One after another, flashy cars and expensive SUVs pull up and park in the spaces reserved for the family. They climb out, disappearing into the club that also houses offices on the second floor.
Over the course of twenty minutes, half a dozen of them enter.
Clearly some sort of family meeting happening.
But the person I came here hoping to see hasn’t made an appearance yet.
I almost ride away.
Almost give up hope.
But then she pulls in and parks her black Escalade.
I hold my breath waiting for her to get out. By the time she climbs down from the high cab, my chest burns, and the rush of air I let out sounds so loud to me that I swear she will hear it all the way from over there, turn, and find me watching her.
It’s all in my head, though.
Nerves I shouldn’t have.
Not anymore. Not after all these years. Certainly not over a damn woman.
Her toned, muscular body moves fluidly—confidently—as she stalks toward the club, her long braids swinging behind her as tugs open the door. She pauses for a moment before she enters, her head tilting slightly, as if she can sense she’s being watched.
I freeze, keeping my body pressed to the old brick, protected somewhat by the slight overhang that casts a shadow over me even under the dark sky.
She scans the street. Once. Twice. Her gaze lingers for a moment on the line of family cars. Then she disappears inside.
Thank fuck.
If she had seen me, I’m not sure what I would have done. How I would have been able to explain why I was lingering here, watching her like this. She would never believe that something deep in my chest drew me here today. That I hadn’t planned on coming this way at all when I left the shop.
Given how she reacted to me last night, chances are she would have me facedown on this rough concrete before I even had an opportunity to try to explain.
My feet itch to follow her, to see if I can get her to sit down with me again at the bar, but I force myself to pull away from my hiding place beside the building instead.
No good would come from going in after her today—or any day, really.
The fact of the matter is, Bishop is a distraction I can’t afford.
Now or ever.
I tear down the street, speeding away from The Hawkeye Club and whatever Bishop might be doing in there with the rest of them and heading toward the center of all the nightlife in town.
The sky finally unleashes its torrent, water cascading down in sheets that make the street slick yet somehow allow me to draw in breaths easier than I have in days.
It brings flashes of clarity.
Maybe coming here was a mistake…
I never imagined finding myself in a place like New Orleans, a city with so much history—good and bad—with so much liveliness, color, and sound.
It hits me from all sides as I weave through the streets.
The sounds of jazz bands floating out of propped-open bar doors.
Bright murals painted on ancient brick.
Revelers out enjoying everything despite getting soaked in the process.
