Perfectly Broken (8 page)

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Reed said before turning to leave with Peyton.

They walked out of the room and down the corridor. “Some first date, huh?” she said, looking in her purse for a tissue.

“I’ve had a good time.”

They reached the lobby, and Peyton stopped for a moment to dry her eyes and nose, certain she looked like a hot mess. In between dabs, she saw the young receptionist drooling over Reed. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“Please stop apologizing,” Reed said. “I told you I’ve had a good time. And I’m glad she’s fine.”

“Excuse me,” the young receptionist called out, handing Reed her business card. “I’m here all night, in case you want to call and check on things. I put my cell number on the back in case the main line is busy. We sometimes get a lot of calls at once.”

Reed took the card and handed it to Peyton without looking at it. “At a nursing home?”

“Yeah, it can get wild,” the receptionist said, batting her eyes. “Real wild.”

Reed opened the door for Peyton, and they started down the street together, strolling past antique, jewelry, and costume stores. “Do you ever get sick of women throwing themselves at you?”

“Do you ever get sick of men throwing themselves at you?”

Peyton shook her head. “That never happens.”

“You just don’t notice, or don’t try to notice — one or the other.”

“You must have had too much of Gram’s candy,” she teased, her eyes landing on a pair of white pearl G-string thongs in a lingerie store window.

“There were these two guys at Emeril’s whose dates punched them in the arm because they eyed your ass when you stood up and walked outside on the phone.”

Peyton laughed. “That didn’t happen.”

“Yep, it did. And then when you were on the phone outside, another guy walked by you and did a double take.” Reed looked back over his shoulder, trying to get the name of the lingerie store. “Dating you is going to drive me crazy. I’ll probably get in a lot of fights.”

“You probably use these lines all the time.”

“What? It’s true. I saw it all. They were probably wondering if you were wearing that pearl G-string.” Peyton looked down, a tight smile on her lips, a rosy blush on her cheeks. “I saw you looking back there.”

“So what if I was?” She gave him a sweet smile, as they reached his Range Rover.

“Hey, you won’t see me complaining,” Reed said, opening her door. “Are you wearing those now?”

“Of course. I always wear them on first dates. Don’t you?”

Reed laughed and gave her a peck on the cheek. He liked where this was going: the sweet touches, the implication they’d spend more time together, the panties, the good vibe he got from meeting the family — well, just Gram. He rushed around the truck to get in. “Well, we missed our dinner, but lucky for you, I have a Plan B.”

* * *

Reed parked next to Jax Brewery and brought Peyton up a stairway to Woldenberg Park. They found a little bench to watch the barges float down the Mississippi River, a breeze blowing off the water and through Peyton’s hair. He pointed at a shiny glass building surrounded by old wharves. “I designed that one.” Peyton cocked her head to the side and bit her bottom lip, quietly considering the building for a moment, its newness such a contrast from those around it. Reed reached for the back of his neck. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“What’s wrong with my building?”

“Nothing.”

“
But
?” Reed poked her in the side.

“But....”

“Tell me. I want to know what you think.”

“It’s just that I remember the building that used to be there.”

“Me too,” he said. “It was full of cracks and holes. It was an eye sore.”

Peyton shrugged her shoulders. “The Leaning Tower of Pisa is crooked. And the Colosseum in Rome has a bunch of damage. You’d tear those down?”

Reed sat back, a small smile on his face, not about to get into some emotional or intellectual debate about progress, the economy, or historical preservation on a first date — especially a debate he knew he’d lose.

“But don’t get me wrong,” she said, “you’re obviously really good at what you do. It’s beautiful.” She smiled at him. “And what do I know? I bake pies.”

“I think you know a lot,” he said.
She tries to find beauty in everything.
“I’m starving. You hungry?” She nodded. He kissed the top of her head before walking off.

Peyton turned back towards the mighty river, taking in its slow crawl, breathing in the fresh air. So far she’d had fun but feared he liked his women like he liked his buildings, shiny and new. She gently rubbed the scar on her temple.
He can’t find the beauty in brokenness.
She looked up to find Reed standing over her, holding two hot dogs.

“Lucky Dogs aren’t exactly what I had in mind,” he said, handing one to her.

Reed sat down and pulled two water bottles from his pockets, along with an assortment of condiments. Then he removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. They dressed their hot dogs, and Peyton took a huge bite, letting out a moan and smile in delight. She took two more bites and finished the whole thing then glanced at Reed, barely halfway done, and suddenly feared she looked like a pig.

His eyes popped in amazement. His women usually didn’t eat much at all — often just a grape or two, and if really hungry, a side salad and water.

“I like to eat,” Peyton said.

“Good, but I never would’ve guessed since you turned me down for dinner so many times.”

“I was just waiting for you to take me out for hot dogs.”

Reed offered her a bite of his hot dog, which she took without hesitation. Then he looked down at what remained, appearing so small and sad now. “Do you want another one?”

“No, I’m good.”

Reed finished it off before she changed her mind. Then he slid closer to her and put his arm around her back. She leaned her head on his shoulder, the sun’s last breath leaving a trail of yellows, oranges, and reds accenting the golden highlights in her brown hair. He lifted her chin towards him and kissed her gently, softly, sweetly this time. Peyton felt a rush of heat, aching for more, a desire entirely unfamiliar. He parted her lips and caressed her tongue with his. She moaned in pleasure, her entire body trembling. Reed pulled her onto his lap and moved his attention to her neck, the slight stubble on his face sending sparks through her. His hand gripped her back and slid towards her shoulder, the strap of her dress falling down. He wanted to rip the dress off.

Be patient.
He pulled back and stared at her, panting, her eyes filled with desire, clearly wanting more herself. The corner of his mouth turned up. He lifted up the strap and gently ran his fingers through her hair.

* * *

They decided to hit Bourbon Street, the smell of booze coupled with cajun spice and jasmine welcoming them to the adult playground. They found the usual tourists and locals with beads around their necks — even though Mardi Gras was still weeks away — nursing drinks in a rainbow of colors, from blood-red Hurricanes to toffee-colored Sazeracs. They walked past a group of jazz musicians atop an ironclad balcony, young bottle-cap dancers tapping along below, a basket in front of them for donations.

After tossing them a few bucks, Reed took her off the beaten path and onto some side streets. He pointed out his favorite old buildings, some ensconced by walls topped with old broken bottles for protection, some with long green storm shutters and narrow tall doors, some that looked like they should be on a Caribbean island, with their cream, light pink, and faded blue exteriors. And throughout his little tour, he kept his hand intertwined with hers and stole a kiss here and there. This wasn’t exactly what he had in mind for their first date — hot dogs and an architectural tour — but his heart raced each time she squeezed his hand or asked a question, letting him know she was genuinely interested and having a good time.

Peyton was sure he’d kissed her on almost every street corner in the French Quarter. It was as if he
needed
to kiss her,
needed
to touch her, each time more sweet and tender than the last — with no rush, no hurry, just as he promised. She felt special, wanted, secure; he seemed to have no intention of making her the least bit uncomfortable. In fact, he shielded her from any potential danger, positioning himself between her and the occasional drunk or crazy stumbling near them.

Suddenly her heart banged loudly when he stopped in front of the Cornstalk Hotel, a famous bed and breakfast known for its decorative iron fence. Peyton ran her hands over the cornstalks, pumpkins, vines, and a yellow butterfly.
So this was part of Plan B
. The man holding her hand was the real danger, not the drunks and crazies. She now feared he never had any intention of keeping his promise to go slowly.

“The story goes that an early owner built the fence for his young wife,” Reed said, having stood in this spot countless times before, always alone, not quite sure what drew him back again and again, something about the fence elusive to him.

Peyton squeezed his hand, relieved, realizing this was only part of the tour.

“He thought it would help her be less homesick or something. She was from Iowa and missed her childhood home.”

A rush of vanilla hit him as a breeze blew through the air. He took off his jacket and slid it around Peyton’s shoulders, his fingers grazing her neck when he moved her hair to the side. Her eyes locked on his, and he pulled on the jacket collar to bring Peyton close to him. He took his time, teasing her, his warm breath just barely brushing her lips. Her hands slid up the muscles of his back, pulling his lips even closer to hers, hoping he’d kiss her, ready to crawl up his body, begging, if he didn’t.

Reed gave a sexy smile, eyeing her mouth, and took a step back. Peyton felt the muscles between her legs clench in disappointment, but she wasn’t about to show it, straightening her spine. “I thought you said our date would be ‘pretty damn hot’?”

Reed laughed. He hadn’t laughed like this with a woman before. She was just so damn funny and cute, standing before him wearing his jacket. He didn’t mind her wearing oversized clothing if it was his. “Come here,” he said and pulled her back to him, lifting her in the air and kissing her firmly on the lips. He felt her smile behind their kiss and couldn’t help but smile himself. He put her down, and she leaned against his chest for a moment.

* * *

They left the Cornstalk Hotel and slipped into a bar to grab a drink. When Reed excused himself to the restroom, Peyton thought to call Quinn to tell her things were going well, that she didn’t need to worry. She began to dial when a loud, screeching voice began an awful version of “I Want to Sex You Up.” Her head darted up, half-expecting to see Reed doing his best Color Me Badd impersonation, but instead she found a fat guy thrusting his hips on stage, to the delight of some drunks egging him on.

The fat guy lumbered around the stage, slobbering on the microphone, his sweat dripping with each step. He spotted a girl in an oversized jacket in the crowd and pointed a thick finger directly at her. “Come up here, and let me sex you up, girl!” The crowd roared in delight, encouraging Peyton to join the fat guy on stage, but she politely declined and stepped outside to wait for Reed and call Quinn.

An old female creature with wiry black hair and metal bracelets quickly approached Peyton from behind, seizing her hand and forearm, a long red fingernail forcing up her jacket sleeve. “Read your palm, dear?” Peyton jerked her arm away, but the hag gripped even tighter, cackling, her nail digging against Peyton’s flesh. “Madame Mona can tell a lot by a person’s hands.” Peyton pulled away again but still couldn’t break free. “You got something to hide, dear?”

She considered punching the woman in the face or calling out for help but decided that would be ridiculous and embarrassing on a first date. The woman continued to speak, a foul stench oozing from her mouth, but Peyton couldn’t follow what she was saying, too caught in the smell, the crazy, her own memories. Her palms began to sweat, and the street began to spin, slowly at first, then with more speed.

Peyton darted her eyes back inside the bar but couldn’t see Reed. She clenched her fingers and then her eyes, willing away the lightning strikes she feared were closing fast — the surprise attack from behind, the thunderous screams, the dirty hand, the metal taste of blood. She gave another look for Reed then relented, hoping to avoid a full assault from her flashes, hoping the old woman would just say and do whatever garbage she needed to and then disappear forever.

Peyton opened her hand, and the woman traced her red nail across it. “You have a very long lifeline.” Then her eyes grew wide, her face filled with excitement. “But what is this? What is this line?”

Peyton rolled her eyes. “What?”

“Very interesting.” She turned over Peyton’s hand. “Interesting, indeed.”

“What is so interesting?”

“It’s your heart line.” The old woman trembled, gazing up into Peyton’s concerned eyes, then released her tight grip. “Your heart line is broken.”

“Get your fucking hands off her!” Reed pushed Madame Mona away, who quickly scurried down the street. “You better run, you freak!”

“Be warned!” Madame Mona called back. “She’s a broken woman!”

Reed made a move to follow her then heard Peyton release a deep breath. “Don’t,” she said. “She didn’t hurt me.” He looked Peyton up and down, and she assured him she was fine.

But he wasn’t. He’d come out of the bathroom in the bar, found Peyton gone, searched around for her, questioned the fat ass singing and some other drunks — only to spot her outside with some street urchin’s hands all over her. “I don’t get those crazy people. Who in their right mind believes any of that nonsense?” Peyton shrugged her shoulders, as Reed huffed to himself.
Broken? What a crock of shit
.

She nuzzled her head into his chest, thankful he hadn’t seen her on the brink of a flashback, thankful now to be in the safety of his arms.

He held her for a minute or so, unsure if it was for his benefit or hers. After they were both settled, he led her back to his truck. “What do you have planned tomorrow?”