Chapter Three

Lisette’s perfume was driving Kurt crazy. On their right, the gray Mississippi barely moved, so its stench hung overhead, locked in by the August humidity. The stains on the concrete, coupled with the squawking seagulls, accounted for the other smell mixing into the air.

But over it all was the bright scent of Lisette’s perfume. The one that made him picture her in a field of white flowers. Naked, of course. Which meant every time he smelled it, his dick surged to attention. Kurt believed his dick was a lot like a pet. It needed regular attention and regular exercise—and it hadn’t gotten either over the past year. Still, it was embarrassing to walk around with it at half-staff like he was a freaking teenager. Hell of a lot more embarrassing if Lisette noticed. So he jammed his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts and stayed half a step behind her.

No, that wasn’t awkward or weird at all. Kurt looked at the warehouse’s wide door,  which was flanked by twenty-foot-tall purple and green poles topped by jester masks and four life-size Wizard of Oz figures. On the other hand, Mardi Gras World was probably the ideal place to get away with being weird and awkward. It looked like there’d be enough to keep Lisette’s eyes off him and his NC-17 shorts situation.

“Have you been here before, Kurt?” Her head whipped left and right and back again as they entered, taking it all in. All being a lineup of bright, enormous floats that filled a space bigger than several football fields. Most looked like they could hold his first apartment. Purple, green and yellow were the predominant colors, whether on a dragon or four-headed jesters or boats overflowing with gators and flowers. Heads—just the heads, which was creepy—of Lincoln and Nixon were next to cartoon characters and fire-breathing demons. Psychedelic would be the mildest way to describe the onslaught on their eyes.

“Nah. But last year the whole team rode on a krewe float the weekend leading up to Mardi Gras.”

Her head whipped back to him, brown eyes wide and round as pucks. “You rode in a parade? That had to be amazing. When you grow up here in New Orleans, it’s pretty much your lifelong dream to be on a Carnival float. Was it wild?”

“Oh, yeah. Especially since I didn’t grow up here. You hear stories about the boob-flashing and beads and drinking in the streets, but there’s no way to capture the scope of it until you’re on a fifty-foot float painted with hot orange stripes, screaming your lungs out and still not being heard by the guy sitting next to you.”

Lisette bounced on the balls of her feet. Her enthusiasm was adorable, the way it made her hair bounce and the skirt of her sundress pouf out. Which was the last damn thing he should be noticing if he wanted his dick to go back into hibernation. “You’ve got to bring that all to life during the party,” she said.

“Boob-flashing and drinking?” he asked, tongue firmly planted in his cheek.

“Very funny. I mean the spirit of Mardi Gras.” She thrust her arms up and out, like the weird yoga guy Coach brought in to work with the team. Yeah— that had lasted less time than the mandatory condom talk their old coach gave in the locker room after the first game of every season. “Holding the party here isn’t enough. You’ve got to make the kids feel like they’re truly participating.”

Kurt liked the idea. He just didn’t have a single damn idea how to make it happen. Without booze, anyway. “How?”

She ran her fingers along the raised grapes arching out of a basket at the front of a float. Each one was as big as her fist. “Well, we need torch bearers. They lead the parades, and I’ll bet you could get them to come. They don’t just carry the flambeaux, they dance and put on a real show.”

“Sounds good. Add it to the list.” He pointed at the leather portfolio sticking out of Lisette’s bag. She’d insisted on bringing it along, as well as an actual camera. Kurt would’ve just talked notes into his phone—and used the phone to take pics—but she seemed to be taking the whole planning thing very seriously. It was sort of adorable.

Shit.

That was twice in two minutes he’d thought of Lisette as adorable. It wasn’t picturing her naked, but it wasn’t moving the hell on to a different mental topic, either.

It’d been impossible to shake her from his mind since that hot-as-fuck kiss two days ago. The one he never should’ve planted on her. The one that got totally out of control. The one that turned his blood into liquid fire.

“Beads are a given.”

Thank God Lisette was distracted by the floats. The six-foot Yoda seemed to have kept her from noticing his little trip down sexual fantasy lane. “Yeah, but different colors. Can we get them in the Cajun Rage colors—red, gold and black? And Jasper’s team? I think they’re red and silver.”

“Good call.” She nudged her elbow playfully into his ribs. “See? You’ve got an instinct for this party stuff.”

“Trust me when I say how very much I do not.” Just knowing that someone else would help him make all the decisions had given Kurt the first full night’s sleep he’d had in ages.

Until he woke up thinking about Lisette with a raging morning boner.

She tipped her head back to look at a gold and fake-gem-encrusted scepter as big as a street light. “We should crown one of the kids Rex, King of Carnival.”

“I’ll ask their coach if there’s anyone that needs the boost. Otherwise, my call would be to make it Jasper’s best friend.”

Tears suddenly sparkled at the corners of her eyes. One trailed a path down her cheek. “You see? That’s a wonderful, thoughtful suggestion. And it makes me bawl. This is why I quit.”

What...shit, what? Lisette was a great nurse. She was smart, too. Too smart to quit without another job lined up. That was why he’d felt zero guilt at asking Coach Courage not to hire her.

Until now.

“You quit nursing?”

“I quit hospice nursing. I couldn’t handle the extremes of emotion anymore. I cared for each patient so much, gave them everything I had. No matter what...they all...”

“Yeah.” His first year in the pros, Kurt had played a game with their team’s first-string goalie, center and best forward all on the DL thanks to a car accident the night before. It’d sucked knowing from the first buzzer that no matter how hard they skated, the team had zero shot of pulling off a win. He couldn’t even imagine showing up to work every day feeling that. That sensation of uselessness must’ve dragged her down.

Except... “But you helped so much. You did make a difference. You sure as hell made Jasper’s life better.”

“Thank you. And I know that, in my head. My heart’s the part that suffers, though.” She tapped her chest. Right between those beautiful breasts that he so did not need to stare at. “So I went back to school to change my specialty to orthopedic nursing. It’s delightfully cut and dried. I do my job, and the patient gets better. They go from not using a limb to using it. Happy endings, guaranteed. Or at least, they’re more likely.”

“So you up and quit without having another job lined up?” Guilt churned Kurt’s stomach, worse than the time his teammates doused his red beans and rice with habanero Tabasco as an initiation to New Orleans.

“I did.” Funny how calmly she said it. Like the thought of life without a paycheck didn’t scare her at all. “It takes time to recertify. Too much time and effort to keep working. Now that I am certified, I’m starting from scratch looking for a job.”

Lisette’s bravery impressed the hell out of him. Inspired him, too. “You’re forging a whole new path.”

“Sometimes that’s the only way.” With a wistful smile, she turned and then squealed. “Look at that.”

The side wall of the float was a fishbowl. At least two dozen goldfish swam in it. Kurt wondered who the heck fed them the other eleven months of the year. Did they hire someone just to feed the decorative-but-alive fish? “I’ve been thinking of getting a fish.”

Laughter burbled through the lips she’d slicked a deep pink. Lips he couldn’t stop staring at, remembering their softness against his own. “To swim in the Cup? Like a centerpiece?”

“No.” How cheeseball was that? On the other hand, he wouldn’t put it past a couple of the guys. Might even suggest it to them, just for shits and giggles. “For my apartment.”

“Kurt, you can’t do that.”

“Why not?” It wasn’t like he was investing in some crazy business venture, like a guy on his old team who’d dropped fifty large to start his own sock company. It was a four-dollar fish. At most, he’d spring for one of those mean-ass red betas who had to live alone in a bowl. That’d fit his mood.

“You’re on the road all the time during the season. Who would feed it? Change the water? Just because fish are low maintenance doesn’t make them no maintenance.”

Caring was so ingrained in her that now Lisette was fighting the good fight for a stupid goldfish. The woman was amazing. “Maybe I won’t go back on the road.”

“I know we’ve got self-driving cars now. But I didn’t realize technology had advanced to the point where the Rajuns were going to do all their games in virtual reality next year.”

That’d be cool. It’d cut down on the way he threw back ibuprofen like Tic Tacs, at least. Like it was no big deal, words—totally unplanned words—tumbled out. “I’ve been thinking of quitting.”

“The team? Or hockey altogether?”

How did she do that? Kurt had kept this yearning close to his chest, hadn’t told a soul. But ten minutes with Lisette and he wanted to tell her everything. Wanted her to comfort him and make all the appropriate noises about how it was a big decision and a brave step and that there was no wrong decision to make.

Kurt just wanted to stop feeling so alone. Wanted to stop wallowing, alone. He’d been frozen in sadness and regret, like Han Solo in the block of carbonite. Which was a cool comparison, but damn it, the reality felt like shit.

Seeing Lisette, kissing her, had started the process of unfreezing him. But she didn’t deserve to deal with his shit. Not if she’d quit her job to escape it all. Kurt couldn’t clam up now, though. Not with her hand on his arm and those big brown eyes staring up at him not with pity, but interest. Like she wasn’t asking to be polite, like the guys on the team would, or to be nosy, like reporters, or to worry about his fifteen percent, like his agent. Lisette seemed to genuinely care.

Kurt looked up, past her shoulder, at a float covered with suns and licking red flames. “I’ve been thinking of quitting hockey altogether. Life’s too short.”

What came out of her mouth was half a gasp mixed with a ripple of laughter. “To be paid a gazillion dollars to do your favorite thing in the world?”

Yeah.

That was what he’d figured everyone’s reaction would be.

Which was why he’d kept it to himself so far. The question was whether he could make her understand. Make her see that, as good as it looked on paper, the money and the fun didn’t add up to his perfect life. Not now. Not anymore. So Kurt swung his gaze back down to meet her eyes, still twinkling with laughter.

“Jasper was doing his favorite thing in the world. Then he broke his leg, right out there on the ice, and now he’s dead. The game’s dangerous. Football’s getting all the strong-arming about concussions, but hockey has the same risks.”

“True. But those risks have been the same your entire career. You’ve been fine with it so far.” She pursed her lips. “And you haven’t had any major injuries, have you?”

“No.”

“And Jasper’s troubles didn’t stem from hockey. They stemmed from bone cancer. His leg could’ve snapped just as easily walking down the steps at school.”

“I know.”

“I guess I don’t get where you’re coming from.” But then she shook her head, tilting it down and sending all that dark hair cascading down the front of her top. “Not that I have to. It’s your decision. You shouldn’t live your life just to fulfill other people’s expectations for it.”

It felt good to hear her say that. As good as ice on a swollen lip. It was exactly the sort of go-for-it support he’d been hoping to get.

It wasn’t enough.

Kurt needed her to understand. He couldn’t, shouldn’t, waste another day driving himself crazy with what-if-ing this to death unless he could find the words to explain to at least one other person the why of it all. Because she was sort of right. You didn’t walk away from financial security—crazy-ass millions of it—and the thing you’d always loved doing, for the hell of it.

“You’re right. The risks haven’t changed.” He thumped himself in the chest, right where the Cajun Rage logo centered on his jersey. “I have.”

Her lips pursed again. She took a beat, hopefully noticing that Kurt was opening his shit wide up here and taking a big fucking risk to do so. “Go on.”

God, he hoped he could explain it. Explain that he wasn’t a pussy or bored or fucking stupid. Explain that this was his life, and it didn’t come with a nice, safe warm-up skate around the rink. Kurt rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

“Death crystallizes shit. It makes everything more real. Gives life an urgency, you know? My hockey career’s got an expiration date, no matter what. Then I’ve got a whole other life to put together for the next forty years. Shouldn’t I do that while I’m still in one piece? Is it worth risking all that could be ahead of me for one more year, even one more game, when my brains could get tossed around like salad in a bad check?”

Lisette hitched in a breath, almost like she was surprised. Or about to cry. Then she patted his chest, right where he’d thumped it a minute ago. The warmth of her small, soft hand flooded straight to his heart.

“It’s exciting watching the games. My heart’s always in my throat when I do, though, because it is scary how hard everyone plays, how rough and no-holds-barred it is. So I have to say, selfishly, that I’m glad you’re asking. But...that’s a question only you can answer.” She patted once more, then pulled her hand back, where it hovered in midair for a second, like she didn’t want to stop touching him.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Kurt shoved a hand through his hair to shatter the awkwardness suddenly hanging between them like a sheet of jagged ice.

“Gee, really? Here I thought you were going to solve my problem with 100 ccs of wisdom.” He stared at the swimming fish who were oblivious to the fucking emotional striptease he somehow just couldn’t stop. And in curve of the glass bowl in the side of the float, Kurt saw the grim set of his jaw, the unhappy, hooded eyes.

God. Why would Lisette want to keep touching such a wallowing, messed-up son of a bitch? The words, the truth that kept him immobilized on this decision ripped from his throat like gravel spraying from his Harley tires. “Tell me how I can turn my back on my team and my friends and still be able to look myself in the mirror.”

She pressed up against his back, arms circling his waist like a life preserver. “How do you do it now? How do you look past your grief to see what’s truly in your reflection?”

“I don’t.”

Her fingers curved into his stomach. “You don’t look in mirrors?”

“Not for a while now.” Trying to make light of it, Kurt rasped a hand across his two-day-old stubble. “I’ve got an electric razor. Makes it so easy I can do it with my eyes shut. I was tired of seeing nothing but a scowl.”

“Oh, I get it, believe me. But feeling good, being happy? It takes practice every bit as much as skating.” Going up on her tiptoes, Lisette murmured into his ear, “I declare that smile practice is now in session.”

Then her fingers splayed, arrowing down to just below the waist of his shorts. Just enough to make him wish they’d damn well keep going. She scraped her teeth along the cords of his neck, then licked a path down to where Kurt knew she could feel his pulse jackrabbiting through the skin. Lisette sucked. Sucked and swirled her tongue. That was all it took to bring his dick into a full-out lunge, trying to meet her fingertips.

Kurt reached back and around to pull her closer. He got two handfuls of the sweetest ass he’d ever touched and squeezed. Kneaded. His hands almost completely covered those taut globes. He couldn’t wait to see how they’d look doing exactly that on her naked skin.

He didn’t care if she gave him a hickey. Didn’t care that the guys would give him a mountain of shit if he walked into the locker room with a love bite like a teenager. The only thing Kurt cared about was the way her tongue lapped at him, sending shivers of sensation straight down to his dick.

They weren’t really kissing. They were fully clothed, in a fucking warehouse. They weren’t even face-to-face. But her assault on his neck was so damn hot, Kurt was ready to shove up her skirt and take her on the floor, with the goddamned goldfish watching.

Whispering, breath feathering against his ear, Lisette ordered, “Look at your reflection in the bowl, Kurt. What do you see?”

He turned his head to catch a smug, satisfied grin curling up the edges of his mouth. Huh. Kurt twisted to see her wet lips and flushed cheeks. Guess she’d enjoyed giving as well as getting. Which turned him on even more. “You think I’m good in a practice session? You should catch me in the real deal.”

Stepping back, Lisette said, “We’re here to work. To plan. To honor your brother.”

Aaaand there he was. Jasper’s damned ghost, cockblocking him again. Just like he always would. The kid would hover between them no matter where they went or what they did. He’d been an idiot to forget it. To think that Lisette making a move meant anything more than her big ol’ heart taking pity on him.

She shook her head and picked up the bag and portfolio from the ground. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t say that. I’m glad you did. Thank you.” Kurt slapped on another smile that felt as forced as the one for his head shot for the team roster. “Now show me where you think we should set up the food.”

Because he was paying Lisette to help with his brother’s party. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here with him. And he couldn’t let himself forget that again.