Easy Melody (Boudreaux 3)

“This is called working,” I reply, enunciating each word in case he’s slow.

“No, it’s called flirting with men.”

“Oh please. Like you don’t spend every evening you work flirting with the young girls you pour drinks for.” I roll my eyes and wipe the bar with a wet rag.

“I’m not you,” he says simply and then nods toward the stage. “And I don’t put on a show for the person I was with just days ago. And the thing is, that’s not you either.” He gives me a pointed look and walks away.

I glance up at the stage with a frown, surprised to find Declan’s eyes on me, but he blinks and looks away without missing a beat of the bluesy song he’s playing.

I was not trying to make Declan jealous. I was talking to an old friend. I didn’t do anything wrong. Declan was flirting with a table of women—touching them!—not thirty minutes ago!

Not to mention, he’s not my boyfriend.

But there’s a small part of me that feels just a tiny bit bad. So, I do what I do best. I raise my chin, fasten a smirk on my face and do my damn job.

***

It was a long night. The Odyssey was busier than ever, and Declan even played for an extra fifteen minutes when the crowd yelled for more. He looks so comfortable on a stage, an instrument in his hand. He makes the singing sound easy, when I know that it’s anything but.

He’s at home there.

The stage is empty now, along with the rest of the place, and I sigh, enjoying the quiet and the solitude. How an introvert fell into a career that involves so many people, I have no idea.

But I love it. Almost as much as the quiet. I glance around, then flip off the lights and slip through the front door and lock it behind me.

“You’re later tonight.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” I screech, jumping about five feet in the air, then clutch at my chest and scowl at Declan. “Stop doing that!”

“I’m sorry,” he says with a lazy grin. He looks tired. Actually, as I take a closer look, he looks worse than tired.

Do not ask him what’s wrong.

“Why are you here?” I ask and walk briskly down the sidewalk toward my car.

“Walking you,” he replies simply and easily keeps up with my stride. His legs are so long, it’s nothing more than a leisurely walk for him.

“Why?”

“Are we going to do this again?” he asks with a sigh. “Because it’s dangerous here at night. Why isn’t Adam walking you out? You guys could just ride together.”

“That would cramp Adam’s sex life up,” I reply with a laugh. “I don’t want any part of that.”

“Where are you parked?”

“About four blocks up,” I admit and bite my lip. I will never admit this out loud, but I’m glad he’s here to walk me. He’s right, it is dangerous in the Quarter at night.

“Why in the hell did you park so far away?” He reaches down to take my hand, but I pull it away.

“It’s all I could find.”

“Isn’t there parking in the alley?”

“It was full when I got here.” I scowl up at him. “I didn’t ask you to walk me.”

“No, you’d be too stubborn for that,” he mutters and sighs. “Since your car is so far away, let’s talk about this week.”

“I already told you—”

“I know what you told me, sugar, but you didn’t give me a chance to tell you anything, and I’m going to have my say.” He takes my hand again, holding tightly so I can’t pull away, and rather than be a baby about it, I let him keep it.

“Fine. Say whatever you want.”

“I was sick this week, and I had to work every night. So, I was either in bed, wishing I was dead, or I was singing, still wishing I was dead.”

Do not offer to make him soup, Calliope Marie. “I’m sorry you were sick.”

“So that’s why I didn’t call.”

“Let me ask you something.” I stop us on the sidewalk and face him, looking up into his eyes, which are almost gold in the streetlights. “If you hadn’t have been sick, would you have called? Not that it matters now, but I’m curious.”

He swallows and frowns and I already know the answer. Probably not.

“I figured.” I nod and keep walking.

“Look, Callie, it’s not that I didn’t have fun.”

“I get it.” I shrug and almost do a happy jig when I see my car in the next block over. “This is all on me, Declan. You didn’t make me any promises. You never said you’d call. I just thought the chemistry was on point and that we had a great time, in and out of bed.”

“I agree,” he says, that frown still in place. “Like I said earlier, I’ve never claimed to understand women. I do enjoy you, and I like you, a lot.”

I nod. “Okay. Thanks for the walk. I’m fine, Declan.”

“Hey.” He grips my elbow and stops me beside my car. “Are we okay? Friends?” He smiles softly. His hair is disheveled and sexy, and I can smell him. I want to climb him and have my way with him, but that is a definite bad idea, especially knowing that that’s not what he wants.

“Friends.”

And then, to my utter bewilderment, he leans in, his eyes pinned to my lips, and I barely have time to duck out of the way before he could lay those lips on mine.

“Not that kind of friends, Declan.” Without looking back, I get in the car and drive away.

What in the hell was that?

Why do I pick men who are emotionally unavailable and commitment-phobes? Keith made it pretty clear from the beginning that the sex was great, and he enjoyed my company, but that’s all it would ever be. We didn’t see other people, it was exclusive, but it was never going to be forever.