4:08 PM.
Damn.
It hit me then that I had been with that man, dancing in the street, kissing in clubs, and letting him eat me like a praline.
What kind of fairy tale hoe shit was this?
I walked over and cracked the door, peeking through before opening it wider. Maison. Fresh fade. Gold chain tucked in. Dimples popping.
He grinned and said, “I had to knock a little harder so you could hear me over that jamming you got going.”
I laughed and turned my back on him, walking back toward the mirror with a bounce in my step. Still dancing.
And in true New Orleans man fashion, he stepped in behind me and hit the two-step like his life depended on it. Never missing a beat. Never missing a chance to dance. That’s what I loved about them. They’d start dancing in line at the gas station if a beat hit right. Ain’t no shame. Ain’t no standing still.
We were both cracking up, and I felt his arms wrap around my waist from behind.
“Alright now,” he whispered against my neck. “We gotta get going. We on a timeframe tonight.”
I tilted my head and met his gaze in the mirror. “Oh yeah? And where is my tour guide taking me this evening?”
He smiled, leaned in, and kissed me slow. The kind of kiss that told you not to worry about plans. Just show up.
I stared at him, my head swimming just a little.
This is crazy,I thought.Like…I don’t even know this man’s last name. I don’t even know his phone number, nothing.And still, I felt safe. I felt desired. I felt alive.
Maybe that was the whole point of this trip. Maybe I was never supposed to play it safe.
I had always liked New Orleans, but after just a couple days of exploring it raw, unfiltered, and wild? It had officially become one of my favorite cities in the country. No debate.
It was underrated, sure. But it didn’t beg for attention because it was the vibe without trying. So just imagine a city that made you feel good from the inside out. A place that kissed your culture, praised your curves, and flirted with your freedom.
That was New Orleans.
And Maisonwas like the man version of it. The city made you feel something. And the men there made you feel it with a little more pleasure…a little more pressure…a little more promise.
No wonder the Heaux Phase was meant for the city. Fuck a Vegas. It’s NOLA every time.
We walked hand in hand down a brick path, and I noticed the scent of water and wind tickling my senses. We were getting close to the water. I could hear waves lapping, people chatting nearby, the subtle creak of something rocking in the distance.
Then I saw the Mississippi River stretching wide and dark beneath the evening sky, boats docked, lights shimmering on the surface like glitter.
Maison slowed his pace as we approached a dock. My eyes bounced between him and the boats until my cheeks started to burn.
“Where are we going?” I asked, grinning like a kid.
He looked down at me and smirked. “Somewhere I think you’ll love.”
My heart fluttered when I saw the boat in front of us—an old-fashioned riverboat with white railings, glowing lights, and the sweet hum of music drifting from inside.
Oh, he’s showing out now.
“It’s a Jazz Dinner Cruise,” he said, watching my expression like it was a gift he was proud to unwrap. “Live music, unlimited buffet, and the best views of the city.”
As soon as we stepped onto the boat, I was transported.
A live New Orleans jazz band was already jamming near the front of the deck with saxophones singing, trumpets, and a standing bass sounding smooth and sexy.
