“Where to now?” I asked, leading her out the door and onto the cobblestone streets of the Quarter. “Do I take you home?”

“What kind of date would that be?” she asked, insulted that I’d even suggested the idea. “Let’s go shopping.”

I groaned. “Shopping?”

“Haven’t you ever gone into the touristy shops around here? They have the best items.”

“I try to avoid any place crawling with tourists,” I replied as she pressed her side against mine. I felt comforted. It was an odd sensation.

“It’ll be fun. Come on.”

Her enthusiasm and light spirit was contagious, so I allowed for her to pull me down the crowded streets and into the heart of the Quarter, where drinking in public was encouraged and street entertainers performed for the masses.

“I love it here,” Lyla said, looking around. “Where else would you find such eccentric people?”

“Eccentric is a nice way of putting it,” I said as I eyed a lady who was wearing a dress made of bottle caps, her nips barely covered.

“You’ve lived here your whole life. You can’t tell me you don’t love it.”

I did love living in New Orleans. Growing up here had been a teenage boy’s dream. There was always something to do, something to see, somewhere to get into trouble. I’d learned how to fight here, learned about the French culture, about jazz and zydeco music. I’d made friendships here, but my love for the city had died a little the day it turned its back on me.

I’d been a hometown hero, the guy who got free drinks at bars when I walked in, the guy who was stopped on the street for a handshake for representing New Orleans, but that all changed the minute the media found out about my alleged steroid use.

Steroid use. Just the term made me cringe. Never in my life had I taken the easy way out. I’d worked my ass off to get everything I’d earned, and one lapse in judgment had put a black mark on my name.

Tension started to roll through me, and Lyla instantly picked up on it.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you probably have some sour feelings about this city after everything that happened.”

“You could say that,” I responded, gripping her hand tighter, trying to find solace in her touch.

“Have you ever thought about clearing your name?”

“Let’s not ruin the night by talking about that.”

Lyla’s shoulders deflated from my rejection. I knew she wanted to know more, that she wanted to help, but it was pointless opening that wound. That was in the past. It was over. No use trying to relive it. I’d moved on, or at least I’d convinced myself I had.

“Let’s go in here,” Lyla said, dragging me toward Toulouse Royale, a typical souvenir shop.

The shop was well maintained and had a large variety of shirts, Cajun hot sauces, beads, and of course, make-your-own-beignet kits stocked on multiple shelves. There were stuffed alligators everywhere, and the back wall was covered with burlesque masks.

“Oh, let’s look at the masks.”

The masks were on display at the back. They weren’t as nice as the Jett Girl masks I used to order for the girls, but they came close. They were intricate and nicely made, considering we were in a souvenir shop. I was impressed.

“What do you think?” Lyla said, putting on a grey and yellow lace mask.

“I think you look hot,” I admitted, loving the mask on her.

“Is that flattery?”

“Take it how you want it.” I smirked, leaning against a pillar with my arms crossed. “Try on that green one with the feathers.” I nodded toward one that had caught my attention. I knew the color was going to make her eyes stand out.

“This one?” she asked, pulling it off the wall.

“Yes, that one.”

A large smile lit up her beautiful face right before she put the mask on, taking her time to make sure it was in place before she showed me.

With all the drama and flair I would expect her to use, she turned slowly and showed me what she looked like in the mask. My heart beat faster as her green eyes lit up behind the mask. She looked beyond sexy.

“Come here,” I said, looping fingers through her belt loop and pulling her into my personal space.

My heart wavered with my mind as I tried to decide what to do with this woman who’d made it her mission to constantly stay present in my life. I wanted her more than anyone before, but the dark part of me knew I didn’t deserve her, knew if she actually understood who I was, the real man, she would want nothing to do with me.

But I was a selfish prick, and even though I knew we wouldn’t work out, maybe just for tonight I could give in, I could have another small taste of Lyla.

I pulled her in close and rested my hands on her hips. She looked up at me, searching my eyes, wondering what I was doing by pulling her in, in such an intimate way. I had no clue what I had planned with her being this close, but what I did know was that the way she rested her hands on my chest and the way she lightly nibbled lips when she looked up at me was my undoing.

Slowly, I lifted her chin and brought her perfect lips to mine. I kissed her lightly, then pulled away quicker than she wanted and touched the mask, letting the feathers run between my fingers.

“You look fucking sexy in this. It will be taken home tonight.”

“Are you getting it for me?” she asked, a little shocked.

“Yeah. Isn’t that what guys do for girls on dates? They buy them things.”

“My, my, my, Kace Haywood, you’re a regular charmer.”

“What can I say?” I said, shrugging.

I started toward the register, but she stopped me. “Wait, I need to get you something.”

“I don’t need anything,” I answered honestly.

“But I want to. How about some hot sauce?”

“Nah, that’s just novelty crap.”

“Beignet kit?”

“Rather go to Café du Monde,” I replied, liking this little game.

“Magnet?”

“No fridge to put it on, and to hell if I’ll be sharing my magnet with Diego and Blane.”

She looked around the store and then her eyes lit up. “Oh, I know.”

I cringed when she walked over to the graphic T-shirts. I was very much a plain T-shirt kind of guy. I didn’t think much about my style, and I never wore novelty shirts, especially of the city I was born and raised in, but by the way Lyla’s face lit up, I knew that rule would be changing quickly.

“Lyla, not a T-shirt,” I said, hoping to avoid the thoughts that were running through her mind.

“Yes, a T-shirt. Oh, these are great. Let’s see, shall I get you a classic NOLA shirt? Maybe a fleur-de-lis? Maybe an alligator rowing a… wait.” She squatted to reach a stack of shirts on a lower shelf. “You’re a medium, right?”

“Large, sweetheart. Man’s got muscles,” I replied, making her snort.

“How could I forget,” she said sarcastically. “All right, this is perfect. I’m getting it.”

“Let me see it.” I reached for her arm, but she snuck past me and practically ran to the register. She pulled money out of her wallet and asked about the return policy, telling the cashier she needed to write “no return allowed” on the receipt.

I shook my head at her ridiculousness and thought about how, in one short evening, Lyla had been able to lift the dark cloud that’d been hanging over my life temporarily. She had a way of making me forget everything that had happened to me in the past and possibly look forward to the future. It was confusing, but damn if I didn’t like it.

“I don’t need a bag, but thank you.” She turned to me. “Once you purchase the mask, we can get you changed into your new shirt.”

“Why do I feel like taking you out is going to come back and bite me in the ass?”

“Don’t worry,” she whispered in my ear. “What I have planned for you next will make up for it.”

My pulse skipped a beat as she rubbed her soft body against mine. Was the date over? I wouldn’t mind too much if that meant I was able to go back to her place and slip under her covers with her, and possibly worship that perfect body of hers.