“Miniature golf course? You talking about putt-putt golf?” Maybelle put her cup down forcefully, spilling some, and exhaled hard enough to flare her nostrils.

  “Thank you,” she said to Gwen when she brought out a plate of bacon. “And yes, putt-putt golf. There don’t seem to be any children in the neighborhood, but who doesn’t love putt-putt golf? I’ve already ordered the big windmill, and since this is New Orleans, I found a twelve-foot woman with pasties and a thong hanging from a pole. That’s going right in the front to attract folks into the yard to play with me.”

  “Are you a fan of golf?” Maybelle seemed to be trying to figure her out, and her interrogation wasn’t going well.

  The food here was good enough to deal with Maybelle’s grilling, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t fuck with her a little bit. Life was all about finding small pleasures where you could get them. “Golf is boring as hell, but miniature golf is a lifelong commitment. Have you ever tried to get that little orange ball past the blades of the windmill? And I haven’t tried to drop it in the hole through the kicking legs of the twelve-foot Amazon with the light-up pasties, but I can’t wait to try.”

  Maybelle appeared to be digesting what she said, and Gwen delivered her waffles. “Um, you do realize Lydia’s house is in a historic district, right? The neighbors aren’t going to appreciate becoming a spectacle. What you’re planning isn’t a good idea at all. That might get folks all riled up, and that don’t ever end well.”

  She poured a river of syrup on her waffles and nodded. “Miss Potts didn’t mention any kind of restrictions since we’re not in the Quarter, and it’s not Lydia’s house any longer. It’s the house of Joe, and Joe loves miniature golf.” She chewed a wad of waffle as Maybelle shook her head. “Think of it as my new castle, and instead of a moat it’ll have eighteen holes of fun.”

  “Don’t you think the neighbors might get pissed, you doing that?”

  “Once they know I’m not charging them, they’ll all be on board.” She started eating bacon like it was her job. “This was delicious, and I see meatloaf is the special, so I might see you tonight.” She peeled off some money and accepted a coffee to go from Gwen.

  “If you like chili, we’re having that tomorrow,” Maybelle said as she scooted out of the booth. “See you soon.”

  “Can’t wait.” She waved to Maybelle and blew Gwen a kiss. Meatloaf gave her heartburn even if she loved it, but not as much as chili and all the questions Maybelle served with her tasty food. The walk back was nice even though the temperature had dropped dramatically, but she decided to enjoy it considering what was to come this summer. She’d only been to Louisiana in the summer once, and she’d been convinced her face would eventually melt off while waiting for a cab.

  She got home, and with her new cable service, she saw that New York was frigid by comparison. She didn’t miss snow, slush, and congestion, but she also couldn’t imagine selling the brownstone. Even if this move was permanent, there were too many memories of her parents tied up there to ever let it go. This place with the pretty neighbor, quirky people, and open spaces appealed to her desire for anonymity. No one was calling offering words of condolence they thought she wanted to hear but didn’t really mean.

  Loss sucked. She wrote for a living, and that was the best way to describe it. Early morning phone calls to inform you of loss sucked too. It was like an alarm bell ringing, signaling the end of your life as you knew it. There would most likely be no one else, ever, who understood you and accepted you like the two people who made you.

  “You know, kid,” she heard her father’s voice, “the day you were born was the first time I realized how quickly I could fall in love. Even your mother took a couple of months to get me to do that. All those years watching you grow up gave me a sense of pride I couldn’t really put into words, but you were something else. No matter what happens, I know you’re going to be okay. You’re a Whitlock.”

  “It was easier with you here, Pop.”

  She found DJ in the kitchen making coffee and reading the paper. In some ways he reminded her of her dad. He was honest, funny, had a great crew—her father had said you had to be a great boss to keep good people. Unfortunately for DJ, he wasn’t tall with dark hair and blue eyes, all traits she’d inherited from her father.

  “Morning.” She grabbed a couple of mugs and waited for the pot to finish. The coffee Gwen had given her had gotten cold as she conversed with her dead parents.

  “Good morning, Joe. Went down to Maybelle’s, huh?” DJ moved the sugar closer to him for the five tablespoons he put in his coffee.

  “I got up early, and unfortunately it’s the only place open.”

  He started with the sugar but appeared confused. “You don’t like the food?”

  “Love the food, it’s the barrage of questions I could do without.” She watched the cream go in next, reminding her she needed to replenish her coffee supplies. Keeping everyone caffeinated was an expense she’d gladly shoulder, but they approached coffee more like a vehicle to get their cream and sugar intake for the day.

  “You know what you need to do.” He stirred his coffee and grinned with mischief. “If you want to confuse Maybelle, that is. That woman thinks of herself as a one-woman neighborhood watch, or perhaps she’s writing a gossip rag about all of us in the neighborhood because no one is immune from Maybelle’s mouth.”

  “What do I need to do?” the fly said to the spider, since she’d willingly walked into his web.

  “You need to go with a date. Maybe take Hayley from next door. She’s awful cute, single, and stays home way too much.” He scratched the side of his mouth like it was a slick move. “You’re a Southerner now, so show some hospitality and ask her out.”

  “That’s a great idea, DJ. Do you think she’d be interested?”

  He laughed and shook his finger at her. “You’d make a cute couple if only you’d listen to a progressive old man.”

  “It’s Saturday, old man, so anything’s possible.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “What’d you think?” Marlo was straightening the piles in her office, which wasn’t helping anything. Hayley was convinced there was a manuscript Abraham Lincoln wrote lost in all the crap in Marlo’s office, never to be found. Marlo blew her a kiss when she handed over a latte. “That story was hot. Too bad my place doesn’t come with a view like that. I’d consider moving for one that did.”

  Hayley just nodded, not wanting to give away that Butch’s place did, in fact, come with that view.

  “All we need to do is figure out who wrote it and have them sign a contract. The writing was so good—they should’ve put their name on it.”

  Butch had to have written the piece since it described everything happening at her house. Her problem was how to find out if Butch wrote the story. If her only option was knocking on the door and asking, she was screwed. That she’d followed the directions in the story step by step wasn’t the problem because she’d done it not only for Butch but for herself. The problem would be if her mother and Marlo found out. There were just certain things your mother and boss shouldn’t know about you.

  “The writing style seems familiar, but I can’t place it. You may be right, that it’s one of ours and they’re not used to writing this stuff.” Marlo kept talking, not concerned Hayley hadn’t contributed anything.

  “Let me run up and get my notes for the meeting today, and I’ll be right back.” When she reached her office, there were a few stacks of work on her desk, which meant Fabio had dropped all of it off after she’d left early. None of it was pressing, so she only packed up a few things to bring home. She went down thirty minutes later.

  Their meeting with the well-known romance writer went well, and between her and Marlo, they were able to answer all her concerns, signing her to a contract for her next book. That took a couple of hours, so Marlo invited them out to lunch. Hayley liked the new author and was looking forward to working with her. She was familiar with her work and liked the good balance of heat and romance she put into every story. The combination certainly made you want to turn the page.

  It was late afternoon by the time they finished, so she walked to the Erin Go Braugh and sat at the bar. There was a crowd, but it wasn’t crowded.

  “What’ll it be, sexy?” Lucy dropped a cocktail napkin in front of her and blew her a kiss.

  “Something with whiskey in it. I read somewhere this is the place for whiskey.”

  Lucy went to work, and Hayley waved to the people she’d met through Lucy.

  “What’s shaking, sweet pea?” She placed the drink in front of her and told the other bartender she was taking a break. The band started up, so they went through the office to the small patio out back. “What’s wrong? You should be much happier to see me, and bonus, I’m coming over tomorrow.”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m tired from having my professional face on since nine this morning. We signed a new romance writer, then we had lunch and talked about romance, so of course I thought about you. It’s why I’m here.” She sipped her drink, coughing at the strength, making this one her limit. All she needed was to go home drunk and do a striptease in her bedroom window. Though that might be like waving a red sweater in front of a bull and make Butch charge right on over. Maybe she’d have a couple more.

  “Come on,” Lucy said, flicking her on the back of the head. “I know you, and something’s not quite right.” She lost her smile and tried to appear serious. “Tell Dr. Lucy all about it. I’m listening and I care.”

  “Shut up.” She waved her hand at her. “I would, but it’s embarrassing, which means you’re going to tease me until I’ll want to move back to New York.” She covered her face with her hands, not believing she didn’t have more willpower to keep her mouth shut. That only meant she’d be naked before ten.

  “That’s not fair. I’ve told you every embarrassing thing I’ve done, and we’ve only known each other six months. If you’re worried about me judging you, remember Kerry Lee.”

  She’d been horrified for Lucy when she’d told her the story of this woman who’d sweet-talked her into going home with her one night. Lucy wasn’t the one-night stand kind of girl, not usually, but Kerry Lee had checked off a lot of her boxes, so she’d agreed. After they’d gotten naked and had gotten intimate, Kerry Lee had puked where no woman ever wanted to be doused in vomit. Hayley had found Lucy’s retelling both horrifying and amusing, but really it was a nightmare she never wanted to experience.

  “That story took courage to tell, and it gives me the willies every time it pops into my head.” She smiled as Lucy nodded. “Okay.” She took a breath and blew it out slowly. “You know how I like to read upstairs.” Lucy kept nodding, so she told her what had happened—from her touching herself, Butch getting naked then touching herself, to the story she received. She opened her email from jdeaux000069 and the attached file and stayed silent as Lucy read.

  “I’m no literary expert like you, but this is fucking hot.” Lucy fanned herself even though the space was cold. “She wrote this? Wait, she wrote this and submitted it? How is that even possible if you two have never met?”

  “My best guess is the Mouth of the South and his posse. George knows what I do and told all his bowling buddies, which includes DJ.” It was embarrassing to admit everything she had, but she did feel better since Lucy wasn’t on the ground rolling around in laughter. “One Google search later got her to Fleur-de-Lis and the anthology.”

  “Okay, that’s something I’ll have to unpack later, and clearly renovation isn’t her only talent.” Lucy handed her phone back and put her hand on Hayley’s forearm. “Are you okay after reading that?”

  “Um…” She would’ve said more but the heat in her ears was making her uncomfortable.

  “That’s an interesting reaction. Spill.”

  “I read that and gave her what she wanted, only I didn’t take my clothes off. I do have some standards.” The heat in her face was probably warming the entire patio and the building next door.

  “Clearly, and if you think I’m going to make fun of you, you’re dead wrong. What you should be doing is sitting at home and writing a story for this anthology from your point of view, then emailing it back to her.” Lucy got up and hugged her. “Would it be wrong to say I’m jealous?”

  “You don’t think it’s crazy?” She wanted to believe Lucy as much as she’d wanted to believe her parents when they’d tried explaining Santa was real after the class bully had spilled the truth.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way because I’m not criticizing you, but you’re wound a little on the tight side. If Butch loosens you up a bit and makes you consider broadening the borders you’ve fenced yourself in with, then more power to her.” Lucy kissed her cheek followed by giving her a loud raspberry. “You’re way more beautiful than you’ll ever think you are, Hayley, and Butch clearly thinks so. That makes me believe she’s highly intelligent and not planning your untimely demise. Maybe this is who you’ve been waiting for, even if it’s unconventional.”

  “I still want you to come over tomorrow. I need your opinion on whether or not she’s crazy or just all my fantasies rolled into one.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be there. Now finish your drink and get home. If you try hard enough and put out enough bait, you’ll lure the big bear to your yard. Maybe make a trail from her front door to yours with all your sexy underwear.”

  She’d lucked out finding Lucy, and their talk had unraveled the tension in her stomach. “Why in the hell didn’t I think of that. It’s genius.”

  “I know, right?”

  They chatted some more until Lucy’s break was over, and Lucy got her a ride home, declaring she didn’t want her walking home alone. It was after seven by the time she got home, and Butch’s house was dark, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t there.

  Hayley sighed at the kitchen window before going upstairs and changing into her oldest sleep pants. It was too late to start getting ready to go out again and too early to go to bed, so she decided on a few hours of television. Her open laptop was like a siren’s song, though, and she was powerless to resist it. Seeing yourself through someone else’s lens was interesting. Who ever thought of themselves as beautiful unless they were vain?

  She opened the story again, but this time she read it with Butch and herself in mind. The intimacy of the words flowed over her and made a connection from her brain to her clit. Butch had tapped into some fantasy she’d never had, making it impossible not to get turned-on. It wasn’t hard to imagine Butch standing across from her, loving her every move, getting hard for her, and waiting to claim her and take everything she wanted to offer her.

  The last couple of years had been filled with finishing graduate school, followed by a crappy entry-level publishing job before her move. The crappy job had sucked up all her time, leaving no room for a social life. Now she was ready. She was ready for someone who’d make her wet with just their presence, just a look and, once they had, someone who would enjoy touching her until she came. That made her think of Butch’s hands again. She’d never experienced this overwhelming need before, especially for a total stranger. The woman could be a complete jerk, for all she knew.

  “I really need to go out on a date or find a hobby. Taxidermy, maybe.” She turned so she could drape her legs over the arm of her chair. Her laptop went on the floor so she could put her hands in her pants. Obviously, she’d already found a hobby, and it didn’t require the need to procure dead animals.

  She was so wet she’d have to shower again after she was done, but her whole world had narrowed to her hard clit. It’d be easy to come fast, but the story made her slow down and enjoy this. Her nipple stiffened when she brought her other hand up and pinched as hard as she could stand. The T-shirt she’d put on felt rough against her chest, but she was too far gone to stop and take it off.

  “Fuck, what’s happening to me?” She put two fingers over her clit and stroked hard and fast. There was no stopping now, no patience, no control, and no time to think about anything except the orgasm she needed. “God,” she yelled as an intense heat seared through her, and she arched into her hand. This would’ve been better with a partner, better with Butch, but she felt good.

  It hadn’t occurred to her to glance at Butch’s window, and she wasn’t surprised to see her standing there when she finally did. Maybe she should’ve felt bad letting Butch see her yet again, but if she was honest with herself, she wanted Butch to watch. She wanted her to because she was the reason she’d been driven to touch herself.

  Butch didn’t look away, and neither did she as she stretched before standing up. She kept her eyes on Butch and laughed when Butch wiped her brow and gave her a wide smile. Her plan was to stand there as long as Butch stayed at her window, and she wished she had Butch’s phone number. She could be convinced to repeat the whole process, but with Butch’s head between her legs this time, if only she had the ability to talk to her without leaving the house. But then…would it mess with the sensuality of what they were enjoying? Words could ruin this thing between them.

  There were certain truths everyone had to face about themselves, and her truth was that she was horrible at relationships. One or two dates were fine, but then she started a list of everything that was wrong with the person, from the way they chewed to whatever little tic they had. Going out with someone for more than a short period of time was an invitation to be driven mad, and she wasn’t into self-inflicted pain. There was no way of knowing if Butch would find a way to annoy her, so whatever this was between them was safe—for now at least.

  “Mom would be so proud,” she said and laughed. She’d moved to New Orleans and become an exhibitionist. That made her laugh again, which made Butch smile. She studied everything about Butch that she could see of her. It gave her the urge to walk next door and take Butch to bed, but she waved and stepped back into the darkest part of the room.