![]() He looks around, making sure that no one is listening, but one of the things we’ve come to love about N’Awlins is, no one cares who he is. “Why?” Will’s voice is quiet and strained, and I find his eyes with mine. The chickaree coffee compliments the beignets perfectly. “Well, if I were, I’d have to change them because I think I just had an orgasm.” The old woman at the table next to us gasps, but I ignore her and take another bite and throw my head back as I chew, my eyes closed, savoring the deliciousness. “You’re not wearing any.” His eyes heat as he narrows them at me playfully. ![]() ![]() “Dear Lord, I think I need to change my panties.” He laughs at the mess I make with the white powder and takes a big bite of his own treat. “I do.” I smirk again and pick up a warm, fragrant beignet, shake a bit of the excess sugar off, and take a bite. “I just want to hang out with you, everything else is gravy.” “I thought we could just wander around, shop, listen to the street musicians.” He shrugs as the waitress sets three baskets of square, fried dough with powdered sugar liberally dumped on the top on the table, along with our chickaree coffee. “So,” I sit across from him at a tiny bistro table and perch my sunglasses on top of my head. “They’re really good,” he answers simply and leads me to a table outside in the shade. ![]() ![]() “Yes, please.” I nod and wait while he orders. ![]()
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