Rebound Read online

  After drinking enough alcohol that I should’ve passed out or at least become sedated, I was coherent and pissed off. I was angrier than I had been before I sat down at the bar inside the Funky Pirate. The man sitting on stage singing his lungs out was talking about lost love. Another reminder of the girl I was trying to forget.

  She wasn’t just any girl.

  No. No.

  She was the one I had been pining for since my very first boner. I followed her around like a puppy dog my entire life. Sloppy Seconds could’ve been my nickname. No matter how hard I tried to forget her and move on, I always went back for more. Really I was a fucking idiot, but I could never say I didn’t try. And try. And try. And try.

  Izzy Gallo brought me to the brink, leading me around by the balls for years. I never wavered in my love for her, no matter how hard she tried to push me away. It’s hard not to love a woman who had my heart doing backflips ever since she kissed me on the playground in middle school.

  I can’t blame her though. She never claimed to be mine. We were “friends with benefits,” and she was never my girlfriend. I hoped for years that she’d change her mind. She never did. For the last ten years, I never opened my heart to anyone else, saving myself for her. It was all in vain.

  James Caldo stole her heart. He’s a prick, but she loves him. I bowed out graciously, giving up my imaginary claim to Izzy. He was in law enforcement like me, and I brought them back together through a series of unfortunate events. I owned my fuckup.

  Sometimes I think I was too nice to Izzy. A pushover, some would say, although her brothers think I’m an asshole. I treated her with kid gloves, cherishing her as I put her on a pedestal my entire life. James strolled in and bossed her ass around, and she fell to her knees, pledging her love for him. Go figure. I had been doing it wrong for years. I’m done being the sweet guy, the one who chases a piece of ass. Izzy fucking wrecked me.

  I had to push her out of my mind. Rid myself of everything Gallo and move the fuck on with my life. She made her choice, and it wasn’t me. It was plain and simple. I wasn’t the one. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it short of killing her boyfriend and stealing the girl, but I didn’t have the stomach for it.

  “Hey, sweetie.” The female bartender touched my hand, dragging me back to reality. “Did you want another?” she asked in a raspy voice.

  “Pleaaase,” I slurred, staring down at her hand where it was still connected with mine.

  “Same?” Her fingers slid across my skin as she pulled them back.

  Usually a move like that from a beautiful woman would have my dick taking notice, but tonight…nada. I looked up at her and couldn’t even picture fucking her. Did Izzy ruin me that badly? “Yeah,” I said with a smile. The answer could’ve been to my question about Izzy too. She did fucking ruin me.

  I need to find me again. The man I am without Isabella Gallo. She’d never be mine. I’d never be hers.

  There’s no better place than New Orleans to find yourself again. When they say the world is your oyster, they must’ve been referencing this city. It’s filled with life. The beauty and history are intoxicating. There’s an undercurrent of something that I just can’t put my finger on to describe it properly, but it’s stirred something inside me.

  “Is this seat taken?” a quiet voice asked as the bartender set my gin in front of me.

  “No,” I replied without even turning to look at her.

  “Thanks,” she said, setting her purse on the bar before she sat.

  I took tiny sips, nursing the gin instead of giving in and downing it quickly. Gin wasn’t made for slamming. It was like a woman. Put on this earth to be savored, tasted slowly, and enjoyed.

  I rolled the glass in my hand, letting my fingertip glide against the smooth surface as I watched the amber liquid dance.

  “Hard night?” the quiet voice asked from the stool next to me.

  I sighed. I really wasn’t in the mood for small talk, but I wasn’t rude. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I replied, “Tough year.”

  Fuck. Who was I kidding? It wasn’t a year. It was my entire life. Wasted on Izzy.

  “I know the feeling.” Her body shifted, moving closer to me. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” I didn’t feel like sharing my problems with a stranger and especially not with a woman. I wanted to forget and pretend that period in my life never happened.

  “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  I looked at her for the first time, feeling like an asshole. “I’m sorry. That was a total dick move. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “No. I understand.” She had a slight smile on her face as she spoke. “I didn’t mean to pry.” She fidgeted with her hands as she diverted her eyes from mine, focusing on her fingers.

  “Listen. Let me buy you a drink to make it up to you.” I turned to face her. She looked very different than Izzy. Pale skin, blond hair, blue eyes, along with freckles scattered across her flesh like a connect the dots puzzle. Her hair was straight, ending at her jaw in a severe line.

  “You don’t have to do that.” Her legs rubbed together as she shifted in her seat. “I was being nosy and I shouldn’t have been.”

  “I insist. It’s the least I can do after being a dick.” Raising my hand, I waved over the bartender. “The lady would like a—”

  Her eyes finally met mine. “Whiskey sour, please.” A grin spread across her face. It was faint but visible.

  I placed a ten on the bar as the bartender made the drink, but I kept my eyes on the woman to my side. “What’s your name, doll?”

  “Doll?” Her sparkling blue eyes shot up.

  “You look like a doll. It’s the first thing I could think of since I don’t have your name.”

  “How do I look like a doll?” She grabbed the drink as the bartender set it down and gave it her full attention.

  Oh boy. I could see she wasn’t exactly happy about the nickname. I thought a moment before speaking, choosing my words very carefully. “Your skin is luminous. It glows even under these shitty lights. When I look at you, I think of a porcelain doll. God, that sounded like such a load of shit, but I meant it. You’re stunning.” My eyes dropped to her mouth and I stared, captivated by her red lips.

  Pink flooded her cheeks as she played with the red straw in her mouth. Twirling it with her tongue. “My name is Fiona.”

  “Fiona,” I repeated. It was a great name and one that fit her. “I like it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So what’s your story, Fiona? What are you doing in here alone on a Saturday night?” Holding my glass to my lips, I watched her over the rim.

  Her shoulders sagged a bit as she sipped the whiskey. “It’s a boring story. You really don’t want to hear about it.”

  “I doubt anything about you could be boring. Tell me who Fiona is.” I set my drink on the bar, giving her my full attention.

  “What do you want to know?” She repeated my actions, placing her drink on the bar and swiveling around on her stool.

  “Let’s start with something simple. What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a nurse,” she replied as she straightened her back.

  “It’s an admirable profession.” An image of her in a naughty nurse outfit popped into my mind. A few buttons left open, showing off her amazing rack. The skirt too short, showing just enough thigh to drive a man wild.

  “It’s interesting, that much is for sure.” A genuine smile spread across her face, almost touching her eyes. “What do you do? Sorry, I never got your name.”

  “It’s Sam, and I’m in law enforcement.” I didn’t want to mention the FBI. It either wigged people out or they were filled with questions. There were two things I didn’t want to talk about tonight: work and Izzy Gallo. It dawned on me in that moment that I hadn’t thought about Izzy since I’d given my attention entirely to Fiona.

  “Sounds dangerous. I’ve always loved a man in uniform.” She smirked, and I swear to god my cock twitched.

  “It has its moments, but there’s a lot of downtime and paperwork.” Do not think of her sexually. The last thing I needed right now was another woman in my life. “Do you live here?”

  She rubbed her thighs together, and my eyes instantly caught the motion, watching them move back and forth. “Yeah, I went to college here and never left. I fell in love with the city and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. You?” She must’ve caught me staring because she placed her hands on her legs and rubbed her thighs back and forth.

  I cleared my throat, trying to break the hold she had over me. The fact that she had on a skirt that rested around mid-thigh had me wishing for a peek of her underwear. “No, I live in Florida. I’m just visiting for a couple days.”

  “Work or pleasure?” The smirk was still plastered on her face. Maybe she liked me looking. The one thing I knew was that she didn’t do anything to stop me.

  “Pleasure.” I grabbed my drink off the bar, giving my attention to something other than her lush thighs. I tried not to wonder what it would feel like for my hands to caress her skin or how she would react if I sank my teeth into her inner thigh. Would she call out my name or shudder in my arms?

  “There’s plenty of that around here. You don’t have to look too hard.” As she turned on her stool to face the bar, her skirt rode up, showing even more leg than I’d seen before.

  Fuck, her legs were killer. If we stood, she would have to be almost as tall as me, especially with the heels she had on. The hint of red from underneath told me they were pricey. The name of the designer escaped me, but I knew enough about girl shit to know they were top-notch. “I’m finding that. What do you like to do for pleasure?” Licking my lips, I watched her eyes following my tongue as her lips parted. Interesting.

  “That’s a loaded question, Sam,” Fiona said, almost purring my name.

  “Humor me,” I stated, gripping my glass a little tighter to stop myself from touching her. I wanted to reach out, wrap my hand around the back of her neck, and pull her lips to mine. The need was overwhelming and unexpected.

  “I’m not usually a barfly. I prefer to enjoy the other things the city has to offer.”

  “Which would be?” I wondered if the whiskey would be sweeter if I tasted it from her lips.

  “The history only New Orleans can claim. There’s a darkness here that sucks you in. A beauty in the blackness and melancholy that no city can rival.”

  “You make New Orleans sound full of gloom and doom.”

  “No. I don’t mean it that way. In New Orleans, there’s an energy that becomes part of you.”

  “You still haven’t told me what you like to do for pleasure,” I stated, releasing my gin to rub my lips. I needed to do something to distract myself from the sinful thoughts I was having about Fiona.

  “I like to walk around the city and soak in the energy.”

  I studied her, wondering what she meant by that statement. After a moment, I gave up. Figuring out the female mind had always baffled me. I wasn’t going to gain some great insight today. “That’s a different answer than I was expecting.”

  “You just haven’t seen the city through my eyes.”

  I nodded, knowing she was right.

  “What did you think I’d say?” she asked, turning her body in my direction as she grasped her drink.

  “I don’t know. Not that though.”

  She started twirling the damn straw in her mouth again, and all I could do was stare at her tongue. Watching it move was hypnotizing. “How about you buy me a couple more drinks, and I’ll show you what I mean?” She smiled around the straw. The blue in her eyes caught the light from behind the bar and twinkled. Honest to God twinkled. I shit you not.

  My body came to life at the thought of seeing the town with Fiona by my side. It had been ages since I’d walked around with a woman and enjoyed an evening. “You have yourself a deal, Fiona.” I smiled, feeling hopeful for the first time in longer than I could remember.

  Maybe my weekend wouldn’t be about getting lost, but about finding myself again.

  3

  New Orleans

  After I bought Fiona two more whiskey sours, we headed out of the Funky Pirate and onto Bourbon Street. It was after midnight, and I’d lost track of time while we sat at the bar, talking about life.

  We each shared our stories, although truncated for humiliation’s sake. She had recently become divorced after finding her husband of three years cheating on her with his secretary.

  I couldn’t image what the fuck the man was thinking. Fiona was stunning. She had a good job, killer body, and the face of an angel. What did she lack that made him look to someone else? If I had a woman like Fiona, there’s no way in hell I’d ever stray. Shit. Even as Izzy strung me along for years, I rarely indulged in sex with other women. We weren’t even in a relationship, and that shit ate me alive. How could someone do that to the person they vowed before God to love for better or for worse?

  Most guys I knew were assholes. Spending months inside a motorcycle club can fuck with your ideas of what normal and right are, but I knew that cheating wasn’t in me. I wasn’t built that way. As a child, it was ingrained in me to be faithful. Loyalty was important in my family. Joining the FBI was driven by that virtue. Loyalty to my country, dedicating my life to the service of the betterment of society was my main goal.

  “Which way do you want to go?” she asked as we stood on the crowded sidewalk illuminated by the green lighting of the Funky Pirate. She intertwined her arm with mine, holding my forearm.

  During our time at the bar, talking had turned into tiny touches. Small ones at first as our fingers found each other on the bar. As we drank and drank, the small grazes turned into full-on touches. When she laughed, she’d lay her hand on my arm. As she told me something personal, she’d lean in and place her hand on my leg. I tried to keep my hands to myself, trying not to scare her away. I didn’t touch her legs, but I kept my hands to her hands or arms.

  Looking both ways down Bourbon Street, all I could see were people. Masses of them filled the street. I don’t think I’d ever seen so many people in one place before tonight. “You choose. I’m putting myself in your capable hands.” I smiled down at her as she peered up at me. There were only a couple inches of height difference between us now, but if she kicked off her heels, I’d tower over her.

  “Let’s start in Jackson Square.” She pointed to the right before pulling me with her as she began to walk.

  “What’s there?” I asked, trying to avoid knocking people over. We moved shoulder to shoulder with the other partygoers. Even though we were tipsy, many of them were truly shit-faced and almost falling over as they stumbled down the street.

  Music filled the streets as we walked past the bars, finally making it to Orleans Avenue. As soon as we turned the corner, the steeple of a church came into view. “What’s that?” I asked as I took in the beauty of it lit up in all its glory. It was a one-eighty to the depravity on Bourbon Street.

  “That’s Saint Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square.”

  “It’s stunning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.” Even though it was my second time in New Orleans, I’d never stumbled upon the church. Most of my time had been spent in the casino or on Bourbon Street getting shit-faced with the other tourists.

  “Wait until you see the back of the church.” Her grip tightened on my arm, her heels clicking against the sidewalk as we walked down the quiet street.

  It’s amazing how the sound of Bourbon dies as you drift away. After forty feet, the street grew hushed with just a few people wandering toward their destinations. We walked arm in arm, moving closer to the light of the church. As we approached Royal Street, the back came into full view.

  I stopped dead in my tracks, entranced by the sight before me. Fiona walked one step before I caught her by the arm, dragging her back. “Wow,” I whispered.

  “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?” She looked at me for a moment before taking in the sight in front of us.

  “It’s unexpected.” Standing before us was a giant statue of Jesus surround by white lights. The shadow of the figure was cast against the back wall of the church. It was as if Jesus was calling out, saying a prayer for the sinner before him. Extending his arms to reach the crowd on Bourbon Street. They probably needed the prayers the most. I started to laugh. The hilarity of the situation wasn’t lost on me and I looked down at her.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, looking up at me with her eyebrows knitted together as they formed a V.

  “It looks like he’s praying for the lost souls on Bourbon.” Sliding my hand into hers, I gripped her hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “Don’t you see it?”

  She smiled, her forehead relaxing as a smile spread across her face. “I never thought about it that way. Maybe he is.” She shrugged, resting her head on my arm as I looked back at the statue.

  “Show me more, Fiona.” I moved the hairs the wind had blown onto her face away from her eyes. “Show me the beauty you see in this great city.”

  “Gladly,” she replied, moving her face into my touch. “Let’s go to the square and people watch a little. It’s one of the most interesting places in NOLA.”

  As she began to walk, she tripped, starting to fall forward. I moved quickly, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her upright. Her breath caught and her eyes widened when she looked at my face. Our lips were centimeters from each other. I could smell the whiskey on her lips as I inhaled.

  I lingered, not wanting to move as her face softened. She opened her mouth, ready to say something, but I didn’t give her the chance. The woman had intoxicated me more than the drinks. I couldn’t go any longer without a taste.

  As I held her in my arms, staring into her eyes, I placed my lips on hers, softly at first. Honestly, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to be kicked in the balls for kissing her. Her actions throughout the evening said she wanted me, but I didn’t want to be brought to my knees by her in the middle of New Orleans.

  Her lips tasted of sweetened whiskey just like I imagined. I swiped my tongue across them as I kissed her. My touch was tentative to start, but with each second that passed, my need for her increased. I pulled her to my chest, crushing my lips against hers and devouring her mouth.

  Her kiss stirred something inside me. It wasn’t just my cock that was calling out to her, but something deeper. The only sound was of her breath as I kissed her with more passion than I had ever kissed another woman. I pulled her closer to me, and her chest rubbed against mine while our tongues tangled together.

  She was an amazing fucking kisser. Not too much tongue, just the right amount of lip, and she wasn’t trying to eat my face off. I pulled away, resting my forehead against hers. I was as winded as if I’d run a mile, but I hadn’t. The sheer pleasure of kissing her had me struggling for air.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “I’m not.” She looked up at me, her face hidden in the shadows.

  I placed a kiss against her forehead, releasing my grip on her back slightly. When she straightened, she gained her footing again. Her blinks were slow and she smiled at me. Maybe she was in a trance like myself. “Let’s go. I know exactly where I’m taking you next.”

  “Where?” I asked, being pulled me forward with my hand.

  “There’s an old woman in the square. You have to meet her.” She turned around, giving me a quick smile. The way her face lit up when she spoke made me feel warm inside.

  Seeing her happy was different than how I had met her. We were both down in the dumps, looking to drown our night in the bottom of a liquor bottle. The night was now shaping up to be so much more than I ever imagined. “An old woman?” We walked on the side of the church, heading toward the square.

  “You’ll see,” she said, keeping her eyes forward as she laughed. The sound of it gave me butterflies and hope for what would come next.

  “This should be interesting,” I mumbled. A genuine chuckle burst out of me.

  “It’ll be enlightening.”

  It wasn’t what I expected. In my mind, I had seen a space filled with people, brightly lit, and teeming with life. I had been dead wrong. There were maybe twenty people walking through the square. It was hard to see much of anything as I looked around. Directly in front of us there was a park surrounded by tall, black wrought-iron fencing. A few tables were set up near the front of the church where the light was the brightest. It was quiet as people spoke in whispers and hushed tones.

  “This is the square?” I asked, totally unimpressed.

  “Well, yeah. During the day, it’s full of life. Artists set up around the square, hanging their artwork on the fence. People sit on the steps of the church and sip their coffees and watch the city go by.”

  “And the old woman?” I asked, looking around and zeroing in on an old woman sitting at table with a sign that said “Fortune Teller.” I never believed in someone being able to tell me what was going to happen in the future. It was a clever way to swindle someone for twenty dollars.

  “Right there,” she replied, pointing to the gypsy woman sitting at the table I had spotted.

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