Chapter 8 Lyrix
Lyrix
The sun was beaming through the sheer curtains. I squinted, stretched, and rolled over.
Maison stood on the balcony, wearing the hotel robe, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and smooth. His chocolate skin glistened under the morning light. I didn’t even pretend not to stare. I just watched, my lips curling into a slow smile as I laughed at myself.
So this was the hype behind vacation baes.
I used to hear about women falling for men on quick getaways and thought, Couldn’t be me.
But whew. I understood the thrill. The danger.
The escape. You’re not trying to impress nobody.
You’re just having fun. Being who you are or maybe who you’ve always wanted to be, without worrying about being “too much.” It was liberating as hell.
And the craziest part was that men like Maison ate that energy up. These men didn’t want polished perfection. They wanted soft chaos. They wanted somebody who might twerk in the airport line and say she was cold just to wear a trench coat with nothing underneath. Spontaneity was the new sexy.
He ended the call, turned toward me, and smiled.
“Good morning, girlfriend.”
I blinked.
Now… see… what? I was about to take back everything I was just thinking.
I laughed, nervous and caught off guard. “Wait a minute. Girlfriend? That’s what we’re doing now?”
He pointed behind me, and I turned to look. My vision board. He walked over and tapped a square I’d doodled in pink marker: “Pretend to be someone’s girlfriend for 24 hours.”
“Oh my God…” I laughed because I forgot that shit was on there. “You’re really gonna make sure I check every damn thing off this board, huh?”
He grinned. “I’m just making sure you live this Heaux Phase out loud, baby.”
“Well alright then,” I said, stretching with a smirk. “What’s the plan, boyfriend?”
He raised a brow and licked his lips slow. “Ain’t nothing more fun than partying with your girlfriend.”
I sat up and smirked, watching him lean against the balcony rail like some chocolate dream in a robe. “I ain’t never had a boyfriend from Louisiana," I said, stretching my arms over my head. “I’m tryna see what that be like.”
He turned around laughing, deep and smooth. “It’s a mixture of romance and ratchet turn up,” he said.
“Ohhh, period,” I grinned. “I love a good balance.”
“How long you need to get ready?”
I stretched again and gave him a look. “Mmm, maybe an hour. I might need to use my rose first to get my spirit right.”
He laughed and walked over to kiss me. “How about this… I run home, freshen up, and be back in 45 minutes.”
“But before?”
“But before I leave, I’ll do everything that battery-operated babe can’t do.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that right? You think you can outdo Rose’lesha? You do know she never gets tired.”
He leaned in, close enough that I could smell his cologne and confidence. “Yeah, but she don’t kiss your neck while she’s working. Or whisper in your ear. Or grab your hips when you start running.”
“Ohhh.” I was biting my lip, barely holding in my smile. “Well, alright then.”
We walked through the doors of Loretta’s like we’d just stepped into somebody’s grandma’s kitchen. The air smelled like butter, powdered sugar, and a little bit of magic.
Heads turned wherever we walked because we came in looking like Mardi Gras royalty on a lunch break.
I had on a custom corset and skirt set, both covered in purple, green, and gold rhinestones that shimmered like a damn disco ball every time I moved.
My boots matched the vibe. As soon as I booked my flight, I hit up my homegirl for a rush order.
She came through with the magic, and baby…
I wore that outfit. Maison matched my fly effortlessly and we looked good.
I looked around and asked, “Okay…what is this?”
“This,” he said, guiding me by the small of my back, “is Loretta’s. The queen of pralines and beignets.”
I raised a brow, skeptical but open. “Mmm. I’ve had some at Café Du Monde when I came for Essence Fest.”
He smirked. “Yeah, but you ain’t had these. I’m tellin’ you, this right here? Gone change your life.”
As we stepped further in, a warm voice called out, “Hey baby! It’s good to see you!”
A small woman with the brightest eyes and softest voice hugged him like he was her nephew, godson, or somebody’s favorite.
“You here to pick up your parents’ regular?”
I froze for a second, then thought—oh, so this is family-approved level good.
He chuckled and shook his head. “No ma’am, not today. My girlfriend’s in town and she’s never been here, so I had to bring her.”
She looked over at me with the biggest smile. “Well, alright then! I hope she ready.”
I laughed and nodded. “I hope I am too.”
“You already know what to get me,” he told her with a wink. “Give her the full experience.”
“Say less, baby,” she replied, taking his card. “I got you.”
We found a seat by the window, and I leaned back, already loving the vibe. I looked at him and whispered, “Girlfriend, huh?”
He smirked. “Just for 24 hours, remember?”
I bit my lip and shook my head. The man had charm in his DNA.
A few minutes later, the same sweet lady from earlier came back, balancing a tray that looked like it had been blessed by the ancestors. The aroma hit before the tray even sat down. It was warm, sugary, buttery, savory goodness all fighting for top spot in my nose.
She set it down with a wink. “Full experience, just like he asked for. Y’all enjoy.”
“Oh my goodness,” I said, eyes wide, “this smells like heaven got a kitchen.”
He laughed as he pulled the tray toward us and started pointing like he was introducing royalty.
“Aight, so boom,” he said, tapping the first pastry. “This one right here is the crab-stuffed beignet. That sauce on the side? Don’t play with it. It’s gonna bless your spirit.”
I nodded, already ready.
He pointed to the next. “This right here is the praline-stuffed beignet. It’s sweet, creamy, smooth, and rich.”
“Then we got the traditional beignet,” he said, tapping the golden square pillow dusted in powdered sugar like it was sacred. “I know you’ve had one before, but trust me, you haven’t had one that tastes like this. These ain’t them café ones. This one got soul.”
I picked up the crab one first, dipped it in the sauce, and took a bite.
Listen.
If flavor had a heartbeat, it was thumping in that beignet.
The outside was golden and crisp, but the inside was a soft, flaky dream. The crab was seasoned like somebody’s grandma did a drive-by blessing in the kitchen.
Then I tried the praline one and damn near sat back in silence.
The filling was smooth and creamy like melted brown sugar hugs.
It had me feeling like I was somebody’s rich auntie on a yacht in Monaco.
I looked at him and said, “This is giving… exclusive access. Like everybody can’t afford this taste. ”
He laughed, eyes dancing. “You see what I’m saying? That’s the Loretta’s touch.”
I went for the traditional last, expecting it to be basic, but the powdered sugar was cloud-soft and the dough practically melted. “See,” I said between bites, “this right here is what love tastes like. This got ‘marry me’ energy.”
“Just wait until I bring you to try the praline stuffed king cake next time,” he said, grinning.
“Next time?” I teased.
“I told you,” he said, sipping his drink. “Twenty-four-hour girlfriend. I gotta do right.”
I leaned back, powdered sugar on my fingers, full and happy. “Sir…if this is what having a boyfriend from Louisiana is like…I might need to extend my contract.”
We pulled up to Nice Guys NOLA, the day party energy hitting me in the chest. Before we even stepped out of the car, I could already see people were out there living. Just straight vibes.
The line to get seated wrapped around the corner, but nobody cared. Everybody was too busy vibing. Music blasted from the inside with heavy bass, laughter, champagne clinks, and hookah smoke floating in the air.
We hadn’t even made it to the door yet and I was already dancing.
It was something about the city—something about New Orleans culture that made your hips move before your brain could even catch up. As soon as I heard that familiar bounce beat creep through the speakers and the DJ screamed, “Y’all ready for this one?!”, I already knew what time it was.
“That’s my JUVIEEEEEE!” The beat dropped and all hell broke loose.
Every woman standing on their section chairs turned into backup dancers. Everybody in line transformed into performers on a live music video set. Magnolia Shorty and Katey Red had taken over, and the whole restaurant turned into a bounce temple.
And me?
I did what needed to be done.
Bent over in line like I was born and raised Uptown. Shaking ass like I was auditioning for the NOLA Olympics. I backed it up right on Maison like I had something to prove.
Most men would’ve stumbled. But Maison didn’t flinch. He placed his drink on the hood of the car and handled it like a real one, like a down south man who knew his role when the music hit. He matched my rhythm and kept his hand steady on my waist like he was raised off bounce music and prayer.
“Lord have mercy,” I heard somebody behind us say, laughing and hyping me up. “She giving him that energy!”
I winked, still dancing, feeling free.
A staff member came to escort us in, and I still couldn’t stop dancing.
The beat had me in a chokehold and Maison just smiled like a proud coach letting his star player have their moment.
He didn’t rush me, pull me away, or look embarrassed.
He just held my hand, guided me around the crowd like I was a parade float, and let me dance all the way to our table.
That’s what made him different. Some men want you to shrink in public. Want you to be reserved and lady-like. But not Maison.
He let me be big. He let me be loud, joyful, extra, and he matched my energy like it was second nature. And that’s why I sat my thick ass down at that table, still catching my breath and still smiling, thinking to myself: