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Cole
Day three put us in New Orleans for a Creole cooking class inside one of the French Quarter’s most beloved family restaurants. I glanced at Kara for the thousandth time that afternoon and watched her push her hair away from her face as she listened intently to one of the five elderly sisters who owned the place. At least someone was paying attention. I could only seem to focus on the memories of the night before and how I hoped it could be a daily thing. Friends with benefits. Her words echoed in my head. Happy as I was to have those benefits, I wanted her to see us as more than two friends hooking up. Somehow, I’d jumped out of the friend zone into the fuck-buddy category. I had to figure this shit out and soon.
“Cole, you’d better start browning your sausage,” Kara said. “The shrimp takes almost no time to cook and you want them to both be ready to go into the gumbo base at the same time.” She winked. “And you know how good it is when they go in at the same time.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I do.”
Kara had this radiant glow. This trip was magical in how it brought out her playful side. This was the Kara I’d fallen in love with, whether she knew it or not. What if I just finally told her tonight?
“Kara...after this is over—”
“The trip?” she whispered. “Don’t worry. I get it. I know when we get back, things will go back to normal. Just because we’re hooking up now, I don’t expect you to suddenly become someone you’re not.” She held up her finger. “Here, taste my roux.”
I licked the brown gravy from the tip and then sucked it into my mouth.
“Do you think it’s too salty?”
“I think I’m going to be salty if you make me catch a boner here in front of these nice old ladies,” I said, laughing a bit. “But I wasn’t talking about—”
J.P. walked into the small room off the main kitchen meant for these classes. “Sorry, I was on a call with Kyle. What did I miss?”
“Not much. We still have plenty more to do before we’re done.” She raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to help? I think Cole could use some. He’s like two steps behind.”
Try more like a few years when it came to Kara, but okay, yeah...there was no way I would be able to create something edible when I hadn’t been paying attention at all. “Do you know anything about making gumbo?” I asked.
“Get to my age, and you know a little about a lot of things.” J.P. rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the Andouille. “I’d say I’m an expert with sausage.” He winked at me.
My toes curled in my shoes. Shit. And what about J.P.? When we arrived back in New York would that really be the end of this thing between us? I liked him, and it wasn’t just that magic wand of his. He made me feel like I could be myself. Geez, maybe even more than Kara did. But whose fault was that? In just four days, J.P. had gotten me closer to where I wanted to be with Kara than I ever dreamed possible with the corner we’d painted ourselves into. But was I using him just for that? He dabbed his tongue against his lip, and I watched those sexy jaw muscles clench just beyond the salt and peppery scruff on his cheeks while he cut perfectly uniform slices of sausage.
The answer screamed loud and clear from behind my zipper. Fuck no, I wasn’t just using him. I wanted that man to push me over the table right now, rake my pants off my hips and teach me everything he knew over and over again. I wanted it whether Kara was standing there or not, though having her eager involvement would be sweeter. The truth was I never wanted the day to come when J.P. would declare mission accomplished and I would go back to pretending not to love Kara off camera so I could go on pretending I did love her in public. It really was no way to live. If this trip taught me anything, it was that.
I trust you. Kara’s words from last night were back in my head. What would she say when she found out I’d been lying to her about my feelings all this time? I’m finished with all of it—dating, men, love. I’m just done. I only need you. How many times had she told me that?
Because I was safe.
Something struck my cheek and I turned, finding Kara giggling behind her hand while some sort of sauce dripped down the side of my cheek. “Whoops,” she said teasingly. “So sorry.”
I rolled my eyes. That was no accident. I chuckled while she grabbed a towel, dabbing the sauce from my cheek. She was so close I could smell the coconut shampoo in her hair and the hint of spice on her lips. She cupped my face, stroking it lightly. “You’re a million miles away, Cole,” she said.
Fuck, if she only knew how true that statement was.
“Perfect,” J.P. said, holding up his phone. I heard him snap a picture. “That’s the chemistry the world is so in love with.”
I was somewhat disgusted by that statement, but I had an excuse to kiss her, and I took it. Her lips were as soft as rose petals and compliant in a way that betrayed every guarded emotion I knew she had. That kiss was real. I could feel it. I hoped she could too.
“I love you.” Those words slipped off my tongue in a whisper.
She smiled. “I don’t think he’s taking a video,” she whispered back. Then she turned to J.P. “Do you want us to do that part again?”
J.P. looked at me, then at Kara, and then at the photo. “No, I think I captured the moment.”
I sighed heavily and grabbed an onion. Fuck. My. Life.
After the Creole cooking class ended, we found ourselves in a cozy little bar on Bourbon St. that was famous, or maybe infamous is a better word, for their Thursday night karaoke scene and their Hurricanes. The place was buzzing with people of all ages and backgrounds crammed into the dimly lit space. Though the bar wasn’t on our official agenda, J.P. thought it would be a fun diversion before the jazz dinner started a block over. There was a stage with two microphones and a pretty impressive big screen on the wall for the song lyrics. The sticky wood floor and the mismatched chairs brought back memories of me and Kara in our senior year of college, spending our last few bucks on cheap beers and singing along to the jukebox.
“Cole!” I heard Kara squeal before I glanced in her direction, finding her pointing at the stage with as much enthusiasm as a kid on Christmas. She grabbed my hand and tugged me towards the mics. “Do you think they have our song?”
“You two have a song?” J.P. asked, his eyebrow lifting in interest.
Kara snatched J.P.’s hand before he could make a getaway. “You’re coming, too!”
J.P. chuckled and we both followed her to the where the DJ sat, leaning against his table, looking bored while he scrolled his phone.
“Do you have a song in mind?” J.P. asked as soon as we reached the DJ, who straightened in his chair and nodded toward his tip jar.
“I Got You Babe,” Kara and I said in unison without looking at each other.
The DJ rolled his eyes and I glanced at J.P., noticing his lips were pressed together as he stifled his laughter. “Seriously?” J.P. asked.
I shot him a teasing glare and grabbed his hand, pulling him onto the stage with me and Kara. “Seriously,” I said, leaning in close, our noses almost touching.
The laughter left J.P.’s eyes and something else flourished there. Something electric that made my insides heat and my cock twitch with want. Kara squeezed herself between us, passing one of the two microphones to J.P. The other, Kara and I would share.
The music began, but focusing was out of the question. Kara was pressed so close to me, her pretty face flushed with excitement. She started singing, looking directly into my eyes. I was so entranced with her I missed my cue. Thankfully, J.P. knew the lyrics, or he could read them easily. Either way, as soon as I heard his voice, I shook myself from my revelry and began singing. Kara smiled, nodding her head, belting out the words just as she did when we were still in school. The very first time we performed this song, I realized I was head over heels in love with her. That feeling swelled even bigger now as I looked at her. My gaze then flicked to J.P., who looked like he was having fun, despite himself. I wrapped an arm around Kara, and she wrapped an arm around J.P. We sounded awful, but it didn’t matter because, on that stage, none of us gave a shit what the world thought.
The music ended, but Kara was insatiable. She demanded her usual: “ABCDEFU, Fuck You,” and a few more songs with foul language and catchy lyrics. The crowd was with us by then, singing along too. It wasn’t until after the fifth song that we finally made our way off stage.
“You snag a table!” I shouted at Kara and J.P. while pushing my way towards the bar. “I’ll get us beers.”
My fingers tapped on the bar top, still feeling giddy with our silliness, while I waited for the bartender to notice me. He was busy pouring several drinks for a group of guys to my right, and then he was most likely going to serve the group of girls on my left. Which was fine. I wasn’t in a hurry.
