Chapter Thirteen
The friends arrived on Bourbon Street to a river of crimson nylon and polyester.
Revelers were dancing, singing, talking, kissing, and the scene looked like hundreds of red fishing bobbers being pulled underwater by varying degrees of intoxication.
Ophelia and her friends set out into the depths, weaving through the streets in search of their first stop.
“THE BEACCHHHHHH!” Jade yelled as she spotted her favorite bar from her early twenties.
Their group hopped from bar to bar, grabbing a drink at each place and pausing for a dance. Ophelia made a lot of effort to coax Jack out of his shell, but he eventually left them, mumbling about how unsanitary and unholy Bourbon Street was. He wasn’t wrong.
Meanwhile, Ophelia had been dodging Ben’s unwanted advances all morning.
He was not aggressive by any means, but he’d touch her arm while talking or throw an arm around her shoulder.
Ophelia very clearly backed away each time.
He grabbed her while dancing, and she suddenly needed to sit because her “shoes hurt.” They were sneakers. He seemed to back off after that.
Eventually, Jade and Luke needed to sober up and relieve Jade’s mom from babysitting.
However, the remainder of the friends stumbled into a divey jazz club advertising ice-cold air-conditioning on a tacky white poster board taped to the window.
As they walked in, a blast of cool air almost knocked Ophelia backward into the bouncer.
Jolie and her friends staggered in behind her and made a beeline for the bar, where they ordered shots for everyone.
Ophelia had made it this far without taking a shot, and she began looking around for a quick getaway.
Ben and Etienne were already at a high-top tossing back fireballs with their guy friends.
Etienne looked particularly miserable as he swallowed the shot.
They caught eyes for a second, and Etienne’s dipped to her lips, lingering on her beauty mark before abruptly looking away.
It happened so fast that she was certain she had imagined it.
“Get over here and take this damn shot!” Jolie yelled at Ophelia from across the bar. “Evangeline is on FaceTime!” Jolie waved her phone in the air, and Ophelia could make out a fuzzy image of the youngest Oubre sister smiling on the phone.
“Evangeline! We miss you, babe! I need you to come save me from Jolie and her damn shots.”
“Shots, shots, shots,” chanted Jolie.
“I just want to be clear that I am the nice sister and will not force you to take shots on your bach,” said Ophelia to Evangeline.
“Blah, blah, blah. I absolutely will, though.” Jolie cackled. “Bottoms up, bitch!”
The two sisters raised their shots, tossed the cheap tequila back, and slammed the bottom of the shot glasses on the bar top.
“Ack!”
“Can’t wait to see you next week to celebrate!” yelled Jolie into the phone. Ophelia was certain Evangeline couldn’t hear a word they were saying in the loud bar, but it didn’t matter.
The tequila settled in her bloodstream, and just like that, she tipped over the edge to drunk.
With loose limbs and loopy heads, Jolie and Ophelia ran upstairs to the balcony overlooking the swell of scarlet on Bourbon Street.
The two of them began putting on a show for the crowd with sloppy yet coordinated dance moves from their childhood—high kicks, twirls, and a couple of jazz hands.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Ophelia shouted through the noise from the street and the loud music coming from inside.
“Good luck,” said Jolie. “The line is out the door.”
Ophelia groaned at the sight of the long line. She contemplated whether she should risk using the men’s bar bathroom, which conveniently had no line. With her gin-induced confidence, she took a deep breath and ran into the men’s bathroom.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It’s an emergency,” she yelled to the man using the urinal as she shielded her face to give him a small form of privacy.
Ophelia stumbled into a stall and slammed the thin door shut. The sound of her pee hitting the toilet echoed throughout the bathroom, but she was too drunk to care.
“Wow, you’ve got quite the stream,” said the man at the urinal.
“I know. I’m a very skilled pee-er,” she responded with glee.
Ophelia finished and attempted to compose herself before walking out of the stall— smoothing down her dress, wiping the tiny droplets of sweat off her upper lip and forehead, fluffing her hair.
The man was standing next to the sink in a spaghetti strap wine-colored dress, pushing the empty soap dispenser.
He was tall and lean with caramel skin covered in tattoos and cropped black hair.
Ophelia found him immediately attractive, even if she felt a prick of unease in his presence.
She didn’t know if the unease was because of his obvious good looks or the fact that she was drunk and alone with a stranger in an empty bar bathroom.
“My apologies for intruding on your…erm, pee,” she said as she pulled out a mini tube of hand sanitizer from her cross-body purse and squirted a glob onto her hand.
The man turned around to face Ophelia, and she felt an undeniable rush of lust and intrigue when their eyes locked.
“It was my pleasure,” he said with a mischievous grin on his full lips.
That mouth. She had the sudden urge to bolt. He looked like danger and sin, and her mind was telling her to walk out of the bathroom and leave this man. But her body was lit up from inside.
“Got any more of that stuff?” he asked, pointing at her hands as she rubbed the hand sanitizer in. “They’re out of soap.”
“Oh yeah, here,” Ophelia said, gesturing for him to take some from her hands. “I have way too much.” She was horrified by her offer. What am I doing? Why am I being weird?
He cupped his large, tawny brown hands around hers and slowly slid his rough palms all the way down her fingertips.
Her stomach flipped. He ran his hands through hers again, but even slower this time.
This should be disgusting to Ophelia, a strange man sliding his unwashed hands on hers.
But it was not. She was transfixed on his tattoo that covered his right forearm, an alligator chasing a swan up a river lined by cypress trees.
Looking up, Ophelia realized he was watching her.
She felt that itch to look away from him, but instead she stood a little straighter and stared back.
He was even more handsome than she originally thought.
His face was strong with an angular nose, and his green eyes had an interesting burst of dark blue coming from the center.
The intensity between them continued to grow, and she heard a voice saying, Stop. Walk away. She couldn’t. She let him rein her in with his gaze, and finally she ripped her eyes away.
Jesus Christ. She was breathless. Just then, another man staggered into the bathroom, unzipping his pants.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said at the sight of the man.
Feeling dazed, Ophelia nodded and began walking toward the door.
He pushed the door open for her, and his hand pressed against the small of her back.
Flustered, she stepped out of the bathroom and looked up to find Ben staring back at her, dumbfounded.
The way Ben’s face contorted immediately made her recoil and pause in her tracks. The stranger from the bathroom stopped in confusion.
“What the fuck, Ophelia!” Ben yelled as he marched toward her and grabbed her arm.
“Don’t grab me like that,” she said hotly, pulling her arm away. Ophelia looked around for the man, but he had retreated to the bar. “Why are you yelling at me?”
“Why were you in the men’s bathroom with that guy?” he demanded. She could smell the putrid alcohol on his breath.
“I wasn’t in there with him. I had to go to the bathroom, and the women’s line was too long,” she said, as if she were explaining the concept to a child while gesturing to the line that was still out the door. “So I went to the men’s.”
“Right, like I’m supposed to believe that,” he said sarcastically.
Shocked, Ophelia narrowed her eyes at him. “Actually, you can believe what you want. I don’t owe you an explanation.”
Ben crowded her, invading her personal space. “Were you in there fucking him?”
Ophelia’s eyes widened in shock. “Excuse me?” Who was this jealous, hateful person? Ben had never been like this before. He was always the fun, goofy, happy-go-lucky friend, even when drunk. “Ben, you need to go home. I’ll call you a car.”
Ophelia pulled out her phone from her purse, and Ben quickly snatched it out of her hand.
“Give me my phone back,” she ordered him, starting to get really pissed now.
Ben tapped on the home screen, attempting to guess her lock screen code. “What’s the code, Ophelia? Come on. I just want to see who else you’ve been fucking.” Ben’s face twisted into a sneer.
She tried a different approach and spoke in a calmer, gentler voice. “Ben, we’re friends. It was one time. We don’t owe each other anything.”
Just then, Etienne and Jolie approached Ben with looks of concern.
“Yeah!” he yelled. “I know it was one time, but I’ve been trying to get with you for fucking years!”
Ophelia stumbled back in shock. She truly didn’t know he’d been pining after her. She wouldn’t have slept with him if she knew.
“Whatever, you’re a fucking slut,” he slurred, then mumbled “Bitch” under his breath.
“Ben! What the fuck, man?” Etienne placed both of his large hands on Ben’s shoulder, attempting to snap him out of his rage. Jolie, who always loved a good fight, stood next to Etienne, arms crossed.
Ophelia’s head started to spin as anger boiled in her chest, and a hot tear streamed down her face. She pushed Jolie and Etienne aside and looked Ben dead in the eyes.
“Ben, I thought you were a friend, and I was very clear that you have always been just a friend. And now I don’t think I can even call you that.”
She grabbed her phone out of his hand, swiftly spun on her heels, and walked out of the bar.