She had only told Jade and Jolie about the attack in New York. She hated that she hid it from her parents and Eva, but she didn’t want them to worry or, worse, show up at her apartment and haul her back to Louisiana. Her social work background provided her with the knowledge to navigate a traumatic event. After a week of hiding in her apartment, Ophelia began therapy, started carrying pepper spray, and enrolled in a year-long self-defense course. She’d stopped volunteering at the community center, though. She could barely stomach walking down that block and avoided it when possible.
A slap on her butt made Ophelia scream.
“Jesus, it’s just me,” said Jo as she pulled down her pajama shorts and sat on the toilet.
“You scared me!” Ophelia was out of breath again and nauseous. She bent over, placing her head between her shaking knees. Ophelia had never passed out before, but she felt as if she were on the verge.
“You hungover or still drunk?” asked Jolie.
“Probably both.” She breathed deeply. “I just had a super weird dream. Fuck. It felt so real,” she said, her voice muffled between her legs.
“Please don’t tell me about it. I hate hearing about people’s dreams,” said Jolie. “They are never as interesting as the person thinks.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t burden you with my boring dream,” Ophelia retorted. She stood upright, slowly, and wiped the excess water off her face with an embroidered hand towel. “What time is it?”
“Five a.m.” Jolie muscled her way to the sink and washed her hands. “Back to bed for me. For like another five hours. Night, boo,” said Jolie, yawning as she exited the bathroom.
Ophelia only nodded in response and weakly slunk back to her room to do the same.
Several hours later,Ophelia woke to a pounding headache and the sound of thick rain hitting the brick patio.
She didn’t want to get out of bed. She wanted to forget about her dream. Banish it from her thoughts. Instead, she preferred to think about Mateo—about the way he grabbed her hips andpulled her into his chest, the way her breasts felt heavy and aching pressed against him, how his smooth skin, lined with tight muscles, felt under her hands. Flashes of his broad shoulders, tattoos, and green eyes ran through her mind. She was absolutely smitten or in heat…or both. Probably both.
Ophelia reached for her phone under her pillow. The screen showed an unread text.
Mateo: I enjoyed seeing you last night, Ophelia. And I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other soon.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ophelia observed the ominous dark gray clouds from the safety of the rental couch. The hurricane’s path had shifted in the night, and it was now moving east, passing New Orleans, aiming for Mobile instead. The news predicted that the city would still get a lot of rain but would be safe from serious damage. Unfortunately, the curfew remained in effect, so the slumber party plan was still on.
The day was spent reminiscing on embarrassing drunk stories from the night before, eating junk food, and licking hangover wounds. Mateo was texting her and had done so all day. The anxiety around her tiger was still there, but she couldn’t possibly unravel all of that now, so she let herself bask in the attention of a handsome man.
They texted about their lives, slowly revealing pieces of each other through the messages. She learned that he was an artist and had moved to New Orleans a little before Ophelia moved back. He sent her a link to his website. His art was evocative and stunning, sculptures of the nude female form with incredible detail.
The logical side of Ophelia knew this momentary infatuation was likely just that—momentary. Fleeting. She always enjoyed the excitement of meeting someone new, that hopeful, lustyfever dream before reality sank in and the mystery faded. When a person becomes real and not just flesh-filled cravings. A person with flaws, quirks, and needs.
By evening, the friends were lethargic and drunk again, but sleepy drunk this time. Outside, the rain was barely trickling, as if the clouds were wringing out their last bit of water like a damp washcloth. Evangeline, Annie, and Catherine fell asleep on the couches watching TV, and Jolie went up to bed at ten thirty. Ophelia was the only one in the house awake, wired by zaps of adrenaline from Mateo’s text messages.
Mateo: Come meet me.
Ophelia: Tonight?
Mateo: Yeah, I’m out in the Quarter now.
Ophelia: How? There’s a curfew!
Mateo: It’s Nola…The bars never close.
Ophelia mulled the idea over. She wanted to see him again, but she struggled with the thought of sneaking out to see a guy on her sister’s bachelorette trip. Her fingers hovered over her phone, thinking of a response.
Mateo: Come on. Have an adventure with me.
An adventure. He knew exactly what to say to her already. Ophelia loved that feeling of discovery, of the unknown. Leaving her sisters felt wrong…, but theywereall asleep. It wasn’t like she’d miss out on anything.
She tiptoed upstairs and slipped on a pair of flattering jeans, a slinky black spaghetti-strap top, and sandals. As quietly as possible, she lifted up the window in her room. It cracked so loudly that she was sure she woke up someone. Pausing for a moment, she listened for anyone waking up, but she only heardher nervous breath. Ophelia climbed out the window and descended the spiral staircase to the courtyard.
A wild thrill zipped through her as she laughed to herself. When was the last time she’d snuck out of a house? The excitement of it all was almost too much.
