Walking on Sunshine by Jennifer Stevenson

Author:Jennifer Stevenson [Stevenson, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: African-American, multicultural romance, voudou, voodoo, paranormal, sex demon, hinky chicago
ISBN: 9781611384925
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2015-08-14T07:00:00+00:00

BAZ

Yoni showed up at the Crown ten minutes after she’d called. Her eyes sparkled in a pissed-off way.

I said, “Wow. What did you do, fly?”

“That’s next,” she said. She looked around. I was in the middle of laying out electrical cable for inspection. “Am I taking you away from something?”

“Naw, it’s makework. I needed the hours.” I lied. I had bumped two guys to get the makework because I wanted to be close to her hotel and her studio, in case she might need me.

She looked at me as if she’d heard that thought. “Thanks.”

I told the head carpenter I was off. He didn’t stare at Yoni or anything, but he sure as hell knew I was leaving with her. She said nothing until we were in the parking ramp.

Then she touched my arm. “Hide me?”

“Shit.” I cast the glamour of anonymity around us. “Right.” I wouldn’t make that mistake again. “Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere we can talk. But public. I’ve been cooped up for years.” She raised her eyebrows with a little pathetic look. “I’ve gotten pretty addicted to your anti-charisma.”

Something inside me jumped forward, but all I said was, “I won’t let you get caught again. I promise.”

She smiled, and the parking ramp was the most beautiful parking ramp in the world.

In the car, I thought about the power of goddesses and the power of love.

Why had I taken a shower and dressed in borrowed clothes and sat in on that session with a borrowed bass, like a good little boy?

Was it because Aphrodite had left me with a taste for pussy-whipping? Or because Yoni was taking on some of her powers to command? Or was I so mellow in the pump over her that I wanted to make her happy?

Had to be that. I was sappy.

But she offered me a fourth option while I drove south.

“What happened to you this morning? Or should I say, last night, since you must have started drinking then.”

Ouch. This was exactly why my roommates and I were slackers. Not having this conversation, ever.

“Guilt,” I admitted. “I figured you’d be through with me after I fucked up.”

She didn’t fall for it. Instead of reassuring me that we weren’t through, she said, “But that wasn’t totally your fault. And you fucked up a lot worse by trying to blow off the session this morning. That’s not done,” she said in a firm voice.

Ouch! “Girl, don’t hold back. Say how you feel.”

She turned on the car seat so that she was settled against the passenger door, looking straight at me. I kept my profile to her. “I realize you’re not my employee or anything,” she said, “but you didn’t really think I’d drop it just because you don’t like the question. You used to control armies. Nations. Yet you can’t get out of bed for a little sit-down-and-noodle-around on the bass?”

It took me three tries to figure out how to answer her. She wasn’t accepting my corny romantic reason. It was the real reason, on one level.

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