Page 58 of Absinthe Dreams
He opened my door for me just as soon as I’d turned off the car and the door locks unlatched.
He reached down a hand and pulled me into his arms just as soon as I could swing my legs out to stand up, and that kiss? That kiss felt just like coming home.
“Here,” he murmured. “Give me that.” He took my tote bag from me and led me over to the fire.
“Hi!”
“Hey there!” some of the girls and guys called practically in unison.
“Beer?” Cypress asked me, pulling one out of the cooler and holding it up.
“My endless gratitude,” I said, taking it from him, only to have Collier take it from me and use a bottle opener on his keys to pop the top for me and hand it back.
“Find a seat, baby. I’m going to go put this up in the house.” Chainsaw kissed my temple, and I went over to the two empty seats next to one another left open by the fire.
“Long day?” Hex asked.
“Very,” I said.
“I can’t even imagine what that’s like, being a doctor, much less in anemergency room,” Alina said from LaCroix’s lap, taking a swig from the neck of her bottle.
“Fulfilling on a good day, devastating on a bad one,” I said honestly.
A woman I hadn’t met yet, sitting next to Collier, laughed and said, “Sounds like bein’ that one’s mother.” She gestured to a teen boy. “’An that one’s sister.” She gestured to Cypress.
I chuckled and introduced myself. “Genesis Bordelon.”
She smiled at me and said, “Jessie-Lou Gaudet.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” I said.
“Velina,” a woman said, coming back from the house and dropping into the seat between me and Saint.
“Genesis, most people just call me Gen.”
“Sweet, welcome to the madhouse,” she said, and there were light chuckles that swept around the fire.
It was a balm to the soul, just chilling after a long day by the swamp. Chainsaw sprayed me down with Avon’sSkin So Soft, swearing by its mosquito-repelling properties, and, like ReJeanne had with her Alka-Seltzer for a bladder infection, byGod, he too was right. I didn’t think I had a single one land on me, and it smelled a hell of a lot better than any of the brand-nameactualmosquito repellants on the market.
The food was up not long after I arrived, and it was fuckingamazing, the only way South Louisiana home-cooked Cajun seafood boil can be. I’d say crawfish boil, which the boil was made of predominantly, sure, but there was also shrimp, crab, of course, corn, potatoes, and spicy homemade sausage. I came across a chunk of flesh that I didn’t recognize immediately and asked what it was. Cypress said around a mouthful, “Fresh gator, caught this mornin’.”
I’d eaten gator before, so it was no thing for me, and it was pretty damn good. Especially washed down with the cold, hoppy beer we were drinking.
Chainsaw held my hand, fingers laced and hanging between our camp chairs when we weren’t eating, and it was pleasant, like our hands were meant for each other. Still, as the evening wore on, the deeper the night became, all I wished for, despite the good company, was a rest in my lover’s arms.
He led me to the house, arm around me, letting me lean on him. The front steps of the porch creaked beneath our feet, and the screen door screeched on its hinges. It was an old place, just on the edge of the bayou, and I wondered briefly as I followed him through the house to his bedroom, what it might be like to live outside the city.
I loved my little one-bedroom, but it was expensive, and I wasn’t sure about the long-term sustainability of two of us living in it. It wasn’t anything to concern myself withnow, but I was constantly thinking of my future. A big part of what I wanted for my future wasstability.A home no one could take away from me, no matter what, was a big part of that.
He shut the bedroom door behind me, and I found my tote sitting on the made bed. It was a bachelor’s pad in here – thewalls bare, the carpet clean – or as clean as it could get for being so old. It was threadbare, and that pea soup green that was popular in the seventies.
“Got a lot of big thoughts going on up there, huh, baby?” he asked me, coming up behind me and putting his hands on my waist. I leaned back into him and closed my eyes, putting my hand up to caress the side of his muscular neck.
“Not so very many,” I said. “I’m justtired.”
“Yeah, I bet,” he said, and he was already gathering the hem of my tee in his hands. Without him even having to ask, I raised my hands above my head to let him take the shirt.
I turned around and shoved gently at his cut, taking it off him with the reverence that I knew it deserved and asking softly, “Where do you usually hang this when you’re here?”
