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South places his hand on my lower back. “I think you and me are gonna have a lot of fun together, angel. You just gotta be open to it.”
Our eyes lock together, and those pesky butterflies return as I stare at him, my stomach flickering in ways it hasn’t before.
This feels so strange.
I know this is territory I shouldn’t be stepping into.
This man should be off-limits.
So why is every part of my body screaming for him?
“It’s not always that easy, South,” I reply.
He shrugs matter-of-factly. “It’s all a state of mind. It’s easy if you let it be.”
“Let’s go have some lunch as friends, okay?”
South gestures for the door. “Lead the way. I hear the owner, Marcel, makes a mean gumbo.”
“Oh, you have no idea. It’s the best in all of New Awlins,” I reply.
South rubs his hand over his extremely toned stomach. “Well then, let’s go eat!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ingrid
South’s hand stays on my lower back as he walks us toward the entry. I have to admit, it feels pretty damn good the attention he gives me. But even though he makes it seem like us being a thing is easy, there are so many layers to it.
My kids.
Hurricane.
Bayou.
Nash? I'm pretty sure he will have a coronary.
Novah might be the only one who might understand, but even then, that’s up for debate.
My anxiety peaks as we walk inside the bar. This is the local haunt for a lot of people the club deals with, so we could see anyone. But if South and I keep up the pretense that we’re eating a meal as ‘friends,’ it should all be fine. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
The old-style bar always feels like a home away from home. We walk past the long woodgrain bar to Marcel, who’s wiping some glasses as we pass and bobs his head. “Afternoon, you guys here for lunch?”
“Yes, sir. Can we have a booth out back?” South requests.
Marcel dips his chin. “It’s early, so there’s plenty of space out there. Just sit wherever you like.”
“Thanks, brother.”
“Sage will be ’round to grab your order in a few,” Marcel states.
“Thanks! Appreciate it.”
Marcel smiles in that gorgeous way he always does. “By the way, you’re looking beautiful as ever today, Miss Ingrid.”
As we head for the back area, I reply, “Smooth talker!”
He winks. “You tell that president son of yours that he’s doing good at keeping New Awlins under control. Those Bratva were a pain in my ass. They’ve been quiet on the streets. Let’s keep it that way, huh?”
