Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Yep.”
“Actions too. Which is why I give myself space, so you didn’t catch these … paws of furry.”
“It’s fury.” My eyebrows crinkled. “Uh-uh! Nah, Maddy. Black people aren’t furries.”
“You know what that is?”
“Some of the kids. Confused.”
“Okay, you do. But I mean, full-on grumpy cat. Which went over your head. So … I’ll keep that part between me and Shonda.”
I needed a drink. Wanted to toast this woman. But could I speak of her and therapy in the same sentence? Nah. I’d have to catch those furry paws.
Madison glanced over the menu with a frown. “As much as I enjoy the taste of scallops and grits, this restaurant caters to tourists. You know what they say about that?”
“Tourist prices?” I sat back. “Don’t worry about all that.”
“Well, yeah, I assumed DuVall had it covered. But when cooking for tourists, it’s all for show. So, do I still get counted for this day, Your Honorable Accountability Avenger, if we leave early? Together?”
“Where do you get these names?”
“Google. Maybe.”
I shrugged. “Okay, we showed our faces. We’re good. Let’s go.”
She grabbed her clutch and got up.
My eyes traced her, all those gorgeous twists and turns, more curves than the Mississippi. That got me thinking. I sat back; arms folded behind my head. “One condition.”
“Wash—”
“That you—”
“Ing—”
“Call me Probation Papi.” My head tilted. “Or just Papi.”
“Ton!” Maddy practically shouted.
My legs, in linen slacks, crossed at the ankles. My mouth twisted in a way that said, I have spoken!
Madison stepped forward, muttering under her breath, and downed her mimosa. “Okay, Probation. Pa … Pa.”
“Uh-uh!” I cut the air. “That won’t work. Unless you want to grab another Hand Granade.” Be my little freak again.
Her eyes narrowed. Dang, she read my mind. “Whatever … Dome Daddy.”
Her mouth twisted into a smirk as she glared at my bald head. Yep. She tried it.
My smile washed off her smug, satisfied expression. “That’ll do, bébé. You can always call me Daddy. Now let’s get outta here.”
It took us forever to leave. One name. Bridget. That woman caught us tiptoeing toward the exit and turned us right back around. Because of the good Southern hospitality, brunch lasted until early evening. I tried to keep tabs on Madison, especially around the DuValls, but they seemed to be double-teaming us. Gaston chatted me up. Bridget held my wife hostage. When I mouthed, Blink twice if I should call the Feds, from across the courtyard, Madison only smiled and waved. Bridget’s mimosa crew must’ve threatened to waterboard her for trying to escape.
Now my woman was tipsy, walking bow-legged, and sunset was falling over the Quarter. The air grew thick with blaring trumpets and fried shrimp. Lanterns flickered above iron balconies, and I couldn’t take my eyes off Maddy.
“So.” I slid my hands into the pockets of my linen slacks as we strode up the next block. “You ate brunch kind of early. Dinner?”
She cut me a side-eye. “Hmm. You’re worried the night’s over at seven?”
I glanced at my Rolex, having zero issues with being corny as hell. “Six-fifty-seven if that makes a difference.”
“Ah, that actually makes a difference. A very insignificant difference. You can do better than that, Judge—”
“Maddy, don’t.” I shook my head, my smile already on a sliding scale.
“Okay, Mr. Head of State.”
“Bruh, I just told you.”
She shrugged, smiles coming as easily as they had when she was eighteen and all mine. “What? You told me to lay off the judge titles. I did. However, I’ll have you know that justice doesn’t need to come with a reflection.” She stared at my head.
“Not too long ago, I’d sit between your thighs while your hands worked magic over my head. When I turned around, on my knees to thank you? You’d scream my name. Now, you wanna nickname my head?” I leaned in close enough to distinguish her perfume from the lingering smells in the Quarter. “The sun’s almost down. Don’t tell me Dome Daddy has a reflection.”
Madison blinked, her sass falling enough for me to catch that smile.
She offered that little mm-hmm wave. Before she could stroll away or hit me with her clutch, I stepped in front of her. “Don’t tell me you still aren’t in love with my head game.”
We didn’t shift, our gazes fixed, lost in those past moments. The jazz from a nearby balcony poured down like honey, and Madison’s lips parted. She licked them. “Wash, pun intended with that?”
I shrugged.
mad
. . .
Why hadn’t Washington counted my tardiness against me? That man forgot nothing, and the punctuality section of our contract was exhaustive. Well, if he wasn’t angry, this girl would be a reformed self-snitch.
Well into the evening, I’d wanted to brush the back of my hand against his forehead. He’d been so sweet, trying to protect me around Bridget. As if he knew?
No. He wouldn’t have let her slide at the funeral for calling me childfree. For the insinuation. Not a chance.