Chapter 19

Maverick

When I woke up this morning, I regretted not going to Carys last night. I thought about it, about her, until I fell asleep looking over some final numbers for an offer I made this morning on one of the alternative properties. So, after I made my phone calls and shot off a few emails, one being to my father to keep him off my back today, I showered and now I’m walking down the stairs to the lobby.

No regrets. That’s my motto for the day—for this week. I know my time in New Orleans is short and I know I’ve only known Carys for a couple of weeks, less really, but I feel like there’s potential and I’m going to pursue the shit out of it—her—until I’m forced to leave.

“Carys Matthews,” I say, waltzing up to the front desk and catching her off guard.

Her eyes go wide and her smile follows suit when she sees me. I love evoking this kind of response from her. I love that she’s always happy to see me. I love how easy she is to be around and how good she makes me feel. Not just sexually. Carys Matthews feels like new beginnings and possibilities, and she makes me believe I can have those things too.

“Maverick Kensington,” she replies in a faux-professional tone. “How was your evening?”

“It was great, but my afternoon was exponentially better. I have to say the amenities here at the Blue Bayou are exceptional.”

“You know, speaking of updating our website, you should really consider leaving that in a review...” she trails off as she fights another smile, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink.

“I’d also like to commend your ability to, uh, unclog the...pipes...in my room.”

She laughs. And, oh, God, Carys’ laugh. It’s not tinkling or like angels singing, like some girls’ laughs are described. It’s real and intentional, just like her. Not to mention, contagious.

“Ahem.” She clears her throat and forces herself to rein it in. “Yes, and I hope that’s all working properly this morning?”

Contemplating, I bite my lip. “Well, I might need you to take a look later.”

“I am at your service.” Her voice dips and her teeth scrape against her bottom lip. I’m not sure if it’s on purpose, but it goes straight to my dick and all I can think about is that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock. Those teeth grazing my sensitive skin. Her tongue wrapping around...

Now, I’m clearing my throat, and discreetly reaching down to adjust my hard-on. Fuck.

“I was going to ask you if you’d like to show me around the Quarter today,” I tell her, subconsciously running pictures of dead puppies and saggy granny titties in my mind on replay. “If you’re not busy.”

I’m rewarded with a soft, sweet smile for this offer, one that I hope means she’s going to take me up on it. Because I need to be near her, hold her hand, smell her delectable scent, and listen to her laugh. I don’t know what any of this means. I’m not trying to label it or put it in a box. I’m just letting myself feel.

“I’d love that,” she finally says. “Let me see if Mary’s finished with the rooms yet. She probably won’t mind manning the desk until George gets here in an hour.”

“Sounds great,” I tell her, smiling across the desk at her in relief and...happiness. That’s the only way to describe it. Carys makes me happy.

While I wait on her to track down Mary, I check my phone for any return responses. The property owner I sent the proposal to replied back that he’ll think about it and give me a call later tonight. My father sent back his typical three-word response: get it done. Sighing heavily, I slide the phone back in my pocket and try to forget about all of that, focusing on the beautiful girl bouncing down the steps and into the lobby.

“Let’s go.” She grabs my hand and practically pulls me out the front doors where we’re greeted by the dog that frequents the Bayou. “Oh, no, Rusty, not today. You march yourself home.” Carys talks to the dog like he’s a human, and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve witnessed in a long time. “Go on home.”

When she points in the direction he came from, Rusty obeys, albeit reluctantly, and tucks tail as he walks home, or where I’m assuming home is.

“Rusty a friend of yours?” I ask as I slide my sunglasses down over my eyes and we begin to walk.

“Ha,” she laughs, looking over her shoulder to make sure he’s doing as she told him. “We’re friends until he ransacks my lobby. Ornery doesn’t even begin to describe him, but he definitely takes after his owner. Have you met Floyd? He drives a horse and carriage around the square. Watch out for that one.” Her warning falls flat due to the sentimental smile on her face, telling me she really cares about him.

She cares about a lot of people.

And as she takes me around the Quarter, I start to see more of who she is and how she became this wonderful person. And people really care about her too.

“Have you met Betty?” she asks as we walk up the east side of Jackson Square. Pointing to the lady sitting at the small table with the pink umbrella, I realize she means the palm reader I’ve spoken to on a couple of occasions.

“Uh...”

“Let me introduce you. She’s fantastic. I used to hang with her all the time when I was younger.”

Before I can protest or clarify, she’s pulled me over to the table and Betty is smiling up at us. “Hey, Betty!” Carys says enthusiastically. “I wanted to introduce you to my friend...Maverick.”

“We’ve met,” Betty informs. “Well, not properly, but we’ve met.” She gives me a wicked smile before patting the table. “Sit.”

Carys urges me toward the table. “Come on, this is fun.”

“Uh,” I go to make an excuse, but Betty cuts me off.

“Sit, I don’t bite...not hard, anyway.”

“Oh, God. You’re so bad.” Carys swats a hand toward Betty and they both laugh.

“Don’t tell me you don’t wanna take a nibble out of this one?” she asks Carys, like I’m not sitting right in front of her. Her eyes are focused on my palm, but she cuts them up at me. “You’re picky when it comes to love.” I feel her finger move gently across a line on my palm. “But you have had lovers, none of them serious.”

I swallow, because that’s true. I’m not celibate, but I’ve never felt like I’ve been in love before.

“This,” she says, drawing a line down my palm. “This tells me you’re logical and organized, but you also have a sense of adventure and enthusiasm for life.”

Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat, because I’ve always felt that way, but having someone validate it makes me feel vulnerable. Even if that someone is Betty the Palm Reader.

“You have good health and stamina.” On this note, she looks up at Carys and waggles her eyebrows. “Very good in bed.”

“Betty,” Carys chides, but I hear her chuckle under her breath.

“You’ve got a deep fate line,” she says, pointing to a line that runs up the middle of my palm. “This means you’ll be strongly controlled by fate, but see how it joins your life line here?”

I follow where she’s pointing and nod.

“This tells me you’re a self-made individual. Whatever dreams you have or feel like you were born with, follow those.”

Staring at my hand, I swallow hard again. How can a three-minute chat with a palm reader feel so life altering? Can some lines on my palm really hold that kind of information?

“Your fame line is strong,” she says nonchalantly after a few long seconds. “Any aspirations of being a model?”

Now, it’s my turn to laugh and I’m grateful for the change in atmosphere. “Ha, no.”

“One marriage line. That’s good.”

Something tells me Betty is now reading my palm more for her benefit than mine. Her musings become more introspective, like she’s taking inventory.

When she’s finished, she turns my palm over and pats the top, like a grandmother would. Smiling, she says, “This one is on the house.” With a wink to Carys, she conveys something like approval and I can’t help but smile.

And to think I was scared of Betty. Well, not scared, but leery. I wonder if there’s anything she’s not telling me because Carys is here. Maybe I’ll stop back by on my own sometime and get the full report?

“Do you want to have yours read?” I ask Carys.

She shakes her head. “Nah, I’ve had mine read so many times. I think Betty and I both know the results like the back of our hand. No pun intended.”

They both laugh and Betty reaches across and squeezes Carys’ hand. “How’ve you been, sweetie?”

“Good,” Carys says with a sigh. “Busy. Sorry I haven’t been by lately.” She offers her an apologetic smile. “Oh, but I did want to tell you I started making macarons for the lobby. You know, like my grandmother used to. So, you’ll have to stop by sometime or I can bring you some.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Betty beams as Carys and I stand to leave. “I’ll see you around, Maverick.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement, and it makes me think she can do more than read palms.

“Betty knows everything,” Carys whispers as we walk away. “Like, it’s kinda creepy, but cool. When I was younger, she’d know what I was thinking before I ever did. I think she told my mom ahead of time. Not like ratting me out, but just to keep me out of harm’s way. I guess you could say she’s a fairy godmother, of sorts.”

“A palm-reading fairy godmother,” I muse, using my body to block Carys from a group of people walking by on the sidewalk. “What other surprises do you have for me today?”

I feel her looking at me before I make eye contact. It’s intense and full of unsaid words. Unable to stop myself, I direct her into an alcove and kiss her, good and hard and proper.

“What was that for?” she asks with hooded eyes and breathless words.

“For being you,” I admit honestly. “I don’t need another reason, but if you must know, sometimes I feel like kissing you because it’s a Wednesday. I want to kiss you because the sun rose this morning...and because of this freckle.” I brush my thumb across her cheek, right over my favorite one. “For any and every reason I can think of, and for no good reason at all.”

Her eyes are always bright and blue, but I watch as they start to shine even brighter. “Stop,” she mutters. “You can’t say stuff like that and expect me to walk down the street like a normal human being.”

“It’s the truth,” I shrug, lacing my fingers through hers as we continue walking.

“It’s too much,” she sighs. “You’re too much.”

I don’t respond to that, because I kind of feel the same way about her—like she’s too much, and also like I can’t get enough. When thoughts like that enter my mind, I’m slapped with the reminder that my time here has an expiration date that’s quickly approaching.

Could I do a long-distance relationship?

Would I want one with Carys?

Glancing over at her, I feel like I already know the answer to that. I think I’d be willing to take her any way I could get her. And I mean that in every sense of the word.

A ruckus comes from somewhere down the street and Carys’ grip on my hand tightens.

“Ever joined a second line parade?” she asks. When she turns around to look at me, her smile is wicked and her eyes are wild with delight as she begins to jog down the sidewalk, pulling me along. She looks like an angel and a thought crosses my mind: I’d follow her anywhere.