so hot, my zipper’s falling for you.”
I wait for her to ask us for help or to make a retort to him—anything except for what she does—which is asking him for some of the beads around his neck.
I slap a hand to Cooper’s shoulder. “You’re going to have your hands full.”
He pulls his chin back. “What are you going to be doing?”
I grin. “The question is who will I be doing? And we’re going to find out soon.”
The bar is crowded when we step inside, and it takes approximately three seconds before news of twins starts circulating through the bar and another two for guys to start flocking their way toward them.
The band is loud, the bass pulsing through my body. The energy in here is enough to give anyone a strong hit of dopamine, leading me to gaze across the sea of people, waiting for the high to take me over and lead me to the nearest hot girl. But my thoughts are tangled with my meetings tomorrow as I consider what the management team is going to tell me and if I’ll be able to offer any suggestions or even ask the right questions to find the root of the issues.
The bombardment of thoughts ruins my mood and leads me to the bar, where I take a seat and nurse a drink. I try to plan for my first meeting and avoid the pull to watch the three of them having fun and dancing.
6
Chloe
Normally, I would have said no to last night.
But in an effort to be more fun—whatever that means—I went out and matched Nessie drink for drink, dance for dance, until we hit our third round. Then I accepted her whining about how we are only twenty-one once, how our time in NOLA is going to pass in the blink of an eye, and every other attempt to get me to continue partying with her. I switched to water, gathered the last of my beads from guys who undressed me with their eyes, and started to make a list of all the places I wanted to go today.
With Bourbon Street checked off the list, I planned to spend most of the day back in the French District:
Jackson Square
St. Louis Cathedral
Frenchmen Street
Shrimp po’boys and jambalaya
Find some beignets on the way back to the hotel
We traveled all thirteen blocks of Bourbon Street last night and learned why it smells so awful after witnessing several people vomit and even more relieving themselves in a shallow corner, not to mention the vast amount of trash strewn across the narrow street.
“Ness,” I say, shaking her. My patience wears thin as I catch sight of the alarm clock, which tells me it’s nearly noon. “Vanessa.” I shake her again.
She groans incoherently.
“Wake up,” I tell her. “We have places to go. Things to eat.”
She grumbles something that sounds like a threat before burying her head under her pillow.
“I’m going without you,” I warn her.
Nessie raises a hand and blindly waves.
I want to tell her she’s going to regret spending the entire day sleeping.—that the pictures of mine she’s going to see later are going to make her wish she’d gotten up and walked around and saw everything New Orleans has to offer—but I know doing so would make me sound like our dad, and after how much she drank last night, a dark and comfortable room is likely exactly where she wants to be today.
I grab my purse, checking to ensure I have my portable charger, wallet, and phone before escaping out to the smaller living room upstairs.
The room has been untouched, which is kind of a shame. It feels like either option is a loss at this point: spend time in this beautiful city I’ve never seen and have dreamed of visiting for years or spend the day in a hotel room that is fancier than anything I could have ever imagined. It’s not an easy decision.
I run my fingers gently over the telescope as I pass the window. The sky’s a bright shade of blue with fluffy white clouds that seem so perfect, they almost look fictional.
Downstairs, the kitchen has a tray of Danishes, muffins, and bagels that make me regret not having come down sooner, but after finding Cooper in a similar state as Vanessa, I spent my morning finalizing my plans for the day and taking a long shower in our en suite that had been designed by gods. The shower has five showerheads and expensive products, all in elegant French script, that smelled better than any hair salon I’ve ever visited.