Page 13 of Ride Me

Chapter 3

“Possessed? Like The Exorcist possessed?”

“More like Whoopi Goldberg in Ghost possessed. Sort of. Look, voodoo is my family’s religion, not mine. It’s hard to explain, which is why I gave you that book last night.”

Michelle had her feet propped on the desk by the window, blocking the morning view of Rousseau’s apartment. She was twirling a letter opener in her hand, an old habit that gave away her nerves. She definitely didn’t like having this conversation. Maybe that was why she’d found a way to delay it until after breakfast.

But Allegra hadn’t been able to sleep for thinking about it.

She sat on the fat, soft daybed in the living room, the book open in her lap while she tried to take it all in. If this was a joke, Michelle had pulled out all the stops to make it especially convincing.

“I’m just covering all the bases here. First you tell me he sleeps around too much because he’s a manwhore, and now he does it because he’s possessed. Be honest, do you two have a history I don’t know about?”

“No.”

Well that was adamant. Sincere. But adamant.

“Okay then, is this some kind of NOLA hazing for new residents I wasn’t aware of? I’m not saying you aren’t the right person for the job if it is. You’re the only one I know who could come up with something this twisted.”

“Thanks.”

Allegra’s lips quirked at her sarcasm. “You’re welcome. Were the paintings you’ve been filling the place up with lately a part of it? All those graveyards and grabby demons meant to get me in the right frame of mind?”

“Grabby demons?” Michelle made a face. “I’m glad you’re not the local art critic, but no. No joke. No hazing. No jealous secret plan to keep you away from the golden penis of happiness.”

Allegra snorted, but Michelle was no longer in the mood to laugh. “Mama knows about Rousseau’s case. He even came to her once, but she told him she couldn’t help him. She’s also the one who gave me that book, if that makes a difference.”

Oddly enough, it did. Allegra sat up straighter, her hopeful smile disappearing. Michelle’s mother was a genuine voodoo priestess who ran a small shop on Royal, selling charms and special oils as well as giving the occasional reading.

Mambo Toussaint was the genuine article. The oil she’d given Allegra to put in her bath worked better than all the expensive liniments and lotions her therapists had given her for the pain in her knee and hip. And she knew things. Not in the same way Ben seemed to, but she was still uncanny.

Sheknew about Rousseau?

Did Michelle and her mother really believe that the hot guy who owned the coffee shop was hosting a spirit called a—she looked down at the book—a Loa?

Call me by my other name.

“Rousseau believes this, doesn’t he? That he’s possessed? So the nickname people call him around town is actually...”

“The name of the Loa, yes.”

“A sex Loa named Bone Daddy. You realize how that sounds, right?”

“Of course I do.” Michelle shifted, getting up from the chair and nudging her workout bag with her foot. “I ran away from this once, ignored it, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I wish I didn’t know any of this existed. Believe me. But it does and I do. And now so do you.”

“Where are you going?”

She’d picked the bag up and taken a step toward the door. “I have a kickboxing lesson to get to.”

“I thought we were going to talk about this.”

There was a pain in Michelle’s expression Allegra didn’t understand. “I can’t right now. Just read the book and don’t leave the apartment until I get back, okay? And pay attention to the notes Mama put in the margins.”

“Michelle?” Allegra tilted her head to study her roommate. “Are you okay? I mean other than being stressed about my recent crush on Whoopi Goldberg and the golden penis of happiness.”

Her expression softened. “I’ll be fine. Read that book, especially chapter eleven.”

She walked out the door as if her ass were on fire, and Allegra fell back onto the pillows with a gusty sigh.

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