Page 51 of Mr. Not Nice Guy

Liza smiles another wide, misty smile and hooks her arm around my waist to hug me for a second before approaching August. She tugs the sleeve of his jacket, causing him to lean sideways and incline his ear toward her mouth. She whispers something to him as well; something I’m guessing is similar to what she just said to me. He fixes his gaze on me, his expression warm and content and so full of love that he might as well be shouting those three little words from the rooftops.

After she releases his sleeve, August rights his head and offers her a quick, but equally warm smile. “Thanks, Liza.”

She crinkles her nose at him before trotting in her stilettos back to Brennan’s side and reaches into the box, then lifts out two cupcakes and holds them out to August and me. She retrieves two more, and Brennan obediently sets the box on a nearby table, then takes the cupcake she’s holding out for him.

Holding it gingerly between his fingertips, Brennan catches my gaze. “You good, darlin’?” he asks in a tone reminiscent of the one he used just before the scary incident at the party weeks back, and I’m struck by the fact that these aregoodpeople. If life has taught me anything, it’s that truly good people are hard to come by, and being surrounded by them in the middle of what I was dreading more than anything else is just one more thing that’s going to help me get through this suffocating loss.

“I am,” I assure him, stepping close to August, slipping my arm around his waist, and leaning into his side.

Brennan cuts his gaze from me, to August, and then back again. “Good.”

“Okaa-aaay…” Liza sing-songs, lifting her cupcake in a salute of sorts. “A sugar toast to our super sweet new girl on her big day.”

She really is adorable, and I have to laugh as we all lightly tap the bases of the cupcakes together and say in unison, “Cheers!”

Unable to resist toying with August, I go straight for a lick of the frosting while eyeballing him and arching a brow seductively. “Mmmm…”I smack my lips. “Maybe I should save this so we cancelebratelater.”

His hands pause where they were peeling off the paper on his cupcake, and a slight flush creeps up his cheeks while heat darkens his eyes to that deep emerald green that I love. He clears his throat and opens his mouth to respond, but Liza interjects with a mischievous giggle.

“I mean, there’s two more in the box.” She laughs again, wrapping her arm around Brennan’s and pulling him away. “We just wanted to say congratulations on the single, but we’re going to get out of here for now.” She gestures at me with the cupcake. “We’ll see y’all at the party.”

I blindly wave at them and turn to August, taking the cupcake from him and setting it in the box. Poising my cupcake next to his mouth, I meet his lidded gaze. “Care to visit the dressing room with me?”

He swipes his finger through the frosting, smears it across my lips, and then takes his sweet time licking it off before he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. “I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

I haveto admit that whoever’s in charge of party planning for Frenchmen Street Records has way better taste than whoever planned the Goldmember party from a couple months back. Rather than a gaudy, monochromatic theme in a boujee ballroom that reeks of pretentiousness, my single-release shindig is taking place at one of the ancient bars on Bourbon Street, which has been there so long that essentially every legendary, homegrown jazz artist that rose to fame from humble beginnings here in New Orleans has played here. The decor is little more than flickering tabletop candles and royal blue up-lighting around the perimeter, and the space opens up to a courtyard with a fountain in the center and copper lanterns glowing from the brick walls. A stage is positioned in a way that’s partially in the bar and partially in the courtyard, and a large screen has been mounted behind it. On it is my name in big, red letters, and that’s a little surreal.

I wish Maw-Maw could see it.

And maybe she can.

To my relief, I was not expected to grace the stage immediately and do my little number for these people, rather some jazz band made up of people I’ve never seen before were up there jamming out when August and I arrived.

We mingle for a few minutes, and I get a million handshakes and high-fives, but I have trouble both taking my eyes off the screen and shaking the wish that Maw-Maw could be here out of my mind enough to focus on the people.

“What, what!” Frankie’s voice cuts through the music and loud murmur of the crowd. She pushes her way through the people with both Luke and a bartender trailing her. The bartender’s holding a tray of shots, and they all stop in front of August and me. “It’s time, y’all.”

I smile at her. I’ve spent enough time with Frankie to be familiar with her dry humor and infectious exuberance, and I really appreciate it right now when I’m fighting my emotions. “Time for what?”

“Tradition.” She gestures at the bartender as though presenting him on a silver platter. On cue, he balances the tray in one hand while flicking his hand to fire up a lighter, and then torches the top of the shots. The tray lights up like a small bonfire, and he lowers it, offering the drinks to us. Frankie swipes two of them and holds them out for August and me.

August takes them from her and hands one to me. “Ah yes. The famous Flaming Dragon.” He waves the shot slightly, causing the flame to sway and flicker, but it continues to burn. “I’ve learned this is what we do whenever there’s a grand celebration.” He pauses to turn his head and kiss my temple. “This is certainly that.”

I smile, leaning into his side and pressing my cheek against his shoulder. Both Frankie and Luke squint at us.

Luke wiggles his brows up and down. “Guess y’all managed to kiss and make up, huh?”

“Yeah, anyway.” Frankie lifts her shot high. “To our newest golden girl.” She snorts. “And herman. Apparently.”

A glance at August’s face tells me he’s completely unfazed, so I hitch one shoulder and clink my glass against theirs. “Cheers, y’all.”

With that, we all blow out the shots and down them.

August cringes and shakes his head slightly as he sets the glass down on the tray. He turns directly to me and brings his mouth close to my ear. “I have to go take care of something, but I’ll be back shortly.”

I lift my chin up at him, daring him to test the waters of this new territory known as PDA in front of his colleagues. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

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