Smug Bastard - Stacey Marie Brown Page 0,48

squeezed her hand. “I’ve grown up a lot since.”

“I can see.” I knew she didn’t just mean physically. “You have been through a lot in the last years. You didn’t deserve it. I am sorry.”

“Shit! You know I hate when you do your voodoo stuff. Is that what is keeping you from aging?”

“That and having sex with much younger men.” She winked, her face going serious again, flicking her chin at me. “It’s not hard to see if you are really looking.” Goat moved restlessly, returning her attention to the most important one here. “Call me when you are ready to get him.” She tugged on his collar, herding him for the house.

“Thanks again.” I turned, strolling for the van.

“Hey, Smith?”

I turned at her call; she stood on the porch, Goat at her side. “Don’t let your past control your future. If you run this time, you will never find your way back.”

She walked into the house before I could respond, but in the heat, I felt a chill shiver down my spine.

Checking into our hotel, our rooms across the hall from each other in the beautiful Creole-style townhouse, I recalled how much I loved this city. Flowers twisted in the ironwork, the courtyard in the middle teemed with plants and a water feature, setting up a serene place to have coffee in the morning. I tossed my stuff in the room, anxious to get Kinsley out in my old city.

Things were still tense, and not having Goat to put our attention on strained things even more. But the sights quickly enraptured her to the point she forgot we hated each other, excitingly grabbing my arm when she spotted a famous site. The day was still early when I took her first to Garden District, then an early evening tour of the famous St. Louis Cemetery before we returned to the French Quarter.

I could tell she was already enchanted by the city, her eyes glazed with excitement and amazement, her hips starting to curve and swing with the endless music breathing life through the town. Tomorrow I planned to spend the day in the Quarter enjoying the art and atmosphere, but the night was a different beast. The city held the seduction of magic—ghosts slipping by you, whispering in your ear—but at night, the spirits ruled, curling their fingers and enticing you to the dark and gritty. And you happily followed, allowing the seedy and forbidden desires to flutter to the surface.

It could take years to show someone the secrets of this city—those places known only by locals or people like me who were lucky enough to have been shown the secret nightlife away from the typical tourist scene. Though even the tourist areas, except Bourbon Street, which could smell of vomit, piss, and stale beer and be stuffed with young drunk douchebags, were amazing places to discover.

Showered and dressed in my one semi-good pair of dark jeans and black T-shirt, I ran a hand through my wet hair before heading across the hall.

Buzzz.

Not thinking, I hit the button on my phone. “Hello?”

“Smith.” Her voice slithered in my ear and down my back like a snake, wrapping around my spine, taking me back in time. My feet stopped, my chest rising in defense. “You answered.”

“Becca,” I replied without feeling.

“God, it’s so good to hear your voice.” The familiarity of her sultry tone slapped weight against my lungs. How many nights had I heard it crying out my name in ecstasy? Now I wondered if any of it was real. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Don’t,” I growled.

“Don’t what? Tell you the truth? I tried to see you so many times. Please let me explain.”

“You have nothing to say I want to hear,” I spat, moving around in the narrow hallway. “Go away, Becca. This time for good.”

“I know you don’t mean that.” She sniffed. She always knew I hated when she cried, and I would do anything to make it stop.

Not anymore. “Dry the crocodile tears. I’m not your patsy anymore. Try that shit on your next victim. How is Bryan anyway?”

“Smith…” Her voice cracked. “Let me see you. Talk. Tell you my side.”

“I don’t care.”

“I love you, Smith… and I know you still love me.”

A nerve along my neck jumped, fury burning in my chest. My silence had hope jumping in her voice like leaping frogs.

“Please. I will come to you. I need to see you. Talk face to face.”

“No.”

“I found where you live now. I will find you again.