Song for the Dead (Ada Palomino 2)

As for me, well, I haven’t forgotten that we kissed. Twice. I haven’t forgotten that he was okay with being my rebound before completely dropping the conversation. I haven’t forgotten the dirty things he said to me. I don’t think I ever will, to be honest. He said there was a thin line he didn’t want to cross, but he doesn’t realize that he crossed it. And that I pulled him over.

But there’s also a lightness inside me that wasn’t there before, a weight lifted off my shoulders. While I still worry about Max, about his psyche and his soul and what this journey into NOLA will bring us, what Rose will do to him, I think not seeing Jay helped me immensely. Maybe that was the closure I needed. Not for him to change his mind. But for me to change mine. To walk away and leave it in the past.

We haven’t seen any demons either, which has been a relief. I’m sure they’re just lurking around the corner, and New Orleans seems like a place that would have a ton of them, but I’m grateful that none of my clothes have been ruined since we left San Francisco.

The closer we get to New Orleans though, the more that Max seems on edge, kneading the steering wheel, his jaw tight. I can’t blame him. This is the climax, the crescendo, the point of the whole trip. Everything hinges on this, even the things I don’t understand yet.

“So, what’s the plan, Stan?” I ask Max as we head up the wrought-iron stairs that lead to the third floor of our hotel on Royal Street. He’s carrying both suitcases with ease, thank god, because the staircase is narrow as hell and totally open, going up the middle of an inner courtyard.

“Well,” he says, going to our door. “First we get settled and I might want a nap.”

I step inside the room after him. It’s large, bright white brick with a window overlooking the street below, a horse and carriage passing underneath. It’s by the far the nicest room we’ve had and I’m grateful that Max used his voodoo magic on the receptionist, especially since we might be here for a few days.

It’s also just one bed.

Thankfully, it’s a king. Even if nothing happens between us, and that increasingly seems to be the case, he’s a really big guy and he takes up a lot of the space.

He puts the suitcases down and then immediately crawls on top of the pristine white cover, lying face down.

“So that’s it?” I ask, leaning against the wall. “You’re just going to go to sleep?”

“Yep,” he mumbles into the bed, moving his arms above his head, his green t-shirt raising a few inches, showing a slice of his strong back. Naturally, my predatory gaze goes to his ass, his jeans really showing it off. Big, bouncy, nothing but muscle.

Instinctively I reach out and smack him right across his cheek, the sound echoing against the bricks.

He stiffens, head up, giving me the most incredulous look that I have to laugh.

“Ada! What the fuck?”

“What?” I say, holding up my palm like a weapon. “Like hell I’m going to let you take a nap when we literally just got to the French Quarter.”

“Sweetheart, I’m exhausted,’ he says to me, frowning at my palm. “And you need to put that away.”

I bite back a smile. “I’ll put it away if you promise me we’ll have a bit of fun tonight. We’ve been doing nothing but driving.”

“And that’s why I want a nap. Fuck, Ada. I’m old as hell. Give me a break.”

“Fine,” I tell him, sitting on the corner of the bed. “I’ll let you nap. Just tell me the plan.”

“I sleep. Then I’ll take you to a few of my favorite bars—”

“On Bourbon Street?” I ask excitedly.

“Hell no,” he says. “That place is trash. You’d get into too many fist fights.”

I grin. “Oh yeah? Maybe I’m a little more open to attention this time around.”

“Then I’ll get into too many fist fights,” he says, turning his head away from me.

Okay, I admit that tiny inkling of possessiveness makes my stomach flutter. I’m a simple girl, what can I say?

“Then what happens after the fist fights?”

When do we see Rose?

He sighs. “Then we’ll go to Rose’s bar and figure it out from there.”

The fluttery feeling in my stomach grows hard.

“What do you think will happen?” I ask, my voice going quiet.

“I don’t know,” he says. He sounds sleepy. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

What if right now is the only time I get with Max? What if Rose breaks off her engagement once she realizes that he’s alive? What if this is the start of their happily-ever-after? I might be sleeping here alone tonight. I might have to fly home. I might not ever see Max again.