No Quarter (NOLA's Own #2) (26 page)

I just nodded and sipped my coffee. My phone started ringing, and I went inside to retrieve it, seeing it was my father. I hadn’t spoken to him since Wednesday, and then it had only been briefly since he was on his way back from Alberta.

“Hey, Da.”

“Hey, sweet lass. Ye want tae go fer some lunch today? I’m headin’ tae Phoenix tonight. Won’t be home till later on in th’ week. Maybe I can meet yer guy? Gloria willna shut up ’bout ’im.”

“Oh. Well, yeah, I think he’d like that. He’s heading out of town himself tonight.”

Phil turned surprised eyes on me. “Huh?”

“Is he there wi’ ye?” Da asked.

“Yeah, and he suddenly looks terrified.”

Da started cracking up. “Oh, I like tha’. How does Shorty’s sound?”

“Sounds like I’ll be eating a lot of barbeque this weekend. What time?”

“’Bout an hour or so?”

“Sounds good, Da. We’ll see you then.”

When I hung up, Phil was staring at me in horror.

“What?”

“I’m meetin’ your da?” he asked weakly.

“He’s taking us to lunch at Shorty’s. He said to meet him in about an hour.”

“Fuck, Kenna.” He sounded like he was being strangled. Tossing back his coffee, he jumped to his feet. “Come on.”

“What?”

“I can’t meet your dad lookin’ like this! I gotta shave. He can’t meet me with scruff face. He won’t trust me—”

“Just throw on a shirt—”

“Kenna, you have got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me! You’ve given me an hour to find the balls to meet your father! Come on! We gotta go—”

“I’ve already met my father, Phil! I need a shower, and I’ll do it here—”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He looked out toward his house. “Meet me in fifteen minutes—”

“Get a grip!” I barked at him.

“Fifteen minutes!” He took off, literally
pommel vaulting
over the seven-foot-high fence.

Alys and I stared at the place where he’d disappeared for a few seconds before she swung her gaze on me.

“That was pretty fucking funny, right?”

“No. That was fucking hysterical,” I replied.

The two of us busted into sidesplitting laughter.

“Oh, I so wish Lili had seen that!” Alys crowed.

“Right?”

Finishing my coffee, I headed upstairs to jump in the shower—not really rushing, but not taking my sweet-ass time either. The baggy jeans and worn
Zoso
T-shirt got picked out, and because it was my father, I decided that I really should wear a bra. I found a black lacy one that looked nice and kept me from the little bouncing ability I had. Piling my hair on top of my head into a cute messy knot, I then slipped on a pair of flip-flops.

“I’ll let you know how everything goes later,” I told Alys as I made my way for the side gate.

“I’m counting on it.” She laughed. “Tell Sigmund not to make him cry.”

My da knew about Phil because I’d given him the rundown on Wednesday. Gloria had blabbed to him that I finally had a boyfriend. I thought they’d both thought that maybe Alys and I were going to come out of the closet eventually, and the news that I wasn’t a lesbian had been a little bit of a surprise. I wasn’t sure either of them realized that when they’d met Brian, he had actually been my bed-buddy, not just my friend.

Da had bitched that it was bad enough that Connor was a moody musician, so he didn’t know why I felt the need to bring another one into the family.

“A musician? Aw, hell, Kenna! They’re worse than raggin’ teenagers, what with their bitchy attitudes! Can’ ye find a normal mon, like a mechanic or summat?”

“Phil’s the one I fell in love with, Da.”

“Ah, Jaysus. Ye’re in love then?”

“Yep.”

“But…what if he can’ do nuthin’ wi’ his music? Ye gonna support his moody ass then?”

“He’s an extremely successful musician, Da. No worries there.”

I hadn’t gone into detail about Phil, but Da had seemed impressed when I mentioned Phil could afford to do whatever in the hell pleased him. At least Da wouldn’t feel the need to chase off a gold-digger boyfriend.

Letting myself into Phil’s half though the side door, I made my way upstairs to find my boyfriend pulling a white tank top over his head. I dumped my bag on the floor next to the bathroom and sat on the bed.

“Kenna! What the hell?” His smoothly shaven face looked both pissed and completely terrified.

“I told you I needed to shower. Da said about an hour, and it only takes fifteen minutes to drive there, so calm your ass.”

“I’m out of toothpaste!” he man-whined. “Please tell me you picked some up yesterday.”

“It’s in my bag—”

Planting a fat kiss on my mouth before grabbing the Burlap Beast and rummaging through it, Phil extracted the tube and rushed into the bathroom. I heard the water running and him scrubbing at his teeth.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, babe. Da’s really a sweet guy. I mean, yeah, he’ll try to bust your balls, but I think all dads are supposed to do that.”

He popped into the doorframe, brush scrubbing viciously at his teeth. “He’s gonna fuckin’ hate me. You know that, right? I’m the rude, huge tattooed motherfucker who pounds his sweet little girl on a daily basis.”

“Ha-ha, yeah, you are.”

Yanking the toothbrush out of his mouth, he stared at it with a confused expression. “This paste tastes like shit.”

“Hey, just because it’s organic doesn’t mean it tastes like shit. It tastes like any other toothpaste.”

“It tastes like fuckin’ cough syrup.”

“What?”

“Cherry cough syrup. Fuck…my fuckin’ tongue…” He turned around and marched back to the sink. Then, he showed up with the most horrified look on his face, holding up a red-and-white tube…of cherry-flavored numbing ass lube.

“What the fuck?” he screeched.

“Oh, damn.”

“I can’t fuckin’ feel my face!”

I lost it. I was laughing so hard that I might have been in danger of rupturing an ab muscle.

“What are you doin’ with this shit in your bag?”

“Oh, gods above…” I gasped for air.

Phil chucked the tube and his toothbrush against a wall in the bathroom, and the faucet was going again.

“
Fuck
! It’s just spreadin’!” he roared.

Snorting, wheezing, and choking, I laughed so hard that I ached.

“It ain’t fuckin’ funny!” he yelled.

No, this was fucking hilarious, fucking
hysterical
. I had
never
experienced a situation that was funnier in my entire life than this one right here. It was so fucking funny I went into Alys laughter mode, unable to breathe.

He stormed into his closet, rummaging around for something, and came back out, shrugging on a short-sleeved white-brown-and-blue plaid button-down shirt. He had dark brown Dickies pants on and his black leather belt with a buckle that was a massive silver horseshoe.

Phil looked down on me with the most thunderous expression on his face. “Quit fuckin’ laughin’. I can’t feel my mouth for shit.”

Like that’s going to help me!

I broke out in fresh peals of laughter.

“Oh my God, I think I hate you,” he grumped. He grabbed my bag, looking for the actual toothpaste. He disappeared once more into the bathroom and emerged a few minutes later, having brushed his teeth with the real deal.

By this time, I had gotten control of my laughter…barely.

“What the hell are you doin’, walkin’ around with that shit in your bag?” he repeated his earlier question.

“I got two different kinds, and I forgot that the other one was in there. I didn’t want to be numb while we did it, okay? I wanted to feel you.”

He sat down next to me. “I can’t taste anything. I feel like I just got back from the dentist.”

I couldn’t help it. I busted out laughing again.

“Come on, freak. Let’s go, so I can make an ass of myself in front of your da.”

“He’s going to love you. Just relax,” I told him, fighting my twitching facial muscles. I stood and hoisted my bag across my shoulder and chest. “Just be yourself but without the cussing. He hates it when we cuss.”

“Ah, fuck. I’m in trouble then.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Over the last six years, my father and I had developed a very close relationship. It had been rough after Mom passed away, but we’d made it through, and our bond had strengthened for it. After his initial shock of losing the love of his life, he’d realized that all he had left of her was me.

Once we had been able to talk about everything that had gone on with Mom, how she was the one who had pushed him away, the world had opened up between us, and we’d helped each other move forward. When we hit rough patches, we would depend on each other to talk the other through it. He hadn’t let me down once.

I knew he wouldn’t let me down now. For me to be in a serious relationship meant I’d truly let someone into my life, something that wasn’t easy for me to do. My father would keep that in mind and would see Phil for the amazing, wonderful, adorable man he was.

As long as Phil kept his foul mouth to a minimum.

Shorty’s Bayou BBQ was one of Da’s favorite places. Tucked away in some heavy mangrove and brush, it squatted right next to an actual backwater that flooded in the rainy months. The water level would be low this time of year, but in the summer, we used to love throwing spareribs over the patio railing into the water, hoping to bait some of the gators into showing themselves. In fact, a few of those reptiles got enormous and would park their chunky butts there all summer long. Rangers would sometimes get a call to kill them if they became too big of a threat. The alligators might mistake an innocent child for a sparerib, and that would be horrific.

Open to the elements, the seating consisted of long benches and picnic tables on a covered patio. Old rickety ceiling fans constantly circulated hot swamp air around, scented with the aromas of charred beef, pork, and fries. The kitchen was closed off from the seating area to the right with a half wall kept open to make sure the cooks wouldn’t die from the heat and fumes of the charcoal grill drums.

The whole ride, Phil kept his hand on my thigh. Even through my denim, I could tell his hand was damp, and I got a twisted sense of satisfaction, knowing
something
in the world made Phil fucking Deveraux’s palms sweat. The damp hand slipped from my thigh when we pulled off the highway and took the narrow dirt road to the restaurant.

Phil had grown extremely quiet.

“You all right?” I asked him.

He looked a little pale, too, now that I took a good look at him.

He nodded, swallowing hard.

“If I tell you that, if he really ends up hating you, it won’t be a deal-breaker for me, will that make you feel better?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not a deal-breaker, babe, and he’s not going to hate you.”

“Okay.”

We pulled into the parking lot, and Phil parked the Black Beauty in a spot that was well shaded, so we wouldn’t cook when we got back in. Da’s blue Chevy pickup truck was there, and I spotted the redheaded Scotsman sitting on the front porch, waiting for us. Sans sunglasses, I saw him eyeing the truck with great interest. Phil stared straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel with the intent of squeezing the shape out of it.

“Phil?”

“It’s cool. Just tryin’ not to puke.”

“How’s your face? Got feeling in it yet?”

His lips twitched. “It’s better. I still can’t taste anythin’.”

“Well, once you start eating, I’m sure it’ll go back to normal.”

He nodded. “So, you wanted to feel me, huh?”

“I always want to feel you, Phil.”

That made him smile. “I always want to feel you, too.”

“He’s here, you know,” I told him.

“That soulless ginger on the porch, yeah?”

“Yep. So, let’s go.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He opened the door, holding his hand out to help me step down like a true Southern gent.

Hand in sweaty hand, we made our way toward Da, who was now on his feet with a huge grin on his face.

“There’s m’ sweet lass!” he said, his voice rumbling pleasantly. Opening his arms, I rushed in for my Papa Bear hug. “Ye’re glowin’, Kenna.”

“That’s because of this man right here,” I told him, pulling out of his arms and turning back to Phil. “This is Phil Deveraux. Phil, this is my da, Sigmund.”

Phil smiled and pushed his aviators up on top of his head so that he could look my da in the eyes. “It’s great to finally meet you, sir.”

“Christ, yer a big’un,” popped out of my father’s mouth, his eyes wide.

“So I’ve been told, sir.”

Da snorted. “I’m sure ye have. What are ye? Six-six?”

“Six-seven. And you?”

“’Bout six-three? No’ even sure anymore. Come on, I got us a spot overlookin’ th’ water.”

“Sweet,” I replied, taking Phil’s hand, and leading him as we followed Da.

“So, Deveraux, eh?” Da mused as we took our seats. He sat on the far bench, his back to the water and mangroves. “No’ the same Deverauxs who got the farm behind yer gran’s?”

“Yes, sir,” Phil replied. “I’ve taken over the property since we came back.”

Da looked at me. “Well, tha’s convenient.”

“Yeah, you’re not the first one to say that,” I replied, laughing.