WE LEFT THE CRAZINESS OF Bourbon Street behind and headed down streets I hadn’t yet walked. With Bishop beside me, his fingers twined in mine and the heat from a good buzz and an even better orgasm thrumming through my veins, I felt like I could take on the world. If one of Dom’s goons showed up tonight and told me to come home, I’d squeeze Bishop’s hand tighter and tell him to go to hell. It could have been my overactive imagination, but I thought that Bishop would tell him to go to hell right along with me. Possibly even fight to keep me here.
Maybe it was the alcohol, but every time he looked at me, there was something more in his eyes than I’d seen before.
He wanted me.
Well, no shit, E. He had his fingers inside you.
But more than that, he liked me. I could tell. Well, at least I thought I could tell. I hoped I could tell.
But what was I going to do with that?
Grab on to him and ride this ride for all it’s worth. Take this opportunity and live, came the bold voice from inside me.
Buoyed by good spirits and even better booze, I decided that’s exactly what I was going to do.
When we slowed in front of a building I’d never seen and Bishop pulled me toward an old wooden doorway, the amazing scent of Cajun food wafted toward my nostrils.
The girl waiting at the hostess stand just inside lit up at the sight of Bishop. “Hey, Bish. I’ve been wondering when you’d come see me again.”
Her tone was more than flirty, bordering on suggestive. Scratch that—to be accurate, I’d have to say she was eye-fucking the hell out of him.
Of course, because I was female and human and feeling all warm and fuzzy about the guy who’d just given me the most memorable orgasm of my life, I had to do a full once-over. Okay, maybe twice-over.
Her hair had to have been dyed that red because there’s no way the color was real, and her purple eyes were so vivid they had to be fake, and why, if you were picking out fake contacts, would you let them clash with your hair so badly? She was curvy in all the right places, with cleavage for days visible in the low V-cut of her shirt. And, oh my God, she couldn’t have been wearing a bra because I could see what looked like nipple rings through it.
Is that what Bishop likes? Nipple rings and gravity-defying boobs? Because I clearly didn’t have either of those. Then I reminded myself of the most important thing—He’s with me. Not with her.
“Hey, Jules. We’ll take a table for two.”
It wasn’t until Bishop lifted his arm from around my waist to rest it over my shoulders that Jules noticed I existed.
Her bright smile instantly turned from genuine to I’m going to keep smiling if it kills me.
“Oh, I didn’t even see you there. Of course, I’m assuming that means you won’t want your normal seat at the bar.” She gave me a cursory inspection and seemed to write me off.
Really? Dammit, I looked good. My dress was adorable, my makeup didn’t scream I raided the MAC counter and tried every single thing they had, including twenty sets of fake eyelashes like Jules, but then again, I didn’t know if I could look that trashy if I tried.
Okay, so maybe I was getting a little catty, but still, who wouldn’t after being brushed off like that? What happened to sisterhood?
“No, we’ll take a table in the corner. Something out of the way.”
Her gaze came back to me, and this time she gave me a long, slow study. “Not your usual style, Bish.”
I didn’t know if she was talking about me or the table, but I had a feeling she was talking about both.
“Change is good for the soul,” was all Bishop said in reply, along with pulling me closer to his side.
Non-alcohol-induced warmth rushed through me, but I tried not to read into his words. Maybe it was only a temporary change for him. Then again, from what I gathered, whatever was happening between us didn’t seem to be his normal at all. That had to mean something.
The hostess grabbed sets of silverware from a bucket, and spun. “Come right this way. I’ve got the perfect table for you.”
She led us to the very back of the restaurant, right near the door where servers slammed in and out of the kitchen. The table didn’t even look like it was used regularly for dining. From the way Bishop’s body stiffened against my back, I could tell he wasn’t impressed.
“Here you—”
“This one isn’t gonna work for us.”
She turned around, her face the picture of innocence. “What do you mean? This is the most secluded—”
Bishop grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the front of the restaurant, and for a moment, I thought he was going to lead me right out the door. But he didn’t. Instead, he stopped next to a table in the corner that hadn’t yet been cleared.
“We’ll take this one. I’d appreciate you sending someone over to bus it.” He pulled out a chair and waited for me to sit before looking at Jules.
“You don’t date. That’s what you told me. Sorry if I’m a little shocked.”
Still standing behind me as he pushed my chair in, Bishop’s hands landed on my shoulders and he squeezed. “I didn’t then. But sometimes a man has to change to go after what he wants.”
Another rush of warmth filled me along with a realization. It didn’t matter if Jules was skinnier than me, had better makeup contouring skills, or bigger boobs with blingy hardware—I was the one who inspired Bishop to change. I was enough for him, and that was all that mattered.
A silent Jules gathered the plates in her arms and mumbled an apology before taking them away.
Bishop grabbed the menus from a holder between the condiments and set one in front of me.
“You’ll be able to find crawfish every which way you could possibly want it here.”
“Are we going to pretend that didn’t just happen?” If not for the hurricane courage, I might not have said anything.
He looked up at me from where he was already checking out the menu. “There’s not much to say. I want to be with you. No one else. End of story. I don’t give a shit what Jules or the fuckin’ pope thinks about it. I won’t let anything stop me from making this night the best it can be for you.”
I want to be with you. I’d already rationalized that myself, but hearing Bishop say it made all the difference.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me. Tonight is already the best night I’ve ever had. You make everything I’ve walked past a hundred times seem new again. It’s like I’m seeing it through your eyes, and the world is a hell of a lot brighter that way. You make me happy, Eden.”
It was the best compliment I’d ever been given. The simplicity. The sincerity. The meaning behind it.
“You make me happy too. I can’t imagine how differently this last week would’ve gone if I hadn’t met you.”
“I don’t even want to think about you out there on your own. That’s enough to give me nightmares, and I’m a pretty tough motherfucker.”
“I would’ve survived. I just wouldn’t have gotten a chance to experience all this.” I gestured to the restaurant around us, but we both knew I was referring to so much more.
“Stick with me and I’ll make sure you get all the experiences you could possibly want.”
My smile widened as the server came to the table to welcome us and take our drink order.
“Another hurricane?” Bishop asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Why not?” I was feeling bold and alive and like nothing could possibly bring me down.
Bishop ordered a bourbon and let me taste the smoky liquor when the server brought it to the table. I wasn’t a fan, and washed it down with my hurricane.
The second cocktail hit me a little harder, and I was laughing as Bishop told me stories about tattoo cover-ups he had done. From the run-of-the-mill ex’s names, wedding dates, and wedding rings, to penises, vaginas, and things that couldn’t actually be identified.
“Don’t you get tired of covering up people’s mistakes?” I asked.
He shook his head, his expression thoughtful before he answered. “I don’t consider it a mistake. It’s a new beginning. A second chance. Why should we be stuck with something we don’t want when it can be fixed?”
The words hit home. A new beginning. A second chance. Wasn’t that what I really wanted? Not just an experience or an adventure? Something permanent. Like ink.
It suddenly occurred to me that Bishop might have an ex’s name hiding under one of his many tattoos. Did he have a second chance or a new beginning on his skin?
“Have you ever had a tattoo covered up?”
Bishop nodded, and I held my breath waiting for his answer. “Absolutely. Who do you think had the tattoo that couldn’t be identified?”
I blinked as a rush of relief blasted away the momentary gut twisting. “What do you mean, it couldn’t be identified? How do you get tattooed and not know what it is?”
Bishop shrugged. “I was young and stupid and it was a friend. He sucked, and I should never have let him near me with a tattoo machine. I had my uncle cover it up.”
“Your uncle?”
Bishop’s posture stiffened, and his easy mood seemed to evaporate. “Yeah, he’s the one who taught me the trade. He raised me, most of the time in the tattoo shop. He’s the reason I do this.”
“Is that how Delilah learned too?” Part of me wanted to drop the subject because something about it clearly made Bishop uncomfortable, but I wasn’t sure if I’d get another opportunity to ask.
He shook his head. “No. Our parents were killed in a car wreck and they didn’t have a will. My mom’s sister didn’t want to take us both, so she took Delilah, and my dad’s brother stepped up to take me. He already had a kid of his own and a struggling business, so he couldn’t handle adding two more mouths to feed either. Just one extra was a struggle. I think Delilah became an artist just to piss off our straight-laced aunt, if you want to know the truth.”
My heart clenched as I imagined how horrible it would have been to lose your entire family in one fell swoop the way he had. “I bet that was hard, especially being separated from your sister.”
Bishop shrugged. “It was better than ending up in foster care. We were lucky, really.”
“Do you still get to see your uncle? Does he still have his shop?”
Bishop’s gaze dropped to the table as his shoulders tensed again. “He passed away. My cousin too.”
Kicking myself for probing what was obviously a painful subject, I apologized. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.”
He held up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s been a long time, but you know some things just take a hell of a lot longer to fade.”
I thought of the flashes of memories I had of my mother that weren’t even fully formed. I was four when she died. I still missed her, even though I’d never had a chance to actually know her.
“I understand.”
Our conversation trailed off as the food began to arrive. Crawfish four different ways, and I loved every single one of them. I steered the conversation back into lighter territory, and the easy, fun Bishop I’d had all night surged back to the surface.
“Did you save room for dessert?” the server asked as he cleared away our plates. “We’ve got a phenomenal crème brûlée and a fabulous apple dumpling.”
Bishop shot a look at me before answering. “I’ll let the lady decide if she wants anything, but I know what I’m having for dessert, and it’s not on the menu here.”
A shiver ripped through me at the heat in his gaze, and I knew exactly what he was talking about.
“I’m good. No dessert for me.”
“We’ll take the check,” Bishop said, his tone husky.