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“You run away a lot?”
“Every chance I get.”
“Why?”
“You’ve met my father.”
Tossing the plastic sword onto the table, she stood up straight, giving up the attempt to draw me in, and finally allowing me the opportunity to breathe normally.
“He’s not so bad.” I shifted on my stool.
“Are you kidding me?” The once-over she gave me could’ve been an X-ray. “If you’re in his corner, why haven’t you already started dragging me home?”
Because you’re lonely, and you aren’t alone right now.
Relief I hadn’t said it out loud made me a little light-headed. “I’m not a caveman. I don’t drag. And I was hoping, maybe, I could convince you to go back with me by asking nicely.”
“You aren’t going to threaten to tell my dad? That’s what they usually do: get all blustery and self-righteous and make a big point of how much trouble I’ll be in when I get home.” She shrugged. “But I never get in trouble, and they always do. You’re smart, Dune Ta’ala from Samoa.”
And just a few minutes ago, she’d acted like she couldn’t remember my name. “I need this job.”
She stepped closer and I caught the sparkles on her shoulders and neckline. “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”
“No. Maybe.” I needed her to move back. I needed to stay objective. I didn’t need to know that she smelled like buttercream frosting. “Yes.”
“So back to negotiations. Here’s the deal. You stay here with me for a little while, let me have some fun, and we can go back together.”
“I don’t—”
“Take or leave it.” She leaned forward again, so I stared at the ceiling.
I guessed I was taking it.
Hallie patted the seat beside her. I eyed it and remained standing, wondering if she sneaked some superglue onto the leather so she could make a quick escape.
“I really just want to take you home and get you to bed—”
“Keep walking into that innuendo. Really. I enjoy it.”
“Get you to bed before your dad gets home so I don’t get fired,” I finished, with a sigh. “Please, Miss Girard?”
She put up a hand. “Hallie, if you want to stay on my good side.”
“I’m deathly afraid of your bad side, Hallie.”
Her next move stole my breath. She slid off her stool and put her palms on my chest, ran her hands down my stomach, and hooked one finger inside the waistband of my pants. “Do you dance?”
“I …”
A second finger sneaked in. She pulled me closer.
“Um …” I tried to step away.
“Just where do you think you’re going?”
I thought of her bare back, skin as smooth as velvet, and how she must taste. I wondered how she’d respond if I gave in. How far things would go before I caught myself and remembered why I came to New Orleans.
Best to remember why I was here right now.
