Chapter 5 Lyrix
Lyrix
We left the restaurant with full stomachs and happier hearts. I was still laughing about how good the stuffed omelet was when we turned the corner and suddenly ran right into a wall of sound.
A brass band was coming down the street, horns blaring, drums pounding, people shouting and waving white towels in the air.
“Oh my God,” I said, eyes wide. “I like this!”
Maison grinned, already pulling his phone out to record. “Second line, baby. Welcome to a New Orleans.”
It was pure magic. People were dancing like the street belonged to them, and honestly, it did. One man in a linen suit was twirling his cane. Women in dresses waved their fans in sync with the horns. Even a dog had on Mardi Gras beads.
Maison was in it instantly, jumping straight into the crowd. The music swallowed him up, and all I could see was his tall frame moving with perfect rhythm, that easy smile spreading across his face like he was exactly where he belonged.
“Come on!” he shouted over the band, waving me forward.
I shook my head, laughing. “I don’t dance sober in public!”
He grinned. “Then this is the perfect place to start.”
Before I could protest, he was already making his way toward me, moving through the crowd like music guided him. He reached for my hand, and something in me just… gave up trying to be chill.
“Maison!” I laughed as he pulled me closer.
“Lyrix,” he said, smiling down at me. “You said you came here to feel something. So feel it.”
The horns hit a high note, and suddenly the energy was contagious. Someone behind me yelled “Ayyyeee!” and the whole crowd joined in. The beat picked up, the drumline hit a roll, and before I knew it, I was moving.
Everyone around us was cheering. “Go head, girl!” one woman shouted, waving her towel. Another man clapped his hands and yelled, “She getting it now!”
Maison was grinning like he’d just changed my life. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
I couldn’t stop laughing, couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t stop smiling. The music was wild, the energy impossible to resist.
Maison leaned in close, his voice warm against my ear. “See? You don’t just visit New Orleans, you join it.”
I looked up at him, heart thumping and hair sticking to my forehead. “You might be right about that.”
He grinned, still swaying to the beat. “Told you I know how to show a girl a good time.”
We danced until the parade moved on, leaving the street with leftover joy. I was out of breath and glowing, and he was still smiling at me like I’d just passed some kind of initiation test.
“That,” I said, fanning myself, “was insane.”
“That,” he said, “was New Orleans.”
“Come on,” he said, grabbing my hand before I could even ask where we were going.
His hand was warm. For a split second, I almost pulled back, but something in me just…
didn’t. It had been so long since I’d held anyone’s hand.
So long since I’d even wanted to. The feeling was simple, but it hit me like muscle memory waking up after a long nap.
At first, I tried to think too much into it. Tried to tell myself it was just friendly, just part of the moment. But then I remembered that it was my Heaux Phase. I wasn’t supposed to overthink. I was supposed to let go. So I squeezed his hand and followed.
We crossed the street, dodging a man selling hats and a woman handing out flyers. We stopped in front of a little shop with candles glowing in the windows, and I realized where we were.
The door was painted deep red, and the window display was full of crystals, incense, and little dolls that looked like they had stories to tell. The sign above the door said, Madame’s Voodoo & Readings.
I laughed. “What is this adventure, Maison?”
He smirked, still holding the door open for me. “Your vision board said to get a reading, right?”
I looked up at him. “Yeah, but it said a reading about my sex life. You just trying to hear what she’s gonna say.”
He grinned. “Maybe. But I’m just trying to make sure you cross everything off that list.”
I gave him a look. “Don’t worry, my sex life’s been so dry, she’s probably gonna tell me even the spiders in there died from all the dust.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m realistic,” I said, pointing at him. “There’s a difference.”
He opened the door wider, the smell of sage and something sweet rolling out. “Come on, Lyrix. Do it for the Heaux Vision Board.”
I groaned dramatically, crossing my arms. “You’re really gonna guilt-trip me with my own goals?”
He grinned. “Yup.”
“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes, though I couldn’t stop smiling. “Let’s go see what the spirits think about my tragic sex life.”
He laughed as I brushed past him into the shop. A beaded curtain hung in the back, and somewhere behind it, a woman’s voice said, “I’ll be right with y’all!”
I turned to him and whispered, “If she tells me I’m cursed, I’m slapping you.”
He leaned in close, his breath brushing my ear. “If she does, I’ll buy you the candle to fix it.”
The woman stepped out with bangles clinking and a deep magenta scarf wrapped around her head.
“What can I help y’all with today?” she asked, looking between the two of us.
“I was wondering if I could get a reading,” I said, clearing my throat. “About my sex life.”
Her eyes lit up like I had just made her whole week. “Ooooh, baby, come on back. I love them kinds.”
Maison tried to play it cool, but I heard the small chuckle escape his lips. He looked way too excited to be invited on this particular journey.
We stepped into a small, candlelit room behind a curtain, filled with incense and velvet and vibes. The energy in the air felt like secrets were waiting to be spilled.
She waved her hand and said, “Sit down, sugar. Let’s see what Spirit wants to say about your… sacred dealings.”
Maison leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, clearly enjoying it too much.
The woman closed her eyes, hovered her hands over some cards, and said in a low tone, “Hmmm. You’ve been… unsatisfied. Spirit shows drought. And not the kind you fix with lotion and a podcast.”
I blinked. “That’s… accurate.”
“You crave touch. Real touch. Not rushed, not routine. The kind that makes you forget how long it’s been. You want someone who can listen to your body with their hands, not just their ears.”
I side-eyed Maison, whose smirk was now trying to disappear into his jaw.
The woman kept going, unfazed. “You want intensity. Someone who can slow down time with a kiss, who can press into you like they’re trying to rewrite your memories. You don’t want to just be seen. You want to be studied.”
Maison’s brow lifted. He uncrossed his arms.
“And you,” she said, pointing directly at me, “you’ve been playing it safe. Patient. Healing. Good for you, baby. But let’s not pretend. Spirit says your favorite position is eye contact.”
I gasped. “Excuse me?!”
She smiled like she had just read my diary.
“You want connection. A little chaos. Not just someone who can lay you down, but someone who can throw you off balance. The kind who pulls your soul out your mouth with a kiss. And baby, Spirit says you love it a little nasty.”
Maison looked like he was physically restraining laughter at that point, but also adjusting his stance like the room had gotten hotter.
“I—uh—wasn’t expecting all that,” I muttered.
“Mm,” she said. “Most don’t. But Spirit tells the truth. You want to be handled. Not just touched, but handled. With care and control, all at once. And when the moment’s right, you want that kiss slow, deep, a little filthy… like the kind that makes you question your whole healing journey.”
I was sweating.
“Mmm… Spirit says you don’t just miss affection, baby. You miss surrendering. You miss the kind of energy that makes you stop thinking about control for once.”
My throat went dry.
She smiled like she heard the thought I didn’t say. “You spend all day being in charge, holding it together, pretending you’re fine. But deep down, you crave somebody who can make you let go. Someone steady enough for you to fall into and know you won’t hit the ground.”
I felt Maison glance my way.
“Spirit says you like direction,” she continued, tapping a card with her nail. “Not force. Not fear. Just somebody who knows what they’re doing, who looks at you and already understands what you need without you explaining it.”
Her tone got softer, almost tender. “You want to be seen, guided, adored, and devoured all at once. To be handled like you’re precious, but not fragile. That’s what your energy calls for.”
Maison cleared his throat. Once. Twice. He looked like he was regretting every decision that led him here.
The woman opened her eyes and grinned. “Mmmhmm. Spirit says you want connection that feels like conversation. You want somebody to match your rhythm and remind you what your own body sounds like.”
“Lord have mercy,” I said.
“Oh, she merciful,” the woman said, smiling at me. “She just also got jokes. Spirit says your patience’s been tested long enough. The next time somebody makes you feel that spark, don’t think. Just feel.”
Then the woman turned her gaze to him and said, “And you… you might wanna stop pretending you’re just here for moral support.”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Spirit says you already thinking too loud, sugar,” she teased, gathering her cards. “Go on now before I start tellin’ all your business.”
We stepped back outside, both of us blinking like we’d just been released from a confessional. I was still fanning myself with the pamphlet she’d handed me about “aligning my sacred energy.”
Maison broke first. “Damn,” he said, laughing. “I didn’t know you were that… uh—”
“—horny?” I finished for him.
He laughed louder. “I was trying to be respectful, but yeah.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t act surprised. She said what she said. And she wasn’t wrong, either.”
“Oh, she wasn’t?”
“Nope,” I said, smirking. “Matter of fact, I can’t wait to get back to my hotel and introduce myself to my rose again.”