Chapter 13
washington
. . .
Last week, Madison stormed out of Dooky Chase and my life. Contract be damned. If I had any sense, I would’ve used her furry-red handcuffs instead of a stupid dating scheme to get her attention. Those cuffs brought us years of pleasure. Good times. But the night they broke? Lord have mercy.
Madison was drunk. Not tipsy. Not I-can-still-walk-in-heels drunk.
Nah, she was New Orleans-half-a-hand-grenade-deep drunk.
Woman could only toss back a glass of wine.
That night, she’d stumbled into my arms in lingerie after I had already put her to bed, still intoxicated.
She was clutching one half of those busted cuffs like she was ready to perform a miracle.
Damn things were dead to the world. She must’ve accidentally broken them in a drunken, violent fit to open them and get to me. Lust and frustration were no joke.
She had gasped. What are we gonna do now?
Since she was one of those crying drunks, I did the noble thing.
Kept my mouth shut. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t say, Maddy, you’re acting like somebody shot your dog.
And I sure didn’t follow up with Hello? You still got a whole man here willing to acquiesce to any of your demands.
I let her have her moment. We buried those poor, fluffy cuffs with a prayer, candles, and slow jams. Then we celebrated. Horizontally.
The next day, I bought her another pair. And she deserved them.
Man, I miss my life.
It was the first day of spring in New Orleans, and it had a half-wild, half-hungover kinda beauty.
The Quarter was still shaking off Mardi Gras.
Beads dangled from balconies like forgotten sins.
Street performers were already out, sliding trombones through the mid-morning light.
And I was showing up at Gaston DuVall’s French Quarter Jazz Brunch alone.
I adjusted my linen blazer and strolled into the courtyard restaurant. Tables sat tucked beneath banana trees. Mimosas flowed. Louis Armstrong’s “Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans?” drifted on the breeze. As the live band played, I answered, Nope. I miss Madison. Had she blown me off?
“Washington!”
I turned. DuVall, wearing gold, waved me over as if he owned the place. The two guys at his sides were finance suits, or maybe professional talkers, judging by the number of hand gestures.
He clasped my hand. “Didn’t think you’d show up solo. Where’s that firecracker of yours? Bridget missed her at the auction.”
Madison always said that if the woman didn’t attend an event to gossip and sip champagne, she was getting Botox. In front of Bridget, my bébé was all tight-church-lady smiles. Nothing more. “Maddy will arrive soon.”
Before I could change the subject, DuVall nodded past me. “Speak of the hurricane.”
I cut through the courtyard, my eyes on Madison in a red pantsuit. She spoke with a server, hand on hip.
“Hey,” she murmured, voice tight but guarded as I gestured her toward a table away from the crowd.
“You’re late, Madison. Why?”
“I … uh.”
I pulled another chair from the table, closer to the entrance, under a canopy of trees. I didn’t want anyone to bother us while I pressed her. “You know what? I don’t need you stumbling over words. Next time you have excuses, that’s an infraction, Maddy.”
“Okay.” She sat.
Too simple. I went heavy on her. “And next time you ghost me, I’ma bring the red cuffs.”
Her brow lifted. Something flashed in her eyes. Desire. Then maybe fear, since she understood I was taking her one way or another. “Wash, you still, uh, got those?”
“Yep. The second pair survived. Unlike my patience.”
That earned me a smirk she hid behind her mimosa.
Then she picked up a prix fixe menu on the table.
After a beat, she put it down. “Didn’t mean to be dramatic at Dooky Chase.
” Her eyes met mine. Written in beautiful mahogany ink in those irises was an apology.
“You gotta know, Wash, I wasn’t mad at you.
Never. You know the saying, looks are deceiving? ”
“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.