Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
I was walking down the sidewalk toward the school—you did not want to be driving on one-way streets in the Quarter on the cusp of rush hour, that was madness—when I heard, “This is smart,” and nearly tripped over my feet. “Walking is definitely the way to go,” Dawson concurred, as if we’d been discussing this all along.
He must have run to catch up with me, and in his sneakers, with cars driving by beside me, I hadn’t heard him. The cowboy hat and sunglasses didn’t fool me for a second, but since no one was screaming out his name, I was guessing his disguise was allowing him to blend in with the other mere mortals on the street.
His hands were on me because of the staggering I’d been doing a moment ago, making sure I didn’t do a face-plant into the cracked sidewalk.
“What’re you doing here?” I asked, noting that the hand gripping my bicep and the one on my abdomen were not moving.
“I was at the club, as you recall.”
“Yeah, but—”
“And I wanted to talk to you.”
I shook my head, and he slowly let me go.
“No? I can’t talk to you?”
“I just wanted to walk for a bit and then pick up Cami.”
“Georgine’s daughter,” he said with a grin. “Yeah. That’s where she said you were going.”
I only stared at him.
“She seems really nice, been there three years, she said. You must’ve hired her six months after I left, right?”
I nodded.
“Georgine said that you didn’t have to be the one to go get her cute kid.”
“Yeah, but I needed to get my bearings, you know?”
“Because there I was, outta the blue.”
“That’s right,” I agreed, moving by him. “So if you could just leave me––”
“Rehab kicked my ass,” he informed me, not getting the hint and instead falling into step beside me easily. “And after I got out, I needed to regroup. In my head.”
“Are you listening to me?” I asked irritably.
“Yeah. I just wanted to explain that after I saw you last, we went out on the road for a bit, and then I realized that after three records and making lots of money and winning a lot of awards, including some Grammys, that all of that pretty much pales next to you.”
I stopped walking, and he wasn’t ready for that, went right by me, but then corrected and came back.
“Really?” I growled at him.
“What?”
“I haven’t heard from you in—” I thought a moment, realizing it was actually longer. “—over two years, but everything is nothing next to me?”
“It’s true,” he said flatly.
“You’ll forgive me if I call bullshit on that,” I grumbled, starting to walk again, bumping him with my shoulder as I went by.
“It’s not bullshit,” he argued, catching up easily. “I just thought I wanted one thing, and I did, just not like I thought I did.”
I stopped again, but he was ready that time and froze at my side. “The fuck does that even mean?”
“First off, is it fine that I walk with you, or do you really need to be alone?”
“Alone,” I answered, huffing out a breath and walking away.
A couple of minutes later, stomach churning, heart pounding in my ears, I looked over my shoulder to check, and as I suspected, he was about ten feet behind me.
I stopped. “What’re you doing?”
He grimaced as he moved up alongside me. “Well, I’m basically committed to this walk at this point. I mean, we’re closer to the school than the club, yeah?”
Both hands went into my hair, because already, that fast, he was driving me nuts.
“You’re wearing that a little longer than you used to,” he commented, smiling at me. “It looks good.”
“Shut up.”
“It does. You want me to lie?”
“Just, come on.”
The smile I got was radiant, and under the sunglasses, with the stupid hat on, the people in the cars sitting in traffic beside us were probably thinking what a beautiful man he was.
“Why did you follow me?”
“Because I just got back, and why on earth would I spend any time away from you for any reason?” he said with a shrug. “How does that make sense?”
I had no answer for him because I was both happy and annoyed.
“Is this the way you always come?” he asked after several moments of prolonged silence.
“I like to take the scenic routes,” I mumbled.
“I know,” he replied with a sigh. “I would cut through alleys and walk through courtyards, but you, down Frenchmen, crossing Esplanade, turning on Decatur, then down Ursulines to Chartres, and now, taking a left to the school.”
I scowled at him. “What’re you, a GPS?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m nervous, all right?”
“What’re you nervous for?”
“Oh, I dunno, Christopher, what could it be?”
I shook my head at him, but his sudden evil chuckle made me smile despite myself.
“Look at these poor bastards,” he remarked, motioning toward the drivers who had accidentally gotten in the far-right lane and now found themselves stuck in the school pickup line, along with parents, for an excruciating amount of time. “I’m guessing once you pass the crossing guard and the orange cones on the left with the motorcycle cop on the sidewalk here,” he said, waving at the officer, who returned the gesture, “you’re screwed.”