Labor of Love Read online

  “Right,” Brady said. “That’s what we both wanted. Just for the summer, just while we’re here.”

  “I just want to make sure that you understand that it’s only while we’re in the Big Easy, even though we’ve sorta moved into actual dating territory.”

  “I get it.”

  Did he?

  “I mean, it’s a set period of time. When one of us leaves New Orleans—whoever leaves first—that’s it, it’s over. No good-bye. Good-bye is understood.”

  “What? You want me to sign a contract? I get what you’re saying. And it’s what I want, too. A hundred percent.”

  “I just don’t want another breakup. I just want an ‘it’s over’ but without either of us saying it’s over.”

  “And you think that’ll make it easier?”

  “Knowing that it’s coming, being prepared? Yeah, I do. We’ll be together five weeks, and then that’s it. We move on.”

  “Okay.”

  I released a long sigh. “Okay.”

  It would be easier. I was sure it would be.

  He absently-mindedly traced his finger across my bare shoulders, back and forth. It felt delicious.

  “Where are you going to go to college?” he asked.

  “I haven’t decided for sure.”

  “Okay.”

  “Why do you say that so much? Just ‘okay.’”

  “So you know I heard you, but don’t have anything else to add.” He nuzzled my neck. “And sometimes just so you know I understand.”

  We were in the shadows. No one was paying any attention to us. He kissed my shoulder, and I thought I might not wear anything that covered my shoulders ever again.

  “You understand a lot without me saying much,” I said.

  “I have three sisters who think I’m Dr. Phil. I’ve heard about every rotten thing that every guy they’ve dated has ever done to them. And they always end with, ‘If you ever do that to a girl…’”

  His voice had gone prissy at the end.

  “As though I would,” he finished in his normal voice.

  “What would they do if you did?”

  He shrugged. “They never say. But knowing them, it’d be a fate worse than death—forcing me to sit through a marathon of romantic comedies or something.”

  Brady had a way of always making me smile.

  “Still, I bet you make a great Dr. Phil.”

  He pointed up. “Especially once I get the bald thing going.”

  I laughed. “You’re really bothered about losing your hair.”

  “Yeah, I think I am. Vain, I guess.”

  I leaned into him. “You really shouldn’t worry about it.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.”

  Then he leaned in and kissed me. Being with him without Jenna around wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as I’d expected it to be. Actually, it seemed natural.

  He told me funny stories about his sisters. Two were older, one younger, and he finally admitted that he was offended that they’d think he’d ever do any of the jerk stuff guys had pulled on them.

  “Why can’t relationships be easy?” I finally asked.

  He shrugged. “Would they be worth it if they were?”

  “I just wonder how you ever know…this is the one.” I told him about Amber’s reading and the reason she’d bugged out on us.

  “Sean liked her,” he said.

  “You want to hear the really weird thing?” I asked.

  “There’s something weirder than a psychic’s prediction and your friend freaking out because Tank has ink?”

  “Well, maybe not weirder, but…well, the thing is, Amber has always talked about going to Rice. It’s her first choice, and there’s Sean…at Rice.”

  “Mmm. So maybe in another year or so…”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  “No.” I leaned back. “You can’t do that. Then you’re influencing it and making it happen.”

  “I’ve got something else I want to make happen.”

  And then he was kissing me again. I stopped thinking about Amber and Sean or Jenna and Tank. Or Sara and her predictions.

  I was only thinking about how much I liked kissing Brady.

  We left the restaurant at ten, which gave us an hour and a half before we had to meet up with Tank and Jenna and head back to the dorm. Neither of us was in the mood for the madness of Bourbon Street, so we just walked along the river. We could see the lights of the riverboats as they traveled along the Mississippi. It was all so romantic.

  “You know, I don’t even know your last name,” I said, when we began walking back to the hotel.

  “Miller.”

  I smiled at him. Brady Miller. I liked it.

  “And yours?”

  “Delaney,” I responded.

  “I thought you’d have an Italian-sounding name.”

  I grinned. “That’s my mom’s side of the family.”

  When we got to the lobby, Jenna and Tank were waiting for us. Tank drove us back to the dorm. While he walked Jenna to the door, Brady and I lagged behind.

  “So being alone together wasn’t so bad,” I said.

  He chuckled. “You really know how to stroke my ego.”

  I groaned. “I’m sorry. I just, I don’t know, I just feel like I can say what’s on my mind when I’m with you. That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Seriously, though, I had a great time,” I told him.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  Then he kissed me good night.

  Chapter 15

  Saturday we only worked until noon.

  Tank drove us back to the dorm with the promise he and Brady would be back to get us in an hour. No way were we going to spend time in the French Quarter without getting cleaned up first. I was going through clothes like crazy. Tomorrow I definitely had to make time for laundry. Or else buy some more clothes.

  Hmm. Buying more clothes might be the way to go.

  I dressed in a denim miniskirt with cargo pockets on the sides so I could carry money and an ID without having to lug around my backpack. I put on a tank with skinny straps, slipped on sandals, and used a banana clip to get my hair up off my shoulders. I picked one string of red beads to wear. I didn’t think I’d be adding to my stash tonight, but I wasn’t completely saying no to the possibility.

  “Nice,” Brady said to me when he and Tank picked us up.

  We parked at their hotel, then started making our way through the French Quarter.

  “I know just the place for lunch,” Tank said. “The home of the original muffuletta.”

  Central Grocery had been housed in the French Quarter for nearly a century. As we walked inside the red emporium, the tantalizing aromas of salami, cheese, and garlic wafted around us. The worn floor creaked as we made our way around the aisles—displaying various containers of olives, pickles, and spices—to the counter where they took the food orders. The menu was pretty simple. Only one thing was served—the muffuletta. We ordered two to share, because the round sandwich is huge and piled with salami, ham, provolone, olive salad, and other special ingredients.

  “Want to split a Barq’s root beer?” Brady asked.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Why don’t you grab us some chairs?”

  Off to the side was a counter with stools where people could eat. The store was small, the eating area even smaller, but we found four seats together.

  “It smells really good in here,” Jenna said.

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “I am so hungry.”

  Brady took the stool beside me and unwrapped the sandwich. It was huge, cut into quarters. I had a feeling that one piece was going to be enough for me, and I wondered if we should have just ordered one for the four of us to share.

  But Brady and Tank had monstrous appetites, and in no time the sandwiches were gone. They were delicious, and the root beer just topped it off.