Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Oh. My. God. That super-hot, super-tattooed dude was hitting on you so hard. Brennan’s? That’s nice. And you have to have a reservation for sure.”
Imogen didn’t know what to say. First insisting on picking me up, then walking us to the car, and now a fancy French Quarter restaurant for dinner, where he clearly wasn’t concerned about getting a reservation?
Imogen wasn’t the type to judge a book by its cover, but she had to admit she was surprised.
“What am I going to wear? I didn’t bring date clothes. I don’t own date clothes since, as you pointed out, it’s been eight million years since I’ve dated.”
Jury squealed, “Only one thing to do. Let’s go shopping!”
Imogen looked over at her sister and couldn’t help but grin. “All right. Where to?”
Three hours and six thousand bags, it seemed like, later, Imogen and Jury walked into the hotel lobby after handing the SUV keys to a valet.
“Whoa. Looks like you girls had some fun,” Dad said as he and Mom paused near the concierge desk.
“And this explains why you didn’t answer when we knocked,” Mom added.
“Glad to see you girls enjoying each other’s company,” Dad said.
“It was so much fun,” Jury replied. “Now we just have to decide what Im is going to wear on her date.”
Imogen only partially wanted to strangle her sister into silence. Not enough to kill her … just enough to quiet her down a bit.
“A date?” Mom and Dad spoke in stereo.
“You don’t date,” Mom said.
“She does now. Apparently, all it took was a super-hot tattoo artist to shake her loose.”
“A tattoo artist?” Dad’s eyebrows shot up.
“Not a criminal. A tattoo artist,” Imogen said.
They all went silent for an awkward beat.
“And he’s taking her to Brennan’s for dinner,” Jury said to cut the tension.
Mom’s eyes sparkled. “I like him already. Good taste.”
“And he’s picking her up. And he walked us to the car because he said you can’t be too careful around Canal, even during the day.”
Dad’s expression turned thoughtful. “Okay, I might like him already too. What’s his name?”
“Niquaise St. Clair,” Jury added. “He lives in the French Quarter in a bomb-ass house he inherited.”
“Nic. He goes by Nic,” Imogen said.
“How do you know all this already?” Mom asked. “Although I’m definitely liking what I’m hearing.”
“We met him yesterday,” Jury said. “He’s a super-nice guy. You’ll love him.”
“Whoa, whoa. It’s just one date, okay? We’re not meeting the parents yet.”
“Well, I, for one, would prefer to meet him sooner rather than later if there’s a chance this could be serious,” Dad replied.
Imogen felt his words all the way to her gut. Clearly, he had some regrets about Mount and Keira too.
“Look, it’s one date. If it turns into more, you’ll be the first to know. I bet Jury will tell you faster than I could, even if I wanted to,” she said with a side-eye glance toward her sister.
“We will all be waiting with bated breath, I’m sure,” Dad said. “And, Im, this is great. Thank you. I think we needed something else to focus on right now.”
He held out his arm, and with her hands full of bags, Imogen leaned in for his hug.
“I love you, Dad.” She had to say it. Now that she knew that anytime she saw him could be the last, it felt right to say it early and often.
“I love you too, kiddo.” He squeezed her tight. “Be safe tonight, you hear?”
“I will. Jury already signed off. If he was psycho or dangerous, you know she would’ve intervened.”
“Damn right,” her sister said. “He’s just hot, covered in ink, and totally into her.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed that would be your type, honey,” Mom started. “Although don’t listen to me. I’m just glad you’re getting out there and trying again.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“Are you sure? This is the one?” Imogen turned in the full-length mirror to see the dress she’d bought at Dirty Dog from all angles.
It was pink and cute, and the skirt flared out over a crinoline, which she never in a million years would have thought about wearing before. But the amazing owner, Yve, talked her into it. It was just so fun.
And when in New Orleans …
“Yes. Definitely that one. It’s adorable. And you never know … he could be the one too.”
Imogen’s gaze cut from her reflection to her sister. “Come on. It’s one date, Jur.”
“It all has to start somewhere, right?”
Her sister wasn’t wrong. Every relationship had to have started somewhere, but Imogen had no idea what she was doing even going out with this guy. Nic. He had seemed nice though. And it had been approximately eight million years for her … and—she glanced at the mirror again—she looked cute.
A flutter of happiness shimmered within Imogen, and after the last ten days, she could definitely do with that kind of change in pace.
“Which shoes?”
“I vote for the green leather pumps with those cute pink flower clips on the toes. Like, totally adorbs.”
Imogen slid them on, and she had to agree. She never would’ve guessed bubblegum pink was her color, being a redhead, but she was loving it.
“This is so fun.”
“Right? I mean, it sucks that it took something so awful to bring this about, but I’d call this a silver lining. You?”
With a mix of emotions churning within her, Imogen nodded. “Absolutely a silver lining. And I’ll take it.” She met Jury’s brown eyes, which looked so much like her own. “I love you, Jur. I haven’t said it enough, but you know I do.”
Jury bounced off the bed. “Of course I know you do. I love you too.” She came in for a hug, careful not to crush the poofy pink skirt. When her sister pulled back, she added, “You look amazing. He’s a super-lucky guy for you to give him a shot.”
“You think?”
“You’re gorgeous. A ten, for sure. And you’re only, like, a four or five on the crazy scale, and despite being a redhead, that puts you into the category of Solid Wife Material.”
Imogen blinked, unsure exactly how to take that, but she was sure Jury had meant it as a compliment.
“Crazy scale?”
“You’ve never seen the video? On the internet? The universal crazy-hot matrix?”
Imogen shook her head.
“Oh, girl, it’s hilarious. Hold, please.” Jury pulled out her phone and typed something in. “One second. Gotta skip the ad.” She flipped the phone around to face Imogen.
A few minutes later, they were both laughing hysterically.
“Oh my God. It wouldn’t be so funny if it wasn’t true.”
“Right. I mean, fits me. But like I said, you’re an exceptional redhead. You’re not too crazy.”
“Jury …”
“Hey, it’s fine. I take it as a compliment.”
She wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, and Imogen’s heart was lighter than it had been since … forever, it seemed like. Which, honestly, was a perfect way to start a date.
She glanced at the phone screen again to check the time. “Ten minutes.”
“Last makeup check. Purse check. You have condoms?”
“I’m not having sex tonight, Jury,” she said.
“Never say never. I mean, have you seen that dude? He wasn’t just inked, but built like a brick house. And, well, you never know. The right guy can totally turn you from almost-virgin-again into a fucks-on-the-first-date kinda girl.”
“That’s not happening tonight.”
“I’ll put some in your purse just in case.”
Imogen knew further protest was a waste of breath. Instead, she went to their shared bathroom counter, which was covered with makeup and hair tools until not a single inch of uncluttered space seemed visible. She glanced in the mirror again and paused.
I really do look beautiful, she thought.
Jury had wielded the supplies strewn about like weapons of dating warfare, and the result was understated, natural, and quite stunning.
Her flame-colored hair fell in loose, beachy waves past her shoulders, her skin glowed radiantly with touches of highlighter and whatever other magic potions Jury had applied, and her eyes were emphasized just enough to make the brown soft and smoky.
“You sure I don’t need lipstick?”
“I say skip it. One, because the natural color of your lips is so pink and pretty; two, it’ll make you a lot less self-conscious; and three, he’s a lot more likely to kiss you.”
Imogen almost protested again, but held back. “I might let him do that.”
Jury held out a high hand. “High fives, big sis. I knew there was hope for you.”
Imogen slapped her palm and wondered why they’d never had this much fun together before.
Maybe because we were always fighting and arguing instead of being painfully aware that what you don’t appreciate, you have a tendency to lose.
“Thank you. You worked wonders on me. And it was so fun. I mean, like … the most fun.”
Jury grinned. “It was, wasn’t it? Definitely the most fun I’ve had in recent memory, and there were no drugs, booze, or dudes involved. Well, kind of a dude involved, but not directly. That has to qualify as a miracle, right?”
“I think you’re right.” She paused again. “What time is it?”
“Five minutes. You’d better head down. I know you like to be on time. And for once in my life, I find that important too.”
Imogen grabbed her new clutch—a gold-and-green leather number that was also super cute. “All right. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck, Im. You got this. But good luck anyway. I love you.” Jury leaned closer to air-kiss her cheek.
“Love you. Thank you again.”
“Anytime. Now go. You don’t want to be late.”
When Imogen reached the lobby and stepped outside the NOPSI Hotel doors, she was extra glad she hadn’t waited another minute. Because then she would’ve missed the long, shiny black car pulling up, like it had come straight from the 1960s.
People were grabbing their phones to take pictures and videos of the gorgeous vehicle.
The windows were tinted dark, like a limousine, and it was almost as long as one.
But it only had two doors, one smaller than the other, in its long, boxy frame.
It was stunning, and Imogen wasn’t what anyone would call a car person.
But whoever owned it clearly took care of it because the wide chrome rims and black paint shone beneath the lights.