“No. I’m sitting around, watching silly movies. Missing you.”
“I miss you too,” he said. “So much.”
A short silence fell, and I knew this conversation couldn’t be like the others we’d had—rushed and nervous, with neither of us telling the other what we felt.
“God, Teddy… I feel like I’ve been hiding out here. We haven’t really talked, and now the label wants me to do a tour. I’m scared.”
“Of what, Kace?”
“When I was with Rapid Confession, all we did was tour. I had no home base, no foundation. I drank all the time…” I shook my head, sucked in a breath. “I’d be gone from my home, and I can’t help but feel that it would be the end of us. Whatever us is. More phone calls. More distance. More miles. I can’t do it anymore, Teddy. I can’t…”
“I can’t either, Kace,” Theo said. “Fucking hell, I’m tired of living life on the phone.”
“God, me too.”
“Good. Then can you open the door? I’m getting poured on.”
For one heartbeat, I sat frozen. Then the phone slipped out of my hand as I tore off the couch, crossed the living area and opened the front door.
He stood there, rain dripping off his leather jacket, sparkling in his hair like diamond dust.
“Teddy…” I gasped and in the next instant, I was in his arms, his mouth pressed to mine.
We didn’t make it to my bedroom. We didn’t even make it to the couch. I barely had sense of mind to kick the door shut to keep the rain out. The words we needed to speak were lost in a confusion of aching need. We fell to our knees, stripping clothing and kissing hard, then tumbled to the floor where he slid inside me with one perfect motion.
“Teddy,” I cried as he brought me quickly to the threshold, then sent me crashing over. I held him tight as his own climax shuddered through him, warming me from the inside out.
“God, don’t let me go, Kace,” he said against my neck.
“I won’t,” I said. “Never again.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
The rain stopped by ten. Days ago, I’d made plans with Yvonne, Big E, and the Olsens to see the Krewe of Bacchus parade, which started on St. Charles Street and ran through the Garden District. Yvonne had told me the parade was the big daddy, with more than thirty animated floats. Some celebrity always came to New Orleans to represent Bacchus, the Greek God of wine.
I’d bought a gold flapper’s dress covered with black tassels, and a matching gold wig that curled under my chin. Yvonne showed up in jeans and a simple shirt but dressed it up with a mask and pink feather boa and crowed over Theo being here.
“Guess I can retire my Louisville Slugger,” she teased, and gave him a hug.
Grant and Phoebe arrived and put us all to shame with their costumes: he was almost unrecognizable as Beetlejuice, in a dusty black suit with white stripes, and Phoebe’s long red hair and flawless make-up made her a perfect Sally fromNightmare Before Christmas.
Theo and Big E both refused to dress up, the two men clapping hands and patting each other in the back.
“What,” I snorted, “you’re too old for costumes?” I asked Theo, as we headed out.
“I’m too busy trying to keep my hands off of you in that dress.”
“If I show you my boobs, will you throw me some beads?”
“Stop,” he said. “You’re making me lightheaded.”
I laughed and leaned close to whisper in his ear. “Tonight, I’ll put on all the beads I catch today. And nothing else.”
We joined the crowd near the river, where the parade ended. I’d never seen anything like Mardi Gras. Music poured out of businesses and people in every kind of costume danced, drank, and gaped at the floats trundling down the street.
I’d only ever seen the Rose Parade as a kid in Orange County. Those floats were sweet little things, covered in pretty flowers. Mardi Gras floats were parties on wheels: huge, elaborate and bursting with color and noise. The first was the King’s Float—an enormous white feasting table with huge gold coins. Bunches of purple grapes lay in front of a giant fiberglass Bacchus, raising a wine glass. In front of him, a raised dais held the King of the parade.
