“Oh. Cool cool.”
He shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Lyrix, you know nothing about football, do you?”
“Absolutely not,” I said, dead serious.
He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer. “It’s okay. Just look cute and enjoy the vibes. Every time I cheer, you cheer too.”
I grinned. “That’ll work.”
I pulled out my phone and started snapping pictures and videos of the crowd. It was the vibe for me—people dancing in the aisles and even a man in a feathered headpiece doing the most dramatic twerk I’d ever seen in my life. Somebody passed me a string of gold beads and yelled “WHO DAT!” and I screamed back, even though I still didn’t fully understand what it meant.
I was in the moment surrounded by all the joy and culture. I realized why people say New Orleans is the place to be.
We left the Superdome feeling like winners. The crowd was electric as we stepped out into the night air. Horns were honking, people waving flags, strangers hugging like cousins at a reunion.
I looked over at Maison. “So… does the city turn up even harder now that y’all won?”
He looked at me, laughing. “Lyrix… this city about to be lit. It’s going to be a wild night.”
I shook my head, laughing. “See, that’s what I don’t get. Like, how are y’all built like this? I swear y’all got different organs. Ain’t no way the human body is supposed to keep up with this much partying.”
He chuckled, sliding his hands in his pockets as we walked. “It’s just how we live. We embrace the moment. The music, thefood, the people around us. We turn up for what we do have, because we’ve lost so much already.”
His tone shifted slightly, just enough for me to catch the weight in his words.
I looked at him, and I knew. “Hurricane Katrina.”
He nodded slowly. “That storm didn’t just take homes. It took history. Took generations of memories. Some people never came back. Some couldn’t. But the ones who stayed? We had to rebuild—block by block, heart by heart. Some parts of the city’ll never be the same… but we won’t let them take it all. We make this city. And we love it too damn much to let it die.”
There was so much pride in his voice. So much pain and passion wrapped in every word, I couldn’t help but reach over and grab his hand.
“Come on,” I said, threading my fingers through his. “Let’s go celebrate.”
We walked through the streets hand in hand, the music from every corner pulling us deeper into the rhythm of the city. A brass band passed by, second-lining their way into the night with people following behind like it was a block party.
Maison reached for my waist, gently swaying me side to side.
“Okay, two-step!” he said, watching me move. “There you go. I thought you said you don’t dance in public?”
I laughed, my head tilting back a little as I stepped in sync with him. “It’s the culture. I swear, it’s rubbing off on me. Every time I hear that music, I have to move.”
He smiled, wide and boyish, before spinning me around like we were on a makeshift dance floor. He pulled me close again, his arms wrapped low on my waist, and dipped down just enough to press a slow, lingering kiss to the side of my neck.
It was soft and intimate. I felt my breath catch in my throat.
For a second, I wasn’t in New Orleans. I wasn’t halfway through a spontaneous Heaux Phase checklist. I was in someBlack-ass romance movie that was never gonna win an Oscar, but would live rent-free in your spirit forever.
I didn’t even know Maison’s last name. It didn’t matter because I really didn’t care to know.
I turned around, grabbed his face between my hands, and kissed him.
His lips were warm, like he’d been waiting for me to make the move. I didn’t care who was watching. Apparently, everyone was.
“WOOOOOO!” someone yelled. “Stick your tongue down her throat!”
We both cracked up, falling out of the kiss, our foreheads touching as we laughed.
Maison grinned and said, “The city’s rooting for us. You sure you’re not ready to move here?”
