“Your old pal is on the bill tonight,” Arnie says with a taunting smile.

“My old pal?” I question.

“Jean Maaaaaaarc,” Arnie says in a long, drawn-out French accent.

The whole crew begins to laugh at Arnie’s little performance. When he sees I don’t find it as funny as everyone else, he pats me on the back.

“I’m just having fun with ya,” Arnie says with a chuckle, drinking what’s left of his morning Bloody Mary.

Switch, Calvi, Arnie, Lael, and I are all having breakfast at Café Du Monde. The humid air is warm and the sounds of tourists letting loose are all around us. There is something carefree about how they walk, how they sit in their chairs, how they smile. Music filled with horns, drums, and guitar is coming from a block away, and the thick air carries the sounds and smooths the edges, making the perfect soundtrack for my morning coffee in New Orleans.

There’s a scruffy dog under the table next to me that I’m having a stare down with as I sip my strong coffee. I put my mug back on the table, and my eyes meet Lael’s. She’s been watching my pleasant exchange with the little mutt, and we share an easy smile. There must be something in the way we look at each another because the rest of the table shifts uncomfortably in their seats, looking away like they’ve witnessed an intimate moment.

“Who is Jean Marc?” Lael does her best French accent to match Arnie’s.

“He’s the lead singer of Satellite of Mars,” Calvi says with his mouth full of food.

“I love that band!” Lael exclaims.

I know my bandmates love that she said that. But I hate it. Jean Marc is one of those oversexed, cliché rock stars. He never seems to turn off the act, and he sees me as his American counterpart. He’s constantly belittling in this bizarre French mojo kind of way. His Parisian crew seem to love it when he talks down to me, and my crew are often too bowled over with laughter that they can’t stand up for me. To be fair, my mates are usually laughing at how ridiculous Jean Marc is, his cartoonish delivery, and at his lack of humility. The fact that he doesn’t realize how silly he comes across makes for a hilarious situation.

There’s also a cultural difference between us that makes everything dreadfully awkward. He’s constantly trying to dominate me and I’m constantly trying to get away from him. My bandmates and manager have a habit of inviting him to my trailer for shits and giggles.

Lael starts singing a Satellite of Mars song quietly to herself, just loud enough for us to hear, and the boys exchange looks of sheer joy in response. Arnie chokes back some laughter and tries to shift gears.

“All right all right, it’s only for one show. It’s not like we’re touring with them,” Arnie says as he stands up and puts money on the table, his rather large belly sticking out as he puts his rather large wallet into his back pocket. Arnie always makes it seem like he’s paying with his hard-earned money when he takes care of the bill, which is definitely not the case.

“Don’t be late for sound check, boys. We are one of four bands playing tonight so it’ll be a tight schedule.” Arnie notices the little dog and gives him a wave on his way out.

Calvi and Switch also stand up. Switch pulls out a comb and pushes his hair back while Calvi somehow contorts and puts his blazer on without looking away from his phone.

“What are you guys up to?” I ask.

“We’re meeting up with some people from our Facebook group,” Calvi absently answers, still looking at his phone.

“Who is she?” I tease.

Calvi finally looks up at me. “I’m doing this for us, Brad. You have to stay connected. I’m almost offended.”

Switch is still shamelessly combing back his hair, looking at his reflection in an ornamental mirror on the restaurant wall.

“Who is she?” I ask again.

Calvi puts his phone in his pocket and walks toward the exit.

“Not she. There’s more than one. Courtney and Karen, and they happen to be twins,” Calvi says smugly over his shoulder.

Switch reluctantly puts his comb away and follows Calvi out the door.

Lael and I share a laugh. I sit back in my chair feeling more relaxed now that I’m solely in Lael’s company. A smartly-dressed server refills my empty coffee cup and I thank her.

“Are you going to eat that?” Lael refers to the bacon on my plate. I was, but I lie and tell her no. She stabs it with her fork and relocates it to her plate.

It’s refreshing how she doesn’t seem to show any signs of awkwardness or regret about last night.

I carefully sip my scalding coffee and watch her devour what’s left on her plate. I want to spend the day with her, naked on a hotel bed, with an open window letting in the warm New Orleans air and the sounds of the French Quarter.

Lael looks up and seems startled by my primal gaze.

I make an attempt at a joke to lighten the moment.

“Have you ever noticed eating a Caesar salad is like a game called find the bacon?”

She chuckles and sits back in her chair. With a deep breath she pans the restaurant and peers out the large French doors that open to a courtyard.

“I love it here,” she says, half to herself and half to me. Her eyes are thoughtful as she takes in her surroundings.

It’s interesting, beauty, how often times people are beautiful because of how they see the world rather than how the world sees them. I watch her take in the morning air and I can almost feel the calmness in her heart. With Lael, it’s like she can pick and choose the smallest, most beautiful things in a room, gather them all, and hold them inside her. She finds the beauty in everything, and in turn she becomes beautiful. From where I sit, I can’t see what she’s looking at but I can feel what she feels. Through her eyes, the French Quarter has never been so perfect.

“I love it too. You know, my father was born here. He made a living playing the trumpet and working odd jobs,” I tell her.

“Really? Very cool,” she says, shifting her attention to me. “I don’t think you’ve ever spoken about your dad.”

“Well, I can barely remember him. I was quite young when he went to prison.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It is what it is.”

We sit in silence, and her sympathetic eyes stay on me as she leans forward and delicately puts her elbows on the table. Her movements are slow and feminine—everything about her seems caring and thoughtful. She covers my hands with hers, her eyes narrowing conspiratorially.

“Let’s make a deal,” Lael suggests.

“A deal?” I question with a suspicious smile.

“I won’t talk about your father and you won’t talk about mine.”

“Your father wouldn’t be happy if he knew what was happening between us.”

“And what is happening between us, Brad Snyder?” Lael asks with a raised eyebrow.

I feel heat build in my chest like I just took a perfect drug. I boldly hold her gaze, neither of us looking away.

Lael doesn’t wait for my answer and breaks the brief silence. “You know…I hate to be so blunt and presumptuous but…whatever you want, I want. If it’s just a physical thing, then that’s fine. But if it’s deeper…”

“It’s deeper,” I tell her and my confession sends endorphins from deep in my heart to the surface of my skin making the hairs on my arm stand on end.

Lael’s intense gaze softens into a smile.

I can’t help it. I lean over the table and kiss her.

Her hands are still on mine and I can feel them tighten as our kiss deepens. Our mouths are closed, but there is an easy passion. I feel her smile and breathe in the subtle smell of her shampoo.

Lael eases back into her chair and pans the room, her body language says she likes it here but she’s ready to move on. I silently agree.

“I think I prefer it during the day, the French Quarter,” Lael says as we walk down the iconic Bourbon Street.

“Too many drunk tourists at night?” I ask.

“Something like that.”

I don’t get recognized everywhere I go. I try to dress down and blend in and learned long ago not to invite attention when I am in public. Today I have Lael by my side; she does not blend in.

Lael is wearing skintight black jeans that stretch around her curves with rough tears and rips that contrast with the smooth skin on her thighs. Her thick wavy teal hair falls over her bare shoulders, and her mirror aviator sunglasses leave only her mouth to convey any expression. This would be enough to steal the attention of passerbys, but it’s how she’s strutting that demands attention. I notice a middle-aged lady elbow her cigar-smoking husband when she catches him staring.

“I can’t believe we have sound check in two hours,” she laments.

“You’re not burning out already are ya?” I ask.

“Oh, come on.”

“Well, what do ya want to do?”

“I know a great way to burn an hour,” she teases. “Your room or mine?”

I know it’s a joke but I consider the question. She is particularly radiant today.

“No! I am kidding,” Lael says as she puts hand under my shirt in a playful way, I flex my muscles and hope she doesn’t notice.

“Ha ha, you flexed.”

I guess she did notice.

“What?”

“What is it with guys doing that?”

“I didn’t flex…”

“Ha ha, sure, I bet you’re not even capable of me touching you without having to flex your muscles.”

“Whatever.”

“Okay then, let’s see.”

We stop walking and face each other smiling like children, her a taunting bully and myself a defiant rebel. We are on a street just off of Bourbon that is considerably less busy, in fact for the moment we are the only ones on the block. We can see Bourbon Street, people look like flowing technicolored water. The sun is shining on us between two old Victorian buildings.

“What are you doing?” I ask as Lael holds eye contact, an impish smile on her lips as she puts her hand under my shirt. Her touch makes me feel light, her face relaxes and so does mine. With her hand now on my chest I kiss her slowly. I run my hand up her back, and down to her ass hooking my thumbs under her tight jeans. I pull her in, pressing her against me, letting her feel everything. Her hands slide around and clasp behind my neck. I leave one hand on her bum, pulling her in, and slide the other up her back. We are perfectly tangled, trying to make contact with as much of our bodies as possible.

Her room or mine? It doesn’t matter.

We kiss. Our tongues wrestle as we push into each other as much as possible. My eyes are closed and I am lost in the moment, Lael is hanging off of me so I put one hand on the cold brick wall to balance myself.

Lael pulls away and gives me a questioning look.

“What” I ask, breathless already.

“I can tell you hold back with me.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, trying not to sound impatient.

“It’s because I am younger or something.”

“Hold back?” I repeat.

“The way you handle me is too gentle. You know you won’t break me, Brad.”

“Too gentle? Jesus, that’s one I haven’t heard before.”

“You don’t have to be like that with me, sometimes sweet is nice, but not always,” Lael says.

I smile at her, enjoying this conversation. “Okay, so what do you want right now, soft or hard?” I kiss her again.

“Come on.” Lael pulls me into an alley, we walk past fire escapes and some crates, then the narrow alley takes a hard turn to the right and comes to a dead end. We are surrounded by brick walls and there are a network of pipes in front of us.

I know what game she’s playing and I am more than willing to play. Although, she does seem to be taking off her clothes which is something that’s taking me by surprise. I assumed in situation like this, high noon in an alleyway, we would keep on as much clothing as possible. I would unzip she would shimmy her jeans down and we would make quick work of it. But, this gal is standing in front of me completely naked on top of her pile of discarded clothing.

She’s completely exposed.

She’s completely stunning.

In the severity of clear daylight, her body seems hyperreal and it takes me a good few moments to realize what’s going on.

I’m the fucking luckiest guy in the world.

“Hard,” Lael says as she turns around and grabs hold of a pipe to keep her steady.

Even though I’m slack-jawed at how naked she is in front of me, I’m more than ready to take her. I kiss her neck as I unzip. Slowly, effortlessly, I fall into her. Lael takes my hands that are on her breasts and puts them on her hips.

“You can’t hurt me, remember,” she says, her voice throaty. “Hold me tight, fuck me. This is all I’ve ever wanted.”

I hold tight and put her young body to the test. If sex is music, this is punk rock, fast, explosive, to the point…and less than two minutes long. Her body is beautiful and perfect in the contrast of this dingy alley. A narrow ray of sunshine shines in through the buildings, highlighting beads of sweat on her chest. If sex is a car racing, this is a drag race, pedal to the floor and getting to the finish line as fast as possible.

I’m close to the finish line and she can feel it. She pushes into me with a moan, we briefly make eye contact, her expression primal, wild.

“Come inside me, baby.” Her heavy eyes are still on mine.

Her words take me to the edge. I hold tight and somehow I’m able to move faster and harder.

My race car crosses the line, the punk rock song comes to an end.

“Fucking hell,” she swears, the race car rolls to a stop and the guitars of the punk rock song stop ringing out. I barely hear her. My heart is pounding too loudly in my head.

But I can’t stay inside her forever, not here. I zip up.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” she says with a smile as she quickly slips her clothes back on. “Especially with you.”

I’m trying to catch my breath, reality is sinking in and I’m amazed at what just happened. I can hear the sounds of the city funneling into the alley where we are.

“Ew, look at my hands.” She holds them up to show how dirty they are from hanging on to the pipes. “Okay, back to the hotel to clean up.” She marches past me as if what just happened was totally run of the mill for her. I take one last look at the scene of the crime before I follow her back to civilization.

The hotel is only a few short blocks away and so it’s not long before we’re in my hotel room. Lael is in the shower while I drink a coffee by the window, lost in my thoughts. They’re a bit scattered, considering what just happened in that alley, but they keep coming back to one thing: I like my life with Lael in it. Even though it’s been a short time since the day she picked me up from the airport, I’m having a hard time imagining life without her in it.

“Get in here, Snyder!” Lael shouts from the bathroom.

I put down my coffee, undress, and join her in the shower.

“C’mon in, dirty boy,” she says, wagging her finger at me seductively.

She looks beautiful. All her make-up is washed off and her wet hair is pushed back off her face, her smile genuine.

“Let’s see those hands, you dirty girl,” I tell her, playing along.

Lael holds up her clean hands for inspection and gives a childish proud smile.

“I bet you like it when I’m a dirty girl,” she says playfully.

Damn. This is something else. It’s a sunny day in the French Quarter and here I am with this stunning young woman, smiling and laughing in the shower.

I’m happy.

I’m actually happy.

“Can you go again?” she asks, mimicking her early position, only this time her hands are on the clean pipes of the fancy shower.

I don’t answer. I turn her around so her bum is pressing into me and I show her I can.

When shower time is over, I wrap her in a towel.

“You realize we were supposed to be at sound check ten minutes ago,” I tell her.

“Oh shit,” Lael says putting her hands to her face.

“Don’t worry about it, it will be fine,” I assure her. I don’t want her to regret anything we just did.

Knock, knock.

The door practically rattles off the hinges.

“That doesn’t sound like housekeeping,” I say warily as I walk out of the bathroom and across the room.

Knock Knock.

The door rattles with each hit.

I look though the peephole and turn to Lael.

“It’s your dad.”