Troublemaker - Lisa B. Kamps Page 0,5

he'd already said that.

Unless he was just in the habit of repeating himself.

"Yeah. Still here."

"You didn't leave."

"No."

"And you didn't take any of my shit."

I folded my arms in front of me and glared at him. "I'm not a thief."

"I didn't think you were."

"Obviously you did since you seem so surprised that everything is where you left it."

"I just thought—"

"Although it would serve you right if I had cleaned you out. I mean, what kind of idiot leaves a total stranger alone in their apartment?" I rolled my eyes then moved back into the bedroom area. "Do you know anyplace where I could sell this thing?"

"Your gown?"

"No, your bed. Of course, my gown. What else would I be talking about?"

"You want to sell it?"

"I need money to get out of here and this is the only thing I have that's worth anything."

"Are you going home?"

I glanced over my shoulder and offered him a small smile. "Home is such a permanent thing. Kind of suffocating, don't you think?"

He frowned and moved a couple steps closer then rested his shoulder against the wall. Maybe he was a little too trusting and a little too naive for my taste, but he was kind of cute. He had sandy brown hair that was on the shaggier side and probably in need of a trim—not that I minded, since I had a thing for guys with messy hair.

Brandon's hair was always short and trimmed and neatly brushed back, without a single strand out of place.

Hmm. Maybe that should have been a warning sign for me.

"If you're not going home, where are you going?"

"I don't know. California, maybe. I've never been out west before. Maybe it's time to broaden my horizons."

"Where are you from?"

"Me?" I shot him another look then lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "Here and there."

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No." Not unless you counted being broke as some kind of trouble. But I'd been broke before and survived, this time would be no different.

"Nobody's after you?"

"Who would be after me?"

"I don't know. Maybe the guy you jilted at the altar."

"Brandon?" I swallowed a laugh and shook my head. "Not hardly."

"Then maybe his family."

"I seriously doubt it." Especially since his family hadn't been all that excited to welcome me with open arms. They were probably breathing huge sighs of relief right about now. Yes, the marriage would have been nothing but a charade if we'd gone through with it—but they didn't know that.

"So you're not in any trouble?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

"Because Jacqui said...never mind."

The brief surge of jealousy that shot through me was completely unexpected—and completely unwelcome. Jealous? Me? Nope, it couldn't be. Yeah. Dylan was kind of cute but I didn't know him—and I didn't want to know him. Our meeting had been a total fluke, nothing else. But still—

"Who's Jacqui?"

"A friend. Actually, she's friends with one of my buddy's girlfriend."

"Oh." No, that was not relief washing over me. Not at all.

"She owns a boutique here in the Quarter."

"A clothing boutique?"

"Yeah."

I looked down at the gown then back at Dylan. "Think she might be interested in buying this?"

"I don't think it really fits in with what she sells. Think more goth. Or maybe vampire. Stuff like that."

"Oh." Well, so much for that idea.

"She might know someone who might be interested, though." Dylan pushed away from the wall and motioned toward the door. "We can go ask her. Everyone's still at the bar and it's only a few blocks away."

I glanced down at my outfit—torn and faded jeans, a V-neck t-shirt that had seen better days, and a pair of flip flops covered with cheap rhinestones—then shook my head. "I don't think I'm really dressed—"

"You look fine."

"Not for bar hopping."

"It's New Orleans. And we're not bar hopping."

"I don't—"

"Are you hungry?"

I started to say no but never had a chance to get the word out because Dylan snagged my hand and practically dragged me down the short flight of steps. Well, okay, not really, but he was definitely leading me. Normally I wouldn't put up with something like that but his hand felt nice around mine, big and strong and warm.

Besides, I was hungry. In fact, I was practically starving. I hadn't eaten since breakfast and that had been nothing more than a few bites of toast choked down under the watchful glare of Brandon's mother.

I pulled against Dylan's hand, just hard enough to stop him without pulling my hand free. He looked at me with a questioning frown.

"I don't have