Labor of Love (8 page)

Don't compare them to you and Drew
, I scolded myself.
Just don't.

Because they were nothing like us. I didn't want them to be anything like us. But in a way they were. When Jenna was with Tank, he was all that mattered to her.

Just the thought of ever feeling that way again made me nervous.

On John's recommendation, we all ordered
the étouffée, a spicy Cajun stew served over rice. Cajuns were descendents of Acadian exiles—French Canadians. Their influence was strong in the city.

“I think John has a thing for your chaperone,” Brady said.

He was leaning near so I could hear him over the music being played. His breath wafted over my ear. It sent a shiver, a very nice shiver, down my back.

I looked at him and smiled. “She's not really our chaperone, she's more like our sponsor, I guess.”

“Sponsor? Makes it sound like you're in a rehab program.”

“No, I'm in a cleaning-up-New-Orleans program.” I tapped the table, trying to decide if I should give him the option of having someone else sit here. Was it fair to him for me to take a seat beside him when I wasn't going to spend the night whispering low?

“Listen—”

“You're not wearing your Life Is Good hat,” he said. “Is life suddenly not good?”

“What? Oh.” I touched my head, as though I needed to verify that I hadn't worn it. I usually tucked it into a pocket so I could put it on as soon as I took off my hard hat. But tonight I'd clipped my hair back.

“No. Life is great. I don't
always
wear it. You're not wearing your hat.”

“True.”

And his hair kept falling forward. I wanted to reach out and brush it back.

“So you're sitting here,” he said. “Coincidence or intentional?”

That was a hard one.

“It had to be intentional; I mean, I didn't just discover the chair beneath my butt.”

He smiled. So maybe I was going to get off easy, without having to actually explain anything about what I was feeling.

“You said you're not dating this summer,” he said.

Okay, maybe I was going to have to explain after all. “Right. I'm planning on this being a dateless summer.”

“Dateless summer? Wasn't that a movie?”

“You're thinking of
The Endless Summer
.”

“A summer without a date would seem pretty endless—or at least it would to me.”

I smiled again. And maybe he even had a point. I didn't want to think too much about that.

“The movie was about surfing,” I said.

“So we're really talking about the movie here?”

No, we weren't, but it was a more comfortable topic than my whole not-dating thing. Before I could say anything else, he said, “You don't have a boyfriend.”

“No.”

“So is there someone you're interested in?”

Was he hoping I'd say him? I swallowed hard. This was so hard to say, embarrassing even. “Look, there
was
a boyfriend.”

He studied me for a minute and finally asked, “Bad breakup?”

I nodded.

“When?”

“About six weeks ago.”

“Okay.”

“What do you mean okay?”

“I get it now.”

“What's to get?”

“You don't want to date. And I'm okay with that. I don't want to date either.”

“Really?” Was I relieved or actually a little hurt? Yes, I think I was—hurt.

“Look, just because you don't want to date, and I don't want to date, that doesn't mean I wouldn't like to hang out,” he said. “Or even that we couldn't hang out. I mean, look around. Everyone's pretty much paired up already.”

I did take the time to look around then. Yeah, I could see what he meant.

“So, you're saying we're kinda stuck with each other?” I asked.

“Is that such a bad thing? You're fun. I'm fun. We could double our fun.”

“You had better pickup lines the other night.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but this isn't a pickup.” He shook his head. “I'm not sure what this is. Maybe just trying to define what we've got going on here.”

What was going on? A casual romance? A summer fling? Summer buddies?

Tonight my thoughts were being influenced by the blues. The thrill definitely wasn't gone. It was fun to have someone to share things with, and Jenna was clearly no longer available.

So I could hang out with Brady. Nothing serious. Nothing permanent. At the end of the six weeks, we'd each go our separate ways. And in the meantime, we'd have fun.

And wasn't that the reason I was here?

I mean, besides helping to rebuild, I wanted to have a great summer.

“I'm not looking for anything serious,” I told him.

“Not a problem. I know a thousand knock-knock jokes.”

I smiled. “Seriously—”

“Didn't think you wanted serious.”

“Look, nothing long-term. Just a New Orleans thing,” I said.

“Okay.”

I moved closer to him and moved my shoulders in rhythm to the music.

“Then while I'm here in the Big Easy, only while I'm here”—I bobbed my head to the rhythm and blues—“we could hang out together. A friends-with-benefits kind of thing. The benefits being”—I couldn't believe I was being this bold, but if he wanted the relationship defined, I wanted to make sure we were using the same dictionary—“occasional kissing.”

That really nice smile of his spread across his face. Reaching out, he wrapped his large hand around my neck and brought me nearer. “I'm good with that. Definitely good.”

And then he kissed me.

Yeah, definitely good.

“S
o…you and Brady,” Jenna said quietly later that night as we were lying in the dark.

“Yeah. Me and Brady.” I went to sleep smiling.

The next morning I woke up feeling…good. Really, really good. Great, in fact, not only in body but in spirit.

Some of the soreness and stiffness had finally worked its way out of my muscles, mostly I think because Brady and I did a lot of dancing the night before. Dancing to the blues. Although it hadn't really been any kind of dancing I'd done before. We'd just moved with the music and had a great time.

I'd always thought the blues meant depressing music, music determined to make you blue,
but I'd been happier last night than I'd been in a long time. Being with Brady was a lot of fun. He didn't seem to take anything seriously, and that was what I needed right now. Someone who lived in the moment, someone who was all about fun.

He laughed a lot. He was always smiling. He was nothing at all like Drew. I decided Drew had been a downer. I wasn't certain what I'd ever seen in him.

I thought I actually might be on my way to recovery. And I was loving it.

I'd just pulled on jeans and was working my way into a ratty T-shirt—one I normally wore on laundry day, but decided I should wear for work because who did I want to impress anyway? Brady was already impressed—when my cell phone rang.

I snatched it up, looked at the number, and answered. “Hey, Amber.”

Jenna looked up from tying her shoes, a question in her eyes.

“How's it going?” I asked Amber.

“Awesome! I wanted you guys to know that I panicked for no reason. Everything is totally
cool between me and Chad. I feel like such a dummy for worrying.”

“I'm glad everything's okay.”

Jenna rolled her eyes and went back to tying her shoes.

“Things between us are stronger than ever. I just love him so much.”

“Great.” I didn't see any reason to remind her that the psychic hadn't questioned Amber's current boyfriend. She'd simply said that in college she'd find something better. Of course, that didn't meant she wouldn't find it with Chad. He could be even better as he got older. Or they could break up and another guy would be in Amber's life. Who knew?

“So what's happening with you guys?” Amber asked.

I filled her in on the fact that Jenna was definitely with Tank and I was sort of with Brady.

“Any chance I could borrow your AeroBed if I decide to head on back to New Orleans?” Amber asked.

My knees grew weak and I sat on the edge of the bed. Would Amber freak if I told her that
Saraphina had seen her back here? Yes, she'd definitely freak.

“Absolutely,” I said, pushing past my own discomfort with the fact that Sara could, in fact, see into our lives. “Are you going to come back?”

“I'm thinking about it. Next week maybe. Or the week after. I don't know for sure. I was telling Chad about how satisfying it was and how it made me feel good, so he's sort of interested in maybe coming with me. I mean, we haven't worked out all the details. But he has a car, so he'd drive us. I don't know if we'd stay the whole summer, but maybe a couple of weeks. A couple of weeks are better than nothing, right?”

“A couple of weeks would be awesome,” I told her. “Every little bit helps.”

“Are y'all to the fun stuff yet?”

“What fun stuff? Eating, dancing, shopping?”

“The house. Aren't you going to rebuild it, decorate it?”

“We're rebuilding it. I don't know about
the decorating part.”

“If you'll measure the windows, I'll sew some curtains before I come back.”

Amber was the only person I knew who could—and loved to—use a sewing machine.

“That'd be great. I'll see if I can get that information for you.”

We talked a little more and then I said good-bye.

“What information do you need to get?” Jenna asked, slipping on her backpack.

“Measurements for the windows. She wants to make curtains.”

“She's feeling guilty.”

“Probably. Although maybe she's just embarrassed that she totally overreacted to the psychic reading.”

“Could be. So things are okay with her and Chad?”

“Apparently. The whole breaking up was a false alarm.”

“We'll see what happens when she goes off to college,” Jenna said. “Although we probably shouldn't point that out to her. She might not
apply to any colleges.”

“You want to know something freaky? Yesterday Sara told me that Amber would be coming back.”

“You're kidding?”

I shook my head.

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I didn't tell Amber, though, because her reaction to the other prediction was so out of control.”

“Unlike ours. I mean, we took it in stride, right?”

I grabbed my backpack. Had I taken it in stride?

“Well, at least we don't have to worry anymore. All the predictions have been met,” I said.

“Have they? Or do we just think they have?”

Goose bumps rose on my skin.

“Is there a statute of limitations on how long after a reading something will happen?” I asked.

“I don't know. Could check with Sara.”

“Nah, I'm sure we're in the clear.”

And checking with her might result in her having another vision. I'd definitely become a firm believer that seeing the future wasn't all that it was cracked up to be.

 

It's just a fact that hard-working guys are sexy. Incredibly so. Especially when the afternoon sun beat down unmercifully and they decided it was time to ditch the shirts.

Oh yeah.

It was funny in a way, because when the guys started heading to their cars, the girls stopped hammering. It was like we took a collective breath, and held it, and then released an appreciative sigh. Then we all smiled at each other, a little embarrassed, maybe, and went back to work.

I couldn't believe how fast things were going up. Brady, Tank, Sean, and a couple of other guys were working on the roof. Jenna and I were rebuilding the porch flooring. We'd ripped it up earlier because it had been rotting. I discovered that hammering was an extremely cathartic experience. I just pretended every nail
was Drew's tiny, little, stupid head.

Bang, bang, bang.

It was actually fun.

We still wore the hard hats and safety goggles, but we no longer wore the masks.

“Listen,” Jenna said.

I stopped hammering, looked around. “For what?”

She rolled her eyes. “To me.”

“Okay. What's going on?”

She sighed. “What if Tank stops liking me?”

“He's not going to stop liking you, unless he's an idiot. And if he's an idiot then you want him to stop liking you.”

Bang, bang, bang.

I moved up to put the next nail in place.

“Did you just compliment me?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Did you insult him?”

“Only if he stops liking you.”

“How do I stop that from happening?”

I pounded Drew's head—I mean, the nail—into the board.

“Jenna, you're worrying for nothing. He's
crazy about you. You've never had a boyfriend. Enjoy it.”

“Did you worry when you were dating Drew?”

I gave one more nail a hard pound and sat back on my heels. Had I worried? Good question.

“No, I don't think I did.”

“Do you worry about Brady?”

“No. What I have with Brady is perfect. We both agreed it's only while we're in New Orleans. It's finite. No worries.”

“What if you decide that's not enough?”

“It's enough, Jenna.” I started hammering again. A summer thing with Brady. That's all I wanted. It was nice and safe.

I liked nice and safe.

“W
e should have done this days ago,” Jenna said.

We were sitting in the hot tub beside the pool at the guys' hotel. It was early Friday evening, and it felt wonderful to have the heated water swirling over my aching muscles.

The hotel was a small one with a very historic feel in the French Quarter. The guys had called that morning and told us to pack bathing suits, so we could stop by before hitting the clubs. Jenna and I had changed in Tank's room while the guys had changed in Brady's room. I thought it was generous of the hotel to give them their own rooms. According to Tank, the owner was married to a cousin of a cousin or something.

I was wearing a bikini and when we'd come out of the room, Brady had wiggled his eyebrows at me and said, “Know what you need?”

“A bubblegum machine tattoo?”

And he'd laughed.

I liked making him laugh, liked watching him smile. Liked watching the way he watched me now as the water swirled around us.

“I've had enough,” Jenna said and stood.

“Not me,” Brady said, and his eyes held a challenge.

A challenge to me. Was I going to choose him or Jenna?

Tank had also stood up, and I wondered if maybe Jenna wanted to be alone with him.

“I want a few more minutes,” I said.

“Okay. Great,” Jenna said. “I'll see you in a bit.”

She wrapped a towel around her waist, and Tank wrapped his arm around her. I watched as they walked off.

“He's been dying to get some time alone with her,” Brady said.

I snapped my attention back to him. “Yeah, it just occurred to me that they haven't
really had much of that.”

We'd gone to listen to jazz last night, but it had been another group outing. Group outings were safe. I liked them.

Brady glided through the water until he was sitting by me. “But then, neither have we.”

I shook my head. Probably a little jerkily. Not being alone with him had seemed like the smart thing to do. And now that I was alone with him…I probably shouldn't have been.

“Go out with me tonight,” he said.

I stared at him for a minute. “I
am
going out with you tonight.”

“No. You're going out with me, Tank, and Jenna. I'm asking you to go out with just me.”

“What—you mean like a date? You said you didn't want to date.”

“I said
that
?”

“Yeah. The night we had étouffée.”

“Are you sure? Maybe I was talking about the fruit, date. I don't eat fruit…or vegetables, for that matter.”

Why was he giving me a hard time about this? We had an agreement. I shoved on his
shoulder. “No, you weren't talking about fruit. You were talking about dating.”

“Okay, then, I changed my mind. Is that illegal?”

It could be. When the thought of it made my heart pound so hard that I thought I could die. When we were hanging out with other people, it was easy to find things to talk about—we could always talk about the people around us. If it was just us—

The thought of being with only Brady, with no buffer, no other people, was scary and thrilling. And I suddenly realized that it was something I wanted. I wanted a lot.

I took a deep breath. “Okay.”

He grinned at my use of what seemed to be a word that he thought explained everything—when it really explained nothing.

“Just okay?”

I nodded. “Just okay.”

 

We went to House of Blues. Just the two of us. Brady and me. It was in the French Quarter, close enough that we could walk. I never walked
as much at home as I walked here—but I was starting to appreciate the fact that we didn't have to get into a car to go everywhere.

Especially when Brady held my hand. He'd changed into jeans and a snug black T-shirt. He looked so hot and smelled so good. And it wasn't insect repellent, this time. The guys had gotten ready in Brady's room, while Jenna and I had showered and changed in Tank's. I was wearing white shorts and a red halter-neck top. I'd left my hair down, brushing my bare shoulders.

“I think it's great that you and Brady are going on a date,” Jenna had said, as she ran her fingers through her hair.

“It's not a date.”

She'd looked at me, her lips pursed.

“Okay, it's a date.”

“We'll meet back here in the lobby at eleven-thirty so Tank can drive us back to the dorm in time for the bed check.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

She'd hugged me. “Have fun.”

“You, too.”

“Oh, I will. Definitely.”

Now Brady and I were being seated outside in the voodoo garden. My sandals clicked over the bricks as we followed the hostess to a round table covered in a blue tablecloth. A live band was playing—what else?—blues.

Whenever I thought about voodoo, I thought of scenes from shows or movies where voodoo was used for evil. But I'd learned that, like everything, it has two sides, and here was the peaceful, tranquil, bringing-everything-into-harmony side. Lots of lush, green plants surrounded us. It was simply a place that made me glad to be there.

Brady scooted his chair closer to me. “So I can see the band better,” he said.

I smiled. “Yeah, right.”

“Okay, so I want to be closer to you. Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it's nice, actually.”

Very nice.

After dinner, he moved his chair even closer, put his arm around me, and we settled back to enjoy the music—drinking virgin daiquiris so we wouldn't get kicked out for taking space
from paying customers.

It felt right. And was no longer scaring me. Or at least not scaring me as much as it had. As long as I kept everything in perspective.

When the band took a break, I said, “This hanging out that we're doing, it's only for the summer.”

I needed to be sure that I wasn't expecting more than I was going to get. And that
he
wasn't expecting more than he was going to get.

“Right,” Brady said. “That's what we both wanted. Just for the summer, just while we're here.”

“I just want to make sure that you understand that it's
only
while we're in the Big Easy, even though we've sorta moved into actual dating territory.”

“I get it.”

Did he?

“I mean, it's a set period of time. When one of us leaves New Orleans—whoever leaves first—that's it, it's over. No good-bye. Good-bye is understood.”

“What? You want me to sign a contract? I
get what you're saying. And it's what I want, too. A hundred percent.”

“I just don't want another breakup. I just want an ‘it's over' but without either of us saying it's over.”

“And you think that'll make it easier?”

“Knowing that it's coming, being prepared? Yeah, I do. We'll be together five weeks, and then that's it. We move on.”

“Okay.”

I released a long sigh. “Okay.”

It would be easier. I was sure it would be.

He absently-mindedly traced his finger across my bare shoulders, back and forth. It felt delicious.

“Where are you going to go to college?” he asked.

“I haven't decided for sure.”

“Okay.”

“Why do you say that so much? Just ‘okay.'”

“So you know I heard you, but don't have anything else to add.” He nuzzled my neck. “And sometimes just so you know I understand.”

We were in the shadows. No one was paying
any attention to us. He kissed my shoulder, and I thought I might not wear anything that covered my shoulders ever again.

“You understand a lot without me saying much,” I said.

“I have three sisters who think I'm Dr. Phil. I've heard about every rotten thing that every guy they've dated has ever done to them. And they always end with, ‘If you ever do that to a girl…'”

His voice had gone prissy at the end.

“As though I would,” he finished in his normal voice.

“What would they do if you did?”

He shrugged. “They never say. But knowing them, it'd be a fate worse than death—forcing me to sit through a marathon of romantic comedies or something.”

Brady had a way of always making me smile.

“Still, I bet you make a great Dr. Phil.”

He pointed up. “Especially once I get the bald thing going.”

I laughed. “You're really bothered about losing your hair.”

“Yeah, I think I am. Vain, I guess.”

I leaned into him. “You really shouldn't worry about it.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Then he leaned in and kissed me. Being with him without Jenna around wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as I'd expected it to be. Actually, it seemed natural.

He told me funny stories about his sisters. Two were older, one younger, and he finally admitted that he was offended that they'd think he'd ever do any of the jerk stuff guys had pulled on them.

“Why can't relationships be easy?” I finally asked.

He shrugged. “Would they be worth it if they were?”

“I just wonder how you ever know…this is the one.” I told him about Amber's reading and the reason she'd bugged out on us.

“Sean liked her,” he said.

“You want to hear the really weird thing?” I asked.

“There's something weirder than a psychic's
prediction and your friend freaking out because Tank has ink?”

“Well, maybe not weirder, but…well, the thing is, Amber has always talked about going to Rice. It's her first choice, and there's Sean…at Rice.”

“Mmm. So maybe in another year or so…”

“Maybe.”

“I'll let him know.”

“No.” I leaned back. “You can't do that. Then you're influencing it and making it happen.”

“I've got something else I want to make happen.”

And then he was kissing me again. I stopped thinking about Amber and Sean or Jenna and Tank. Or Sara and her predictions.

I was only thinking about how much I liked kissing Brady.

We left the restaurant at ten, which gave us an hour and a half before we had to meet up with Tank and Jenna and head back to the dorm. Neither of us was in the mood for the madness of Bourbon Street, so we just walked along the river. We could see the lights of
the riverboats as they traveled along the Mississippi. It was all so romantic.

“You know, I don't even know your last name,” I said, when we began walking back to the hotel.

“Miller.”

I smiled at him. Brady Miller. I liked it.

“And yours?”

“Delaney,” I responded.

“I thought you'd have an Italian-sounding name.”

I grinned. “That's my mom's side of the family.”

When we got to the lobby, Jenna and Tank were waiting for us. Tank drove us back to the dorm. While he walked Jenna to the door, Brady and I lagged behind.

“So being alone together wasn't so bad,” I said.

He chuckled. “You really know how to stroke my ego.”

I groaned. “I'm sorry. I just, I don't know, I just feel like I can say what's on my mind when I'm with you. That's a good thing, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Seriously, though, I had a great time,” I told him.

“Yeah, me, too.”

Then he kissed me good night.