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“Home. I’m taking you home.”
“I could get you in a lot of trouble,” she threatened, trying to play me. Even though I preferred girls who were a little more low-key, if I’d been a normal guy without some higher purpose, I’d have let her play me all the way out. “You’re here. I’m here. Why can’t we have fun?”
“You know why,” I said.
“You aren’t going to give in, are you?”
I shook my head. She picked up her bag and started for the other side of the bar. “Where do—”
“The bathroom. To change.” She pointed to her red leather pants. “Did you want to help?”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to help.”
“Jean Lafitte likes to hang out in the ladies’.” She flashed a wide smile. “Pirates. They never disappoint. Especially when I pretend they all look like Johnny Depp.”
“Fine. Go change. Don’t sneak out a bathroom window.”
“I said I’d go home with you and I will.”
I had no reason to trust her, but she didn’t seem like a liar. A sneak, most definitely, but not a liar. “Forgive me if I have trouble taking you at your word.”
“There aren’t any windows in the bathroom.” She growled in frustration. “You can check, unless you’re afraid of pirates.”
“It’s not like you couldn’t go in and come out a completely different person.”
Her eyes narrowed and she sat back down. “What did you just say?”
“I mean, you have a proclivity for disguises. There’s the shoes. And the eyelashes. The brown contacts. The outfit.”
She shook her head. “Did my dad tell you anything about me?”
“All he said was that you had … an uncanny knack with appearances.”
“An uncanny knack?”
In the span of a second, her face morphed back to its original form, her eyes to their original hazel. I was so fascinated by the transformation that I didn’t react. Big mistake.
o;I wasn’t.”
He looked up, and I fingered the neckline of my bustier to see where his eyes would go. They stayed on my face.
Hmm. Passed the douche test.
“No one carded me,” I said, “and I didn’t offer to show ID, so of course it doesn’t have alcohol. Bartenders are smart, especially in the Quarter.”
“Here’s an idea,” he said. “How about you bottoms up with your citrus Shirley Temple and I’ll take you back home?”
I sat back in my chair and took slow sips, studying him. He had a strong face, a wide jaw, and a bow-shaped upper lip. He smiled, because he realized I was staring at his mouth. I met his gaze.
His eyes were so damn sweet. There was no other word for it. His lashes were thick, and a scar sliced through his left eyebrow.
He was still smiling. Because I was still staring. I drained my drink. “I need another one.”
“You sure you don’t just want to grab a bottle of water at home?” he asked.
“Yessir.”
“You’re going to make this hard on me, aren’t you?”
