Page 53 of New Orleans Rush

“Which is why I screwed up. But she’s been different recently. Seems to be all smiles again.”

Since the fire rehearsal. Since he’d worked to gain her trust.

The past four days had been better and worse. Aside from the moments he’d catch her lost in thought, a frown puckering her brow, her reservations seemed to have vanished, leaving only a coquettish woman who tormented his soul. If keeping his hands to himself had been a challenge before, it was downright tortuous now. She hadn’t even worn a bra under her tank top this morning. He’d bit his fist at the sight, claiming a stubbed toe.

“We’ve reached an understanding,” he said.

“Which doesn’t include sex?” Axel hopped off the counter and opened Huxley’s fridge.

Huxley crossed his arms. It was either that or slam the fridge door into Axel’s head. “Our sex, or lack thereof, is none of your concern.”

“I beg to differ.”

“And why is that?”

Axel emerged from the fridge with leftover chicken salad. He opened the lid and proceeded to eat it with his fingers. “I have to work with you. You’ve been surlier than usual. You also spend a ridiculous amount of time staring at Bea.”

“Staring at her when?”

“Whenever she’s in the room,” Fox interjected.

Jesus. Am I that far gone? Edna’s comment still sat with him, the heaviness of it often prompting his surliness, worries about investing too much emotion in a woman who might not be here for the long haul. When Beatrice was around, he shut those concerns out. He’d remind himself she’d painted pieces of him in her portrait. He’d marvel at how attuned to her he’d become, verging on obsessed for a guy who didn’t obsess over women. It could be the forced waiting period—the longing and imagining. The kiss that had given him a taste of how sweet she would be.

Most likely, it was the Beatrice Baker Effect: her unicorn essence that drew people into her orbit.

Axel licked his fingers and went to return the remaining chicken salad to the fridge.

Huxley kicked the door shut. “Don’t even think about putting that back.”

“Why?” He examined the salad, perplexed.

“You don’t see me coming into your place and sticking my hands in your food.”

“That’s because I only have beer and salami in my fridge.”

“Are you still nineteen?”

“Stop with the compliments. You’re making me blush.” Axel put the Tupperware on the counter and petted the top. “I’ll take it home. After we enjoy our family dinner.”

They hadn’t shared a meal in ages. Axel was always busy with his street magic, Fox with whatever Fox did. Irritating inquisition aside, he missed the ritual of the Marlow men stuffing their faces while talking smack. It made him think of his youngest brothers, wondering if Xander still hated raw tomatoes, if Paxton had graduated past the pig food group. He should try to locate his brothers, but he wasn’t sure they wanted to hear from him.

To the two siblings who had forgiven him for their father’s death, he said, “Is there an actual reason you came by, besides mooching food and annoying me?”

Fox glanced up from the puzzle box. “To get your car keys. We met a guy who knows a guy. We’re getting it repainted.”

“How much will it cost?”

“Nothing.”

He squinted at them. “How does repairing a car cost nothing?”

Fox stared at Huxley without speaking. Axel studied the floor.

Huxley grumbled. He could berate them for whatever suspicious activities led to his Mustang’s makeover, but he was tired of driving the defiled car. If one more person called him Assface or Isopod, he’d get arrested.

Instead of giving them hell, he pulled more shrimp and mussels from the freezer. “Beatrice will be home soon. Don’t bring up the gambling. Or the sex.”

Axel grabbed a couple beers and joined Fox on the couch. “This sofa really is shit, and what’s the deal with Bea? How long is she staying here? And why exactly did you say you weren’t having sex?”