Page 8 of Jameson: Mayhem Makers

“I will. Maybe on the trip, or maybe when we get to Seattle. I don’t want to plan out something and be disappointed if it doesn’t happen.”

Elise arched a perfectly microbladed brow at me. “Well, I hope you’re going to be open-minded. We’re going to be partying a lot on this trip, and that could lead to some pretty hot one-night stands. No strings attached; just pure fun.”

I couldn’t help but smile. She had a point, and I always envied the women in my romance novels who had amazing sex. “I will be open-minded, but I won’t make any guarantees.”

My best friend did a little shimmy in her seat. “This is going to be the best road trip ever!”

After dinner, we went back to the hotel to change, then took an Uber to Bourbon Street, opting to leave the car in case we got too drunk to drive.

Which we probably would.

When I stepped out of the Uber, the humid air of New Orleans hit me instantly, thick with the scent of jasmine and street food.

I tilted my head back to look up at the towering buildings of the French Quarter, each one a mix of faded colors and flickering lights. The neon signs of Bourbon Street blinked like a siren’s call—vibrant and alive.

Beside me, Elise scrambled to get out, her laughter bubbling over as she fought to keep her heels from getting stuck in the pavement cracks. "Okay, this is going to be epic!" my best friend said, tugging her skirt down and adjusting her lacy tank top.

"Don't jinx it." I grinned, fixing my own skirt to make sure my ass wasn’t hanging out.

Elise was already scanning the street, wide-eyed. "I can't believe we’re finally here! This place is unreal."

It was chaos in the best possible way. The street was alive with a symphony of sounds: the clinking of beads, the low hum of jazz spilling from doorways, and the shouts of people trying to catch a parade of brightly colored plastic necklaces. Groups of people shuffled between street performers and open-door bars, their voices blending with the clang of cymbals in the distance.

Elise nudged me. “Maybe we should use our new IDs. You know, practice being our new selves.”

I agreed with a nod. “Good idea. Especially if my dad starts trying to track me.”

Elise’s eyes landed on a bartender outside a bar waving a tray of hurricanes. "Do we?” Before I could answer, she continued, “We should definitely do that,” her voice barely audible over all the noise.

I laughed. “It’s only nine o’clock. We can at least wait until we’ve explored a little.”

"I guess. Just look at it," Elise gestured to the street, her face flushed with excitement. "It’s like we’ve stepped into another world."

We made our way down the crowded street, dodging groups of people wearing beads they’d probably earned in ways I didn’t want to think about. At one point, someone waved a stack of beads in front of us, slowing us down.

Elise looked at me and shrugged before pulling up her shirt and flashing the man with a giggle.

Gasping, I darted my gaze away. “Elise!” I shrieked, fighting my own laughter.

“What? We’re in New Orleans, baby. We have to get some beads!”

When I looked back at my best friend, her shirt was back in place, and she wore a purple beaded necklace.

The man looked expectantly at me, raising the beads.

I shook my head with a nervous chuckle. “No, thanks.”

Giving me a knowing smile, he shrugged before walking away.

“I can’t believe you did that,” I commented.

Elise linked her arm through mine. “You only live once.”

Everywhere we went, the energy of the street swirled around us. I’d never seen anything like it. It felt like a place perpetually stuck between twilight and dawn, with music pulsing in the background and the drinks flowing freely. It was a feeling of being alive, of shedding everything else for the night.

"I want to hear live jazz," I said. "Do you think we can find a place?"

"Of course we can," Elise said with a playful nudge. “But first, we have to get a hurricane.”

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