Because of Lila(27)

"This is plenty," she told me. "Let's drop it off at the hotel then I want to see Bourbon Street. "

Of course, she did.

We headed back from where we came and she seemed completely fine with the idea of walking in those damn heels. Didn't they hurt? I decided to let it go and asked something else I'd been putting off. "You talked to your parents?"

I was expecting her to say "yes," she called them as soon as she got to the room. Instead, she shook her head no.

"They're probably worried," I pointed out.

She shrugged. "I'm grown."

That was not a Lila Kate response. I couldn't decide if I liked this change or not. I'd grown up knowing there were two things I could depend on. That my dad was never going to make me forget what was expected of me. And that Lila Kate Carter was going to always do the right thing.

She'd just blown that out of the water. 

"You've been grown awhile. What made you decide to embrace it?"

She didn't look at me. She kept her gaze straight ahead. "Life."

That was all she was going to say. Life. As if that made sense. I was in New Orleans babysitting her, and she was dressing like . . . like . . . like a fucking girl I'd pick up in a club, giving me one-word answers, and rebelling against everything she'd ever done.

I pushed for more answers. "What inspired this fit of rebellion?"

The pinched frown that came over her face was interesting. There was something, but I doubted if she was going to tell me. At least not yet. Our journey had just begun. Eventually, she'd tell me.

"I'd rather not talk about it," was her final answer.

I didn't push. I would let it go for now. "Fine. So tell me what is it you want to see on Bourbon Street?"

This brought a smile to her face. "I have no idea. I just want to see it. And can we get beignets? I've always wanted to try the real things."

"Yeah, we can. Beignets are better if you eat them sober. Let's do that before we hit Bourbon Street."

I expected her to tell me she didn't plan on drinking. But she didn't. She just nodded in agreement. Jesus. I hoped she wasn't planning on getting drunk. Not dressed like that.

"How far can you walk in those shoes?" I asked.

"Miles."

I started to argue and decided to let it go. If she wanted to walk in them, it wasn't my business. Her toes could hate her later.

Lila Kate dropped her bags off quickly. She grinned like a little kid on our way to get beignets. I kept waiting for her to complain about the shoes she was wearing, but she never did. She seemed completely taken in with the scenery around her. Watching her experience New Orleans was more fun than my first trip. She was soaking it in. We had to stop to watch a group of guys doing a street show, flipping over people. Then we had to stop to watch a kid dance. Both times she left tips and clapped excitedly. It was fucking cute. That was the side of Lila Kate I knew. The innocence that only she made appear beautiful.

When the white powder from the beignets got all over her hands and shirt, she laughed as if it was the best thing that had happened all day. She dusted it off with ease, and then asked if there were places to go dancing.

Night had finally started to fall, and it was time to take her to the center of it all. Lila's wide-eyed wonder as we entered Bourbon Street from Canal Street made me wish I had a fucking camera. Just to remember this. I needed a drink. My head was getting all fucked up. I needed to drink and get shit straight. Not think about taking photos of Lila.

"We'll start here and make our way down," I told her turning into a bar with live music. It was hit or miss with these places. You just had to go in them all until you found the best music. Most of them had the same drinks.

Lila beamed as we walked into the first bar. It was already crowded; the music playing was old eighties rock. I went directly to the bar. "What do you want?" I asked her.

"I don't know. What do you suggest?"

"You've drunk before, Lila.

"Yes, but I always order the same thing. I want to do something different. Be someone different."

"We're in New Orleans. Why don't you try a hurricane?"

"Sounds good to me."

I wasn't into drinking the sweet shit, but most girls liked that kind of drink. I ordered a Jack Daniels and a hurricane. The bartender was a female with creamy tan skin and clear blue eyes. The top she was wearing left little to the imagination, and I didn't mind enjoying the view. When she turned to get my order, she winked at me and although I knew those lashes were fake they were hot. So were her ass cheeks hanging out of the shorts she had on. God, I loved Bourbon Street.


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