Something about that hit deeper than I expected. I tucked my hair behind my ear and glanced at him. “You sound like you’ve said that before.”
He chuckled. “Nah. Just living long enough to believe it.”
We kept walking. Every detail of this place told a story about endurance. I found myself smiling for no reason. Not because he said something funny or the weather was perfect, but because the moment felt right.
When we reached the corner, he stopped, looking at me like he was trying to read my thoughts.
“You good?” he asked.
I nodded. “Better than good.”
He smiled. “Then I’m doing this right.”
It was later that night, and we were back on Bourbon Street. People danced like they were being paid for it, strangers hugged like they’d known each other since childhood, and the pavement gleamed under neon lights.
Maison and I blended right in. Two more souls looking for a good time.
“You still standing after all that walking today?” he asked, shouting over the music.
“Barely,” I said, laughing. “My feet hate me, but my spirit is thriving.”
He grinned. “That’s the NOLA effect.”
We slid into a club pulsing with bounce music. The bass hit deep enough to rattle my ribs.
Maison handed me a plastic cup filled to the brim. “Round two.”
I raised an eyebrow. “We didn’t even survive round one.”
“Then we practice till we do.”
We clinked cups and downed the shots. It burned like regret but tasted like freedom.
When the next song dropped, the crowd erupted. Hands went up, hips found rhythm, and the floor turned into one big celebration. Maison’s hand found the small of my back, guiding me toward the middle of the dance floor.
At first, I fought the urge to move, testing the water. Then, I forgot every excuse I ever made for not letting go. I threw my hands up and started moving, laughing, dancing like my body had its own agenda. Maison moved behind me, close enough for me to feel his heat.
Somebody nearby shouted, “Ayyyeee!” and I laughed so hard my drink almost spilled.
Louisiana had some big booties, but I knew for a fact he hadn’t had one that was born and raised in Antionette.
I looked back at him, grinning. “You keeping up?”
He chuckled, low and deep. “You trying to test me?”
“Just seeing if that local stamina matches the hype.”
“Oh, it does,” he said, moving closer, his breath brushing my ear.
The crowd cheered as the song switched, the DJ blending one beat into the next. My hair stuck to my neck, my skin glowed with sweat and laughter, and all I could think was how good it felt to be really alive.
The DJ switched tracks again, the beat slowing just enough to pull the room into a sway instead of a bounce.
Maison leaned closer, his hand brushing the back of my arm, sending a chill up my spine. “You good?” he asked, voice soft now, cutting through the noise.
“I am,” I said, catching my breath.
He watched me for a long second, like he was asking a question without saying it.
