Wrong Place, Right Time(86)

I ignore her muffin-talk about her dog not being here to clean up her mess. I’ll vacuum it up later. I have bigger problems to fix right now.

“It’s not a date,” I say. “We had a bet and I lost it, so the loser had to buy dinner. And on this dinner event or whatever it’s supposed to be, we have plans to discuss our dating strategy moving forward.”

May’s mouth is still too stuffed with muffin to answer, but she tries anyway. “Vo vabing vabbevy?” More crumbs fly.

“Yeah. Dating strategy.” I shake my head, disappointed in myself. Why can’t I just get up the guts to tell him how I feel? “It’s so stupid.”

May finally manages to swallow her chunk of muffin and speaks in a strained voice. “Whose brilliant idea was this?”

“I don’t remember. Most of the time when I’m with him, I feel really comfortable, like I’m hanging out with someone I’ve known for a long time—a real, solid friend, you know? And then he’ll do something or say something that makes me notice how cute he is or how nice he is or how fun he is, and all those good friend-type feelings go away and I go gaga over him and start acting like I have only half a brain.” My voice rises as my inability to manage a single-adult life becomes clearer with my explanation. “And then the next thing I know we’re talking about going out on dates with other people. It’s really frigging frustrating, if you want to know the truth. I’m totally out of practice with this being-single shit. I’ve barely started doing it, and I already want to quit. And I hate that Miles is so much better at it than I am.”

May shakes her head. “It’s not you that’s the problem here. And don’t even begin to compare yourself to that turdbasket, Miles. Ugh. He’s such a dick and you are so not a dick, okay?”

We both smile. She always had a way with words, my sister.

“This stuff with Dev . . . don’t let it get you down. I think he’s just a complicated guy. In fact, I think all the people at Bourbon Street Boys are particularly complicated people. They had rough lives growing up here in New Orleans. We thought we had it tough, but it was nothing compared to what they went through, believe me. Ozzie has told me some stories . . .” She waves her hand around, dismissing that thought before she can elaborate. “Anyway, they went through a lot of tragedies together that brought them close. They’re a special breed for sure, and it takes longer to get to know them, but when you do get there . . . when you’re accepted into their group . . . it’s totally worth it.”

I yearn for the kind of acceptance she’s describing. If only I could woman-up and stop worrying about everything all the time. “I’m really happy for you, that you found Ozzie and his team. It’s difficult for me, but clearly good for you.” It feels nice to finally admit that out loud. All the risks she takes fade a little in my mind when I see the happy expression on her face and hear the confidence coming out in her voice. She’s found her place in the world, and that’s something to hang on to. Hell, I’m thirty-two and I still haven’t gotten there; I’m starting to doubt I ever will.

“Thank you,” she says. “I was worried you didn’t approve.”

“Actually, I didn’t. I’ve been freaked out about what you’ve been doing, to be honest. I know Ozzie’s a good guy, but your life has really changed since you met him, and I worry about the risks that you run going out and taking pictures of criminals.”

“But you know that I’m being trained, and I have the whole team around me. I’m never alone doing the work. And most of what we do is behind the scenes.”

I nod. “I know that. But still, my first day there? Remember? There was that big . . . incident or whatever. Do you even know what it was all about?”

May nods, getting serious all of a sudden. “We have an idea.”

I raise my eyebrows at her. “Is it top-secret, need-to-know stuff, or am I allowed to hear about it?”

She doesn’t answer me right away, which only makes me more curious. I up the ante by handing her another muffin and then settle down deeper into my chair. This promises to be really good, if the expression on my sister’s face is any indication.





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

My sister looks a little uncomfortable. “I’m not really sure, actually,” she says. “You’re not technically an employee of the Bourbon Street Boys, or at least not as far as I know. Did they officially offer you a job yet?”

“No. Lucky hinted around that there could be a job for me, but I don’t get the impression that he’s the one who would do the offering.”