Instead of calling out for her, I move down the short hallway. I take a deep pull of air from my nose to calm my nerves and push out a breath. I pull the knife tucked above my boot, strapped to my calf. I can see the front of the shop from where I stand, only the dim counter lights illuminated. To my left is the bathroom, and it's vacant. Up to the right is a large room for storage that G also uses as her office. There’s no door, so as I approach, I can hear muffled voices, and the moving of a chair.
“I can’t believe you’ve never been,” a woman’s voice says.
“Never. But I love beignets,” Giselle says.
“You taste like them. Sugar and something else. I can’t place it. But your lips are so sweet.”
Are you fucking kidding me right now?I’m worried she’s in harm’s way and they’re talking about desserts, and kissing. Part of me wants to say it’s lemons. Lemons and sugar are what she tastes like. But I don’t want anyone else to know that. To experience her mouth like I have.
G speaks up. “There’s a huge fair I used to go to every September, and the beignets were my favorite thing to have when we went.”
“New Orleans is really the only place you can get a true beignet. My brother has a place down there,” the woman hesitates, pausing before continuing. “You could meet me down there sometime. It might be fun.”
I peek around the corner now that there’s a lull in the conversation. Giselle sits on top of her desk as the woman with the long dark hair stands in front of her. Close. So close that my body tenses. I rub my palm down my thigh to wipe the sweat and grip the knife in case I need to move quickly, eyeing the door I came through. I know she’s seen people. Slept with them. It’s been three years. She’s made it known that she likes men and women. Hell, I’m sure she’s had relationships here and there, but I’ve never witnessed it up close. Now I’m experiencing a small twinge of how she felt, seeing me with Denise. If roles were reversed, I would have spiraled. But then again, maybe it didn’t faze her the way it would have me.
I watch Giselle roughly grab the person in front of her by the nape, lick her upper lip slowly, and then kiss along the column of her neck. So goddamn slowly. It’s achingly sensual. I can hear my pulse in my ears. I’m keyed up with anger and slightly turned on, wishing it were me instead. Being licked by that mouth. Savored.
I’m frozen in place.
My mouth is dry. I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’ve lost all ability to remain stoic. The jealousy is written all over my face. I’m sure of it. But before I can think to turn away, Giselle flicks her eyes open, looking right at me as she continues to devour the brunette’s neck, pacing toward her collarbone. She snakes her legs around the other woman’s ass, bringing her closer. She pulls her mouth back, eyes on me, without a flinch or sense of surprise. And smiles.
That fucking pixie smiles.
Like she knows exactly what she’s doing right now, and it’s equal parts cruel and eye-opening. It’s as if a war has officially been declared. That sinking feeling of not knowing her at all; the woman I met or the romanticized version of her would have never done that, not this way. This wasn’t meant to be playful; this was intended to sting. A figurative line in the sand. And maybe it was necessary. Maybe I wouldn’t have been strong enough to do it. Hell, look at where I am right now and the anger swirling in my belly.
“You looking to join us, Henry?”
Her voice knocks me out of my internal tirade. The black-haired woman turns around fast and glances between me and Giselle. “Seriously?” she shouts. “Who the hell is that?” G hops off of her desk, wiping the corners of her mouth, as if she’s just had a snack.
“This is Henry. Henry, this is,” she pauses. I guarantee she knows this woman’s name. She knew I’d come in if I thought she was in trouble. Despite not knowing I’ve been assigned as her backup, she knows the type of man I am. If she were in trouble, I would come.
“Eliza, my fucking name is Eliza. And I’m not interested in whatever this is all about,” the woman says in a huff and rushes out of the room and out the door. If I wasn’t as jealous as I am right now, I would have felt sorry for the girl.
Giselle pulls her hair back into a knot at the nape of her neck, turns to me, and says, “That was disappointing. Totally misread it.” Nothing else. Just an aloof statement coated in nonchalance.
“Un-fucking-believable,” I say under my breath. I turn away and walk toward the back door, slamming it wide open and stalking into the back alley.
“Oh, come on, Henry. Don’t be like that. Why are you upset? You saw me in here with her. You knew what you were walking into when you chose to come through that door,” she yells from behind me.
I hear her close the door and run up closer to me. “Are you mad because I was kissing her, or are you mad because you didn’t have the balls to join in?”
I stop walking, and she catches up to me. Closing my eyes, I quickly try to sort out what I’m feeling and what I could possibly want to say to her. As I take a breath, I look at her. She’s standing a foot away from me, studying my face, searching my eyes for some kind of response, so she knows how to play this right now. How much more she needs to poke to officially drive me away.
But instead, I walk right toward her. Forcing her to shuffle her feet backwards until she hits the brick wall. I crowd her. Breathe in close to her in a way that’s primal. I want to smell her and remember it, because I know it’s going to be the last time.
20
Giselle
I can’t catchmy breath. I’m struggling not to borrow it from him. Press my mouth to his and hope he can breathe the air I need into my lungs so I don’t black out. The cold brick wall to my back is the only thing keeping me standing and alert. He’s so close, my blood is pumping so fast I feel like I might pass out, because everything I’m going to say is a lie from here on out.
He looks at me with seriousness dancing across every feature and says, “We’re adults. You’re allowed to do whatever you want. With whomever you want. But keep me out of it. You want to fuck every tourist who rolls through here, do it. I don’t want to see it. You wanted to fuck me out of your system and now you’re acting like a child who didn’t get her own way.” It makes me flinch, because that’s not what I really want.
I search his eyes for some sign of empathy. He has to know this isn’t easy for me. I feel so much for him, but I can’t do anything about it. I’m fucking paralyzed, being pulled between what I want, and what I can have. And I can’t have him.
He leans forward, boxing me in between his arms. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you. I’ve fucking tried to forget about you countless times. I did my best to move my life forward. You were gone, and I forced myself to move on, but”—he drags in air through his nose, something to ease the energy that’s radiating off of him—“now you’re here. And it’s so fucking complicated.”
How can he say this to me? I’m not prepared for these feelings he’s so easily throwing. Leaning my head back against the brick, I steady myself for what I need to say. I look up at the dark blue, almost black sky to keep the tears from falling. I need to hold it together.