It’s freaking awesome.
“Hell, yes, let’s get some.” Will leads me inside, his hand linked with mine. “Coffee too?” He looks back at me with a smile on his lips.
“Yes, please.” I nod and wait while he orders. “Three orders?” I ask dryly.
“They’re really good,” he answers simply and leads me to a table outside in the shade. Even in the fall, it’s hot here. And humid. But I don’t care.
“So,” I sit across from him at a tiny bistro table and perch my sunglasses on top of my head. “What do you want to do today?”
“I thought we could just wander around, shop, listen to the street musicians.” He shrugs as the waitress sets three baskets of square, fried dough with powdered sugar liberally dumped on the top on the table, along with our chickaree coffee. “I just want to hang out with you, everything else is gravy.”
I smirk at him. “Getting laid is a given, Will. You don’t have to be cheeky.”
“Cheeky?”
“Cheeky,” I mouth at him.
“I don’t know anyone who says cheeky.”
“I do.” I smirk again and pick up a warm, fragrant beignet, shake a bit of the excess sugar off, and take a bite. “Holy sweet mother of God.”
He laughs at the mess I make with the white powder and takes a big bite of his own treat. “Good?”
“Dear Lord, I think I need to change my panties.”
“You’re not wearing any.” His eyes heat as he narrows them at me playfully.
“Well, if I were, I’d have to change them because I think I just had an orgasm.” The old woman at the table next to us gasps, but I ignore her and take another bite and throw my head back as I chew, my eyes closed, savoring the deliciousness. The chickaree coffee compliments the beignets perfectly. “I might have to move here.”
“Why?” Will’s voice is quiet and strained, and I find his eyes with mine.
“What’s wrong?”
He looks around, making sure that no one is listening, but one of the things we’ve come to love about N’Awlins is, no one cares who he is. “Watching you enjoy food turns me on,” he whispers.
I grin slowly and brush my foot up and down his calf as I take another bite, making sure I lick the excess sugar off my lips. “Mmm.”
He quirks up an eyebrow and chuckles. “Do you want to play this game?”
“Why, Will? Don’t you want to play with me?” I smile sweetly and take a sip of my coffee, then another bite. “God, these are good. We might need more. I hope you don’t care that I’m about to sit here and get really fat off of this fried goodness.”
He laughs and takes another bite. “I have some physical activity planned later, or maybe sooner, that should burn quite a few of these calories.”
“Thank God.” I surprise both of us and eat more than half the beignets. I can’t stop. It’s like crack. “Seriously, these are crazy good.”
“I’m glad you like them.” He sits back and sips his coffee, looking at me speculatively, suddenly sober.
“What?”
“Just thinking.” He shakes his head and watches me devour the last two small donuts. “You look beautiful today.”
I look down at my orange v-neck sundress and brown cowboy boots. It’s just a typical summer outfit, which seemed to be appropriate for fall in the south.
“Thank you.”
“I love your hair up off your neck like that.”
I tilt my head to the side and stare at him. He’s looking at me like he could eat me alive. Like he’s seeing me for the first time.
Like he loves me.
Holy shit!
He shakes his head, like he’s pulling himself out of a trance and smiles softly at me. “Are you ready to go, or do you want more?”
“I’m done.”
“Let’s go.” He holds a hand out for me and pulls me to my feet, and I follow him back out onto the sidewalk, pulling my sunglasses down onto my face. He’s wearing his own black Oakleys, tight white t-shirt, khaki shorts. He’s just so… big. Tall and muscular and strong.
He does crazy things to my insides.
As we walk up the street, I can hear a saxophone, its sultry notes filling the air. The song is slow and sweet. We turn the corner, and there is a young man, maybe about twenty-two, playing his sax, sitting on a stool, his case open for donations.
The kid is good. Amazingly good. I stop, pulling on Will’s hand so he stops too, and listen. The sax player has dyed black hair, his ears both sporting gauges and his fingernails are black. He’s dressed every inch the rock star.
But the bluesy notes coming out of that sax make him sound like a legend. If he keeps his head on straight, this kid is going places.
Suddenly, Will pulls me against him, curls his arm around the small of my back, pulls our linked fingers up between our chests, and tucks me against him, slowly swaying back and forth, dancing to the sweet song.