FrenchQuarter.htm by Alexander Lacey (good fiction books to read TXT) 📗

fuck her long and hard and deep. Mmm, a nice fantasy, she thought, closing her eyes. But after the sexual odyssey she’d been on with Jack, fantasies weren’t very fulfilling—she needed the real thing, the real man.

Taking a deep breath, Liz slowly picked up the phone. She’d been considering calling him for days, but had kept holding out hope that he would call her first. She’d kept remembering all the sweet things he’d said that had slowly made her begin to think he cared for her in more than a physical way. Exhaling, she dialed his number. By the third ring, her stomach was in knots. Then came the nerve-wracking sound of the receiver being picked up.

“Hello?”

Courage, Liz. Have courage. “Hi Jack, it’s me.”

His slight hesitation served to deplete what little bravery she’d mustered. “Liz?”

Her heart nearly shattered at his non-receptive tone. “Yeah.”

He said nothing.

“I just wanted to apologize,” she rushed, nervous now, “about my e-mail. I should have called. But I knew you checked your e-mail a lot, so … anyway, I just wanted to … see how you are.”

More of that damned hesitation. “I’m fine,” he finally said. “And you?”

Aching and needy. I need you in my bed, taking me away from everything bad. She swallowed nervously. His chilly tone made it impossible to be honest—it was suddenly as if the lies about why she couldn’t move in with him and why she couldn’t see him that night had ripped to shreds her ability to tell him anything true. “I’m…fine, too.”

“Has Todd bothered you anymore?”

Tell him. Just tell him the truth about Todd’s threat.

But no—that might only create trouble. Jack might confront Todd and endanger himself.

“He’s kept his distance the last few days,” she said, glad it wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Good.” Even that sounded strangely cold.

Liz was out of things to say. She’d really believed that if she called him, he’d suggest getting together. She’d been sure he’d tell her he’d been meaning to call, was just busy with some important case, but missed her and wanted to meet her someplace on Bourbon Street tonight. Yet that wasn’t happening, and the dead air between them was as stifling as the humid heat outside.

“Well,” she finally said out of desperation to fill the silence, “maybe I’ll…see you sometime soon.”

Another hint of hesitation. Say yes, she begged silently. Ask me to see you. “Maybe,” he slowly replied, still as distant-sounding as he’d been since picking up the phone.

She swallowed again, this time having to work past the lump in her throat. “Well then, bye.”

“Bye, Liz.”

The line went dead and Liz fought back the tears behind her eyes. Damn it, she wasn’t going to cry over him. She’d known from the start she was playing a game that shouldn’t—couldn’t—involve her heart, and it had been a fatal mistake to let herself even begin to fall for him. She’d known that even before it had happened. All this meant, she told herself, was that as she’d predicted from the start, the time had come when he was ready to end things. He’d had fun with her until the newness had worn off their heady, sexy relationship. Clearly, finding out she’d decided not to move in with him had been a relief, and a convenient time to call it quits.

She couldn’t even be angry. He’d certainly never promised her anything, and she’d never asked him to. Despite not wanting their affair to end, she’d known it would, and probably sooner rather than later.

Still, it hurt. It felt like someone had just dropped a ton of bricks on her chest, like her heart and lungs were going to burst apart any second. Damn her for letting herself fall in love—damn her weakness.

Just then, a small knock came on her door. “Honey, you in there?” It was Lynda.

“Yeah,” she managed, hoping she didn’t sound as crushed as she felt.

Lynda opened the door. “Listen, I was thinking you and I should go out tonight.” As she approached the bed, it was clear she could read Liz’s sorrow. “Are you okay?”

She’d kept Lynda filled in on her predicament, so there seemed no reason to lie. “I just called Jack.”

Lynda seemed to tense slightly on her behalf. “And?”

“And…my fears came true. He wasn’t interested in talking to me. He was so…cold.” She’d never heard Jack sound that way before—ever. Even in that very first confrontational moment when they’d met, he’d been warmer to her than he’d been on the phone just now.

Lynda sat down on the bed and placed one hand warmly on Liz’s thigh through her skirt. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”

Liz nodded slightly against the pillow sham.

“But you know,” Lynda said with a tilt of her head, “this is all the more reason for you and me to paint Bourbon Street red tonight.”

Liz let out a sigh. Without Jack, Bourbon Street sounded…boring. “Thanks for the invitation, Lynda, but I don’t think so. I’m not exactly in the mood for fun.”

“Precisely my point.” Lynda gave her thigh a light squeeze. “I think the best thing in the world for you would be to go out and get your mind on something else. Even if you don’t totally enjoy it, it’s a distraction—which you need. You’ve been moping around here all week, and I hate to see you so sad. It’s time to start getting over Jack.”

“I only just now officially discovered I have to get over Jack,” she complained.

“Even so, it wasn’t a long relationship, so you need to bounce back and move on.”

True enough—it had only felt like a long relationship. She’d done more living with Jack in a week than she had with anyone else in her whole life.

“Come on now,” Lynda said, taking her by the wrists and pulling her to a sitting position. “I’m not taking no for an answer. You and I are going to get totally dolled up, then we’ll have dinner at Pat O’s, drink a hurricane or two, and find someplace fun to party.”

* * * * *

Liz and