Hook-Ups and Hang-Ups: A Swamp Bottom Novella Page 3

  “We’re going to talk about this whether you like it or not, Snow White.”

  Bristling at his tone, I threw the file that I’d picked up back onto my desk and jumped to my feet. “We have nothing to say. You want to talk? Talk to Savannah. She loves to talk…never shuts up.”

  Storming into the kitchenette, I slammed coffee mugs and spoons around like they’d done hard time in prison. After pouring a hot cup of coffee, I wrapped my fingers around it, praying for warmth to counteract the ice in my veins.

  The kitchenette door slammed, and I smelled him before I heard him

  “You want to freeze me out, Adelaide? Fine. You stand there with your back turned and pretend it didn’t happen, but don’t you fucking dare make up some bullshit story about some other guy named Joe.”

  “Jim.”

  “What-the-fuck-ever. I know you, Adelaide Dubois, and you’re not going to bed-hop no matter how mad at yourself you may be. It’s not your style.”

  I curled my hand around the spoon. “How the hell would you know what my style is, Zep? I haven’t talked to you in thirteen years.”

  “You talked plenty Friday night. In fact,” he growled, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and prying the spoon out of my hand, “you moaned more than talked. And it wasn’t so much a variety of words as it was my name. Just as I remembered it.” Pressing his lips against the outer shell of my ear, he dug his nose into my hair. “Only this time, it didn’t end, Addie. You screamed it over and over until I thought the neighbors would call the cops.”

  I jerked my hands to my ears. “Enough! Please stop it.” I couldn’t hear the truth. In my own little, make-believe world, Jim LeChair was a nameless, faceless man who I’d never have to see again.

  But Zep was having no part of my fantasy. Tearing my hands from my face, he placed my palms down on the counter and covered them with his own. “That’s not what you said Friday night. In fact, I think your exact words were, ‘Oh, Zep, don’t stop…’”

  I snapped back to reality with his taunt, and whipped around, shoving him in the center of his chest. “What the hell do you want from me?”

  My pathetic shove did nothing but cause him to readjust his footing as he pinned me against the counter, his hand weaving through my hair. “I want you to admit to yourself that you did exactly what you wanted to do. You asked me to touch you. You wanted me to touch you. I want you to admit that you woke up and didn’t panic because you’d slept with some random guy, Addie. You freaked out because you realized you slept with me and then you bolted like you always do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Come on, Adelaide. It’s your MO. Thirteen years ago, shit got dicey, and you couldn’t handle staying around and working through a bump in the road, so you split. You ran off to Shreveport and married the first douchebag who offered you anything.”

  “I didn’t run! I went to—”

  “When you woke up, and the same feelings came back, and you didn’t know how to handle them.” Zep’s calm and controlled demeanor vanished as I watched Saturday morning replay on his face. Blowing out a hard breath, his jaw ticked as he pressed harder against me. “How long did it take you to get dressed and peel out of the driveway once you realized it was me next to you, huh? Fifteen seconds? Maybe thirty? Do you know how much that fucking sucked to wake up and have you gone again?”

  “Zep…”

  “I know that bastard hurt you. I’m sorry you went through what you did, Addie, but it’s no reason to put me through this kind of bullshit twice. In thirteen fucking years, you’ve never left my mind. Have you ever wondered why everyone from our class is either married with kids or divorced except for me?”

  Unable to speak, I simply shook my head.

  “It wasn’t from lack of trying, trust me. No one measured up. We’d get to the part where she’d give me the marriage or hit the road ultimatum. Something inside me could never make that commitment. I was a dumbass, you know. I knew you were married…had been for years. But shit, Addie, you can’t settle for what’s acceptable when you had perfect.”

  What? What the hell was this? Zephirin LeBlanc never married because of me? All this time, he waited for me?

  Drowning in information overload, I gripped the counter behind me and glanced up. “I’m not perfect, Zep.”

  “No, you’re not,” he admitted, releasing his hold on me. “You’re really mixed up, Addie.” A hint of sadness crossed his face as he rubbed his hand across his jaw. “I’m not Jim, or Joe, or your dirty little secret.” Backing away, he cursed low under his breath and reached for the doorknob.

  “Where are you going?” Even to my own ears, my voice sounded desperate.

  He paused at the door, one hand on the knob. “Back to work.”

  Strange panic filled me, and the words spilled out before I could stop them. “Maybe we could talk about this at lunch?”

  A resigned smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “No thanks. I have a date.” Opening the door to the office, he slammed it behind him.

  2

  A Picture Says a Thousand Words

  Savannah

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Morning, Beautiful.

  I’d tried and failed to curb the sickly sweet, head over heels, hearts in my eyes, hopelessly devoted smile permanently plastered across my face as I read the text Pope had sent me earlier that morning.

  At least sixty times, I’d picked up my phone and stared at the little text bubble. Also, in the four hours since the chime that I’d painstakingly selected for him sounded, the same text nearly cost the life of my beloved pig.

  Since my perpetually neurotic sister had insisted on dragging me to work with her at the butt crack of dawn, I’d tried to find something appropriate to wear to work without opening my eyes. Grabbing the first shirt I found, I had one arm through the neck hole and the other through the sleeve when I cursed and jerked it off, throwing it blindly onto the laundry pile on my floor. Pope’s distinct text tone sounded over Kevin Junior Bacon Cheeseburger’s snoring, and I spun in the direction of the noise. However, I couldn’t see anything through the fabric of the new shirt I’d pulled on, which was now stretched to near suffocation over my face.

  Doing my best impression of a cat fighting their way out of a paper bag, I tried desperately to disentangle myself from the tentacles of polyester holding me captive. Taking few stumbling steps, I cleared the three feet to my bed before my foot collided with something solid. White, hot pain radiated from my baby toe all the way up my leg and wrenched an unladylike cry from my throat followed by a string of nonsensical curses that would’ve made Babs proud.

  Swearing and battling with the python grip of my blouse, I blindly hopped around on one foot. Due to my lack of housekeeping skills, I landed on a rogue item of clothing, causing my foot to slip on the hardwood floor. My body pitched forward, and my entire life of poor decisions flashed before my eyes as I fell helplessly to what was certainly my death. Instead of careening into the abyss, I landed awkwardly on my bed, and my elbow sank into a blanket covered lump.

  As soon as I landed, a squeal of epic proportions pierced the air. Rolling over quickly, I realized that I’d inadvertently body slammed Kevin. Because my shirt still blindfolded me, I failed to see the bed had ended, and I crashed to the floor, gracefully catching myself with my face.

  Once I caught my breath and managed to wrestle off the article of clothing, I sat up. As soon as my head cleared the bed, the smell and taste of rotten ass smacked me in the face like a bitch with a bad attitude. I peeked over the mess of blankets to see that, yes, I’d indeed scared the literal shit out of my pet pig.

  The slam of the office door pulled me out of my reminiscence just in time to see Zep clomp his way into view. Addie was away meeting with a new distributor, and I wasn’t sure he’d noticed me shifted low in my desk chair. I’d had about enough of his brooding ass. He and Addie had banged around each other all week, and not in the fun way.

 
Addie had failed to convince me she’d indulged in a wild one night stand with some random she’d met at the bar. Yeah, right. Even if I hadn’t noticed Zep’s truck barreling out of the neighborhood that fateful morning, I would’ve known they’d bumped uglies the minute I saw them in the same room together. The satisfaction and regret painted all over their faces said it all. Addie’s twitchy panic gave her the ‘Uh-oh, I accidentally tripped and fell on the dick of the man I’ve been in love with for the better part of two decades’ look.

  I was done walking on eggshells. Kicking my booted feet off the desk, I rolled over to the filing cabinet where Zep sifted angrily through files.

  "What the fuck, dude?"

  Startled, he spun around to face me. "Shit, Sav, I didn't know anyone was here."

  Yeah, genius. Why would anyone be in the office at noon on a Thursday?

  I crossed my arms and arched a brow. "You want to explain why you've been acting like a fucking cave man all week?"

  "I don't want to talk about it." Zep grunted and turned back to the cabinet.

  I scoffed at his lame attempt to end the conversation.

  No dice, bro.

  "That was a rhetorical question."

  He looked over his shoulder at me, and his brows slammed together in confusion. "Do you even know what rhetorical means?"

  I waved off his insult. I had a point to make, and he wasn't going to distract me. "You fucked my sister."

  Zep’s body froze, and he slowly turned all the way around until we faced off. I couldn’t tell if it was anger or incredulity shining in his eyes. "She told you?"

  Easy as taking candy from a baby.

  "No, but you just did, and let me take a guess. She didn't fall at your feet and worship you, did she? So, now you're being a little Mitch, because you got your feelers hurt. Am I right?"

  A flush crept up his cheeks from his beard, and I had to stifle a laugh. Zephirin LeBlanc actually blushed. If I didn't already have an agenda, I'd have stopped to rag on him endlessly for that one.

  Seeming to pull himself together, he straightened his shoulders and pinned me with a look. “What the hell is a Mitch?"

  “A man bitch,” I stated succinctly.

  Zep rolled his eyes. "Classy, Sav. My feelers are intact, thank you for your concern. I'm just pissed that she can't figure out what she fucking wants.”

  “Ugh,” I groaned and slouched down in my desk chair. “Yes, because you've been so open and honest with your feelings. Seriously, you two are fucking killing me.”

  "I’m not having this conversation with you."

  "Fine, just listen then. My sister is scared. Her heart was pulverized over the last ten years so be gentle with her. Do all of us a favor and lay it all out. Tell her how you really feel, none of this tip-toeing shit. It’ll save us from having to buy new office furniture," I said, staring at the brand-new filing cabinet he'd beat to shit since they’d done the deed.

  "Don't you have your own relationship to worry about?"

  "Pope and I are great, thanks for asking. But we're not talking about me. We’re talking about you and my sister and your epically fucked up relationship.”

  Zep pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “I know you mean well, Savannah, but do me a favor and stay the hell out of it.”

  “She’s my sister.”

  “And we’re both fucking adults. I’m serious, Sav. Mind your own business.” Slamming the drawer, he stalked out of the office.

  “What do you think, Kevin? Should we stay out of it?”

  Kevin gave an almost inaudible snort from his nest of blankets under my desk.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so. It’s for their own good, really.”

  “Y’ello?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief hearing Babs’ crackly voice coming through the line. “I need your help.”

  The desperation in my voice must’ve been evident because after a brief pause, Babs asked, “You need help hide body? I call Bam-Bam. He strong.”

  “What? God, no.”

  “Bam-Bam keep good secrets. Cold water with soap for blood,” she continued.

  I knew my grandmother was as ride or die as they came, but it was a little unsettling to know she may have had experience covering up a murder.

  “Gators eat everything,” she added.

  “Babs, I didn’t kill anyone!”

  “Then why you call?”

  “Because I’m trying to make gumbo, and I think I fucked it up.”

  Babs’ smokers laugh echoed in my ears. “So, you trying to kill someone?”

  “My cooking isn’t that bad.” Kevin responded with a loud snort and a nudge to the back of my leg. “Oh, shut the fuck up, you asshole.”

  “Say again?”

  Shit.

  “Not you, the pig. For real, Babs, I need your help.”

  “Why you try to cook? Addie not there?”

  “I’m trying to surprise Pope,” I admitted, feeling another failure coming on. Pushing away from the counter, I buried my hands in my hair. After a week of text messages and opposite work schedules, I’d been dying to get some alone time with Pope. I’d thought that moving to New Orleans would mean I’d get to see my boyfriend any time I wanted. I hadn’t factored in the fact that he was a beat cop in one of the most popular tourist destinations in the country. Since he’d just gotten the transfer to NOLA-PD, he was stuck working the most undesirable shifts.

  “You want to surprise him…use sex, not poison.”

  “Well, you’ve been a wealth of help, thanks so much.”

  Babs sighed, “All right, you make old lady guilty. I help. I get more vodka first.”

  I looked at the explosion of crap littering the kitchen island as I listened to the sounds of Babs hunting the house for one of her hidden bottles of vodka. Unlike every other female in my family, my culinary skills were less than stellar. My history in the kitchen was limited to canned soups and frozen pizza.

  My relationship with Pope was in a delicate place. Officially, we'd only been an item for a few months, but our relationship felt more real than anything I'd ever experienced. The only problem seemed to be time. There wasn't enough of it, and while I was eager to move our relationship forward, Pope seemed to be at ease with taking it day by day. Normally, his behavior wouldn't bother me, but I couldn't help the feeling that he held back. When we were together, we'd spend hours lying awake at night talking about everything under the stars while simultaneously not talking about anything of real consequence.

  I craved more. I was starved for any morsel of information he'd let slip, but after almost three months, I still only knew the basics about his family and his life before I came barreling into it. Even though I knew he'd grown up in New Orleans, and his family still lived in the city, somewhere he'd artfully avoided going into detail about them every time I'd tried to bring it up.

  The overly neurotic part of my brain inherited from the Dubois gene pool had lain dormant most of my life. However, due to Pope’s secrecy, it’d reared its ugly head and whispered evil things into my subconscious. What if Pope didn't take me seriously? What if due to the way that we met, my over the top personality, and crazy ass family, he thought we were just having a fling? What if he was embarrassed by me? A litany of 'what if's' bombarded my thoughts and grew louder the longer we were apart.

  While I realized that it was unhealthy, I found myself wanting to prove to Pope that I was in his league. He needed to know I'd shed my wanderlust ways and wanted something real.

  "Ah, okay, I ready," Babs said finally. I heard the creak of her old rocking chair over the line as she settled into her spot on the front porch.

  Always the front porch.

  It seemed fitting. The front porch of my grandparent’s house was the pinnacle of every major event in the lives of the Dubois women, after all.

  "Okay, how the fuck am I supposed to cook gator sausage?"

  Babs laughed so hard she started hacking up a lung. She didn't stop laughing t
he entire time she walked me through cooking a Louisiana staple that, in her words, should be natural like wrestling a gator.

  An hour, three band aids, one burn, and a few tears later, I had a giant pot of something that resembled vomit bubbling on the stove. At least it didn't smell like vomit. In fact, Babs had done me right because it smelled rather good. I checked the clock and noted that Pope would be home in less than a half an hour. With the cornbread in the oven, and the gumbo simmering away, I set to work cleaning up the disaster I’d made of his kitchen.

  My housekeeping skills were about as honed as my cooking. Mama’s ‘clean as you go’ advice echoed in my ears as I hastily wiped down the counters.

  Whatever the fuck that meant.

  There were so many steps to the recipe Babs had given me; I didn’t remember half of what I’d done to get it all in the same damn pot, let alone managed to clean anything in between. Lost in my head and not paying attention, I swiped a huge pile of vegetable scraps onto the floor instead of into my hand.

  “Motherfucker! Kevin!” I called out, looking for my living garbage disposal.

  Nothing.

  “Kevin, food!” I hollered, louder this time.

  More nothing.

  What the fuck?

  Abandoning my station in the wreckage of my culinary expertise, I searched the house, hoping Kevin hadn’t decided to take a shit in a pair of Pope’s shoes. I followed the sounds of his snorts down the hallway and into the bedroom. Dropping to my knees, I peeked under the bed.

  Nada.

  “Kevin! Where are you?” I could hear him, but I couldn’t see him, which was by far more terrifying. After coming up empty in the bathroom, I found him nestled in a pile of dirty clothes in the closet, gnawing on something I couldn’t immediately identify.

  “What the fuck, Kev?”

  It took me a minute, but I eventually wrestled a picture out of his mouth.