Getting Off Easy: Boys of the Big Easy Read online

  She rolled her eyes. “This time, when you write up the paper about the care and feeding of a bearded dragon, use spell-check, and I’d appreciate a twelve-point font and double spacing. Also, bearded is b-e-a-r, not b-e-e-r.”

  Then she shut the door in his face. Again.

  Yeah, she was really hot.

  Four months ago

  “I don’t suppose you know anything about…” James sighed and swung the door open to reveal the woman who was slumped against his front door. Sobbing her eyes out.

  Harper looked up at him. “What did you do?”

  He huffed out a little laugh. “She’s not mine.”

  Harper had to admit she liked hearing that. She hadn’t seen a lot of—okay, any—women in and out of James Reynaud’s apartment over the two months she’d been living here, and she’d fully expected to. But she had absolutely no doubt the man had as many as he wanted, whenever he wanted them. And there was no way he was celibate.

  He was the kind of guy who just oozed sex appeal and confidence that said he knew every one of the ways he appealed to the opposite sex. Hell, even to a few of his own sex, she was sure. From the dark scruff on his jaw, to the swagger, to the tattoo that wrapped around his upper arm, to the fact he wasn’t just a firefighter—oh, no, he couldn’t have just one sexy profession—but also a musician. The guy was an alpha cliché from the tips of his work boots to the tips of his perfectly-styled-to-look-mussed dark hair.

  Not that it was always perfectly styled. When he’d just gotten home from a shift at the fire station, his hair was definitely mussed. Just like his normally cocky swagger was traded for a fatigued trudge, and his quick, mischievous smile was a tired, solemn expression. She only ever saw any of that through her window, though. He never came over until he was freshly showered, smelling great, and full of cockiness.

  The first time she’d laid eyes on the guy and thought hot, young, and arrogant, she’d figured living across from him was going to be either a parade of women, a parade of kegs, or both.

  It had been neither.

  It had been the sounds of his door opening and shutting, the sounds of those boots on the wrought-iron steps that led up from the brick courtyard below, the sounds of his piano drifting out of his window and into hers, the sounds of him calling down from over the edge of their shared balcony to Clyde and Billy, the two old men who worked in the kitchen of the praline shop that made up the first floor of their building, and then, every once in a while, the sound of him knocking on her door. Followed by his somewhat lame yet stupidly funny attempts at flirting with her.

  She was now a co-parent to an olive tree and a bearded dragon. How had that happened?

  But it had. And now it looked like she might be on the verge of… what? Adopting a sobbing twentysomething woman?

  “What’s going on?”

  “She’s drunk and heartbroken and hates men,” James explained.

  “Is she aware that you’re a man?”

  “I’ve never proven it to her in any meaningful way, but I assume so,” he said dryly.

  Harper really did like his sense of humor. “So, then, why is she on your doorstep?”

  “Because this is where her sister dropped her.”

  Harper hadn’t quite reconciled the fact that this man, who kept strange hours and had one of the most laid-back attitudes she’d ever met, was someone who others brought things to for caregiving. It was… fascinating.

  And she wasn’t a woman who used that word—or, really, any word—lightly.

  Harper crossed her arms and propped her shoulder against her doorframe as she settled in for this story. There was always a story. And she found them… yes, fascinating.

  “Okay.”

  “This is Courtney,” he said, gesturing toward the woman.

  She was sitting against his door, her knees pulled up to her chest, clearly not caring that with her short, bright red skirt, they could see she was wearing an equally bright red pair of panties. Her blonde hair looked like she’d run her hands through it repeatedly, and her mascara was streaked down her cheeks. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she looked quite miserable.

  “Courtney was dating a guy in the band,” James said. “He broke up with her last night. Her sister took her out to drown her sorrows. Then Courtney wanted to go to his house to talk to him. Her sister knew that was a terrible idea, but the only other person Courtney would agree to talk to was me.”

  “Her sister just left her here?”

  “She figured this might take a while, and she had to go home because she’s got a sitter with her kids.”

  “What, exactly, might take a while?” Harper asked.

  “Me making her feel better.”

  Harper felt her eyebrows rise. “I see.”

  “Not like that.” He gave her a look that seemed sincerely offended. “Her sister thought since I know Scott really well, I could convince her that Scott was serious about the breakup and that he’s not worth her time and tears anymore.”

  Harper leaned to look around him at Courtney. “You think you can do that?”

  “I will give it my best shot.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  “A place for her to stay tonight.”

  Harper straightened away from the door. “What?”

  “I can’t talk to her about it tonight. She’s blitzed. She won’t remember a thing. She needs to sleep it off. Then we ply her with coffee and greasy food and ibuprofen in the morning and have a Come to Jesus.”

  “A Come to Jesus?”

  “A talk that’s serious and blunt and lays it all out.”

  “But you’re going to be nice, yes?” Harper asked with a frown. “I mean, you’re going to be gentle about it.”

  “Of course.”

  “But not too gentle. You’ll be honest, and make sure she understands that she needs to move on.”

  “Sure.”

  “And you’ll definitely be sure she drinks a lot of water and gets home safely and everything?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah.”

  She sighed. She actually thought he would do all of those things. He was a good guy. He liked to walk around with his shirt off—not that she minded—and he always made sure his windows were open when he was playing piano because he clearly thought he was very talented—which he was—but he was a good guy. Guys didn’t take in olive trees for old men and bearded dragons for little kids if they weren’t, and, of course, he was a firefighter. There was no way she could forget that. Seriously. There was no way. He pointed it out constantly, besides leaving his boots out and NOLA FD T-shirts and hoodies draped over the outside railing.

  “She can’t sleep on your couch?”

  “I’d rather she didn’t. What with her being blitzed and hating men and possibly in the mood for revenge.”

  “You think she’d come after you with a knife or something?”

  “Or naked lady parts.”

  Harper almost snorted at that. And she did not snort. “You wouldn’t be able to resist?”

  “Of course I would,” he said, again, clearly a little offended. “I don’t do things to people they’re not going to remember in the morning.”

  “Got it.”

  “But I’d have to reject her, which would probably not be good for her right now and I’d have to touch her, which I’d rather not do if she’s naked, lest we have some kind of misunderstanding about where my hands landed while trying to peel her off of me.”

  Harper studied him. He not only seemed sincere, he also had a point. It was possible things could go pretty wrong over in his apartment. “All right. She can sleep on my couch.”

  Her agreement had nothing to do with the fact she really didn’t want James to see Courtney naked. She had no claim on James Reynaud. Nor did she want one. She was helping her neighbor and this poor vulnerable woman avoid a potentially messy situation. That was her story, and she was sticking to it. “You need to run and get some Gatorade, and I’ll need more eggs for the morn
ing. And chocolate chips.”

  “I’m not eating chocolate chips in my eggs.”

  “Did I invite you for breakfast?”

  He flashed her a smile. “You’re gonna want to.”

  “You seem certain of that.” The idea of having James across her kitchen table for breakfast really shouldn’t be so tempting.

  “Courtney is a talker, and she’s… loud. And inappropriate. I have a feeling five minutes into breakfast, and you’ll be knocking on my door.”

  Harper felt herself fighting a smile. “Fine. You can come to breakfast.”

  “No chocolate chips in my eggs, Professor. That’s disgusting.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The chocolate chips are for the cookie dough tonight.”

  “Cookies?”

  “Cookie dough. Best falling-asleep-with-heartbreak snack there is.”

  “You’ve had your heart broken?” he asked, his gaze suddenly laser focused.

  Oh boy. She knew a lot about him, but she’d been careful not to share much about herself with him.

  Like the fact she hadn’t, actually, had her heart broken.

  She’d dated. She’d had a few relationships. But none of them had ever broken her heart. When she and the men parted, they’d been very amicable. So much so, she’d wondered how deep everyone’s feelings—including hers—had really been all along.

  Which, stupidly, made her wonder about her romantic life at large. By the time a woman was her age, shouldn’t she have been in love? Not a little in love or lust. Not just had a few crushes. But truly, passionately in love? Enough to have had her heart broken and cried herself to sleep at least once?

  That’s what the romance novels she read told her, anyway, and she read nearly one a day. Contemporary romance, romantic suspense, erotic romance, historical. She read it all.

  She’d wondered briefly if those novels were making her set her standards too high. But then she’d realized that no, actually, what those stories had done was help her not confuse lust and crushes and simple attraction and I-kind-of-like-him with something deeper and more passionate. And they’d helped her decide to wait for the real thing. She knew what love looked like. It just hadn’t come along for her. Yet.

  Finally, she answered flippantly, “Of course. Hasn’t everyone at some point?” Because she didn’t really want to get into all of that with James tonight.

  “Well, damn, what a dumbass,” James said simply. Then he turned and headed over to gather Courtney up.

  Harper watched him talk softly to the sad girl as he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to Harper’s apartment.

  Damn. Hot, young, cocky, and a good guy.

  Yeah, her romance novels definitely talked about guys like him. All the time.

  Three months ago

  “I don’t suppose you know anything about dogs?”

  Oh, man. He’d just shown up with a dog.

  Her hot-flirty-firefighter-jazz-musician neighbor who was also a good guy and took care of whatever and whoever showed up on his doorstep.

  Harper helped. Some. But she often suspected that if it weren’t for his crazy work hours, James wouldn’t need her at all. He wasn’t exactly a nurturer, perhaps, but he did what needed to be done, stepped up, met challenges.

  The essays he’d written for her on olive trees, bearded dragons, and how alcohol affected men and women differently had all been surprisingly thorough. Not that he hadn’t added his own flair and commentary to it—commentary, she, of course, deducted points for—but it had been obvious he’d actually looked into the topics and found the pertinent information to deal with taking care of the things that had been thrust into his path. Rather than giving them away or ignoring them, he’d done what he’d needed to do to help them not just survive, but actually thrive.

  Their—his—olives were delicious. Henry was doing well, and now that he was past the stage where he needed insects regularly and could eat fruit and veggies during her shifts, she found him to be a surprisingly curious and interesting creature. Courtney had not only sworn off men over the past month, she also hadn’t had a drink since the night she’d passed out on Harper’s sofa—and puked on Harper’s favorite throw blanket.

  And now… Harper and James were clearly about to become co-parents to a dog.

  A cute, shaggy little dog, whose breed was hard to determine and whose entire body was wiggling and vibrating with happiness.

  She sighed. She didn’t really want to sleep with James Reynaud, but it was extremely hard to remember why sometimes.

  Too young.

  Too laid back.

  Too irreverent.

  Too young.

  James was at least five years her junior, and more, he was hardly interested in the same things she was. She loved to cook and read and knit and stay in. He loved jazz—playing and listening to it—and the nightlife and going out. He ate out a lot, and she certainly didn’t know what he liked to read or even if he liked to read.

  So, yes, he was younger than she was, but they were also so obviously mismatched, it was laughable.

  But he was gorgeous.

  And he was holding a dog.

  She was only so strong.

  “Where did the dog come from?” Harper asked, unable to resist reaching out to touch its head.

  The dog pivoted quickly, swiping his tongue over her hand before she could touch his soft head. She smiled. He was a cutie.

  “He brought himself to the fire station,” James said.

  He’d worked for the past twenty-four hours and was just getting home. His hair was mussed, and he definitely looked tired, but he had an air of happiness around him that just seemed untouchable. Harper suspected it had to do with the love he had for his job. She knew how it felt to do something that just felt right, like you were made for it.

  “He’s been hanging around for a few days, I guess,” he said.

  “And, of course, as you were leaving, the guys all said that you should bring him home.”

  He grinned at her, and, as always, her heart gave a little extra thump.

  Which was ridiculous. She was thirty-two years old. She was intelligent, highly educated, fully independent. She’d lived in France, Canada, and now the United States. Had had short-term affairs with a Frenchman and with an Italian. Never had her heart thumped over a man. It was not just ridiculous. It was annoying. She was better than to fall for a pair of deep-brown eyes, or a slow Louisiana drawl, or a set of six-pack abs. Because, of course, he had all of those. He looked every bit the part of a walking, talking romance-novel hero.

  The real problem with James Reynaud, however, was that she was getting to know him. And he didn’t just look the part. He definitely acted like a romance hero, too. Willing to rush into buildings, risking his life to save others? Check. Sweet with the elderly, vulnerable, and neglected? Check. Creative and talented? Check. Able to be self-deprecating and charming at the same time? Check.

  And now he had a dog.

  That was like a triple check mark.

  “Do you like dogs?” he asked.

  “Of course I like dogs.”

  James leaned in and ruffled the top of the dog’s head with his nose in maybe the cutest gesture Harper had ever seen. “You’re in, buddy,” he told the pup.

  The dog pivoted again and licked James’s chin.

  Harper propped a hand on her hip. “But he’s going to have to live here full time, and you can come visit on your days off.”

  James lifted a brow. “Why’s that?”

  “Because he needs stability.” She did, too.

  This guy was messing with her emotions. Maybe not intentionally, but he was getting to her. She knew these things—the trees and drunk girls—weren’t things he’d planned, so she couldn’t say he was wearing her down with all of this on purpose, but the fact he attracted and welcomed all of these needy creatures and then helped them get even better than when they’d first come to him, was making her feel things she didn’t want to feel.


  So she couldn’t be a co-parent. She needed to have a dog that her neighbor sometimes played with. With his shirt on. She needed to start drawing some lines before he further sucked her in.

  “He needs someone who’s here on a consistent schedule. Not being shuffled back and forth.” She reached out and took the dog from James.

  They didn’t need to worry about the dog together or buy toys for the dog together or have Christmas with the dog together. Because of the together part of all that. The more time she spent with him, the more she figured out about him, the more she liked him. She was going to end up falling for him and then getting her heart broken. She did not want to find herself propped up against his front door with her mascara running down her cheeks.

  He let it go, but he was watching her with a bewildered expression. “You want the dog full time?”

  “Yes. And maybe sometimes on your days off you can take him to the dog park while I work. Sometimes.”

  James's brows drew together slightly. “Sometimes.”

  She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  He seemed to think about that for a moment then said, “I guess I’ll need a key to your place, then, too.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “So I can come over and get him when I’m off. When you’re in class. Unless you want me to wake you up early before I sack out after my shift.”

  He was right. He left early, which meant he got off his shift and back to the apartment early—twenty-four hours later. He’d need a key to her place if they had a dog together. No, if he was dog sitting once in a while. She’d gotten the key to his place because of Henry.

  “Fine,” she agreed. “I’ll have one made.”

  “Great.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  He reached out and ruffled the dog’s head again. “Lucky guy,” he said. “Be sure to snuggle her good.” Then he gave Harper a wink and turned and sauntered off to his apartment.

  Two nights ago…

  Harper’s phone rang as she was leaving her classroom. She’d had a department meeting run late and then needed to finish up some paperwork and was now hurrying home. James had been off today, but he had plans with his friends tonight, and she didn’t want to leave Ami alone for too long tonight.