Good Times Roll

By AJ Sinclair

An MMF Short Story set in the original sin city....

 

A New Orleans vacation sounded like the perfect opportunity to get away from career and kids and experience some adult fun. But the magic eludes Olivia and Logan Prescott until they find Remy Legrand naked on their hotel bed. Remy offers to show them a good time—by any means necessary.

 

Olivia believes Remy can help them find the escape they're looking for, but Logan thinks the eccentric local is crazy—or worse—and they're both certain Remy isn't what he appears to be. The only secret Remy isn't keeping is his lust for each of them.

 

Who or what is this guy? Is he the ultimate vacation guide? Or will he destroy their marriage?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pickled Shamrock Press
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224680757

Book preview

Good Times Roll

OLIVIA

Shadows lingered even in the daytime, concealing secrets both past and present. Dripping humidity strangled the air around me, and yet, every now and then, a distinct chill shoved the heat aside like a dead hand clawing from an ancient grave. A presence that refused to die lurked in dark passages, old and beautiful. The French Quarter’s unique charm? Or something with a sinister agenda?

I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle at my dramatic musings. The gothic fantasy I’d conjured in my head hadn’t materialized as I’d hoped, and so far, our New Orleans vacation had proven to be much less interesting than my imagination.

Another store? Logan growled when I stopped in front of an open door. He’d followed me around all day, lugging bags loaded with impulse buys, things I’d never find anywhere else.

Last stop, I promise. Until the next one. The scent of fresh pralines beckoned me inside.

Logan grumbled but followed me anyway. We’ve been shopping since breakfast! Come on, Olivia. I thought we came to New Orleans for fun.

Shopping is fun. Confections in glass cases drew my attention. Chocolate, caramel, and oh! Maple bacon pecan brittle. Must have! I snatched up a box and headed to the cashier.

For you.

What would you rather do? The sun blinded me momentarily as we stepped outside. Go on another tour? I rolled my eyes, hoping my husband’s vision hadn’t adjusted yet.

Logan scowled. I thought you liked seeing the mint.

I liked the gift shop. I’d never been a relentless shopper, but this place made me want to buy everything I could get my hands on and take it home with me. What was I searching for?

For fuck’s sake. I’m sweaty and tired. Can we go back to the hotel and dump all this shit? I feel like a pack mule.

All right. I could use a break. I glanced at the voodoo shop across the street. Had we been there already? Where are we?

He blinked and peered at the street sign. Chartres. Gotta go that way. Bags rustled as he attempted to point, but the cluttered burden made the gesture impossible, so Logan tipped his chin. Toward Royal.

I shifted my shopping load and took a bag from him, then we budged through the crowded sidewalk, stepping into the street in places to avoid walking into people. A musician played a lively jazz tune on his saxophone. Across the street, a couple of teens played drums on overturned buckets, an odd complement to the sax. My nose wrinkled at the fishy smell wafting from the seafood restaurant we passed. So different from our home in Denver, and yet this trip hadn’t provided the escape I craved. I paused at a corner and waited for Logan to catch up with me. Are you having a good time?

He arched his left eyebrow with skeptical sarcasm. Are you?

Well... A gap in the traffic allowed us to cross the intersection. Yes. Unconvincing even to me. The city is beautiful, unique—

Smells like dead fish. Logan gagged.

Occasionally, but... The end of that sentence hovered while a tour group threaded between us.

We’re missing something. He finished my thought.

We’d toured the cemetery, eaten dozens of oysters, overspent our souvenir budget. Powdered sugar from the afternoon’s beignet snack still dusted my shirt. We’d done New Orleans like proper tourists. What?

Logan paused at the hotel entrance and studied our surroundings. Lengthening shadows hid whatever he might’ve been searching for. We haven’t seen a single ghost.

The word sent chills down my arms, but I shook them off. Oh, good lord. The hotel we’d booked claimed to be haunted, as did every other building in the quarter, but so far, we’d experienced nothing out of the ordinary.

Did you really think we would? My estate attorney husband believed that death was the end. Live now, but make plans for what you leave behind.

The concierge smiled at our loaded arms and opened the door for us. We crossed the ornate lobby without paying much attention to the tourists wandering around.

Logan elbowed the elevator button. I hoped we’d see something weird, or spooky, maybe. He shook his head, apparently puzzled by his wish.

I got it, though. Our lives had become predictable. Wake up, send the kids to school, go to work, dinner, sleep. Do it all over again the next day, ad infinitum. Yeah, me too. The scariest thing we’ve seen was a stray cat in the cemetery.

That hissing pussy was no joke.

We stepped onto the old, rattling elevator, alone for the first time all day. So, what do you want to do tonight? We’d had a late lunch. Another meal held no appeal.

The elevator lurched upward. I don’t know.

A sigh escaped me along with the resolve to motivate him. The elevator doors creaked open, and we stepped into the dim hallway. Bouncing trumpet notes danced up from the street, accompanied by laughter and assorted revelry, but the lilting melodies failed to lighten our mood.

Logan stopped in front of our room. Just open the door so I can unload all this crap.

Fine. A cold draft passed straight through me, rattling the key in my hand as I fumbled with the lock. The latch clicked, and the door swung open on its own.

Logan ran into me and swore as I stopped short, staring at the bed we’d been sleeping in all week. A naked man stretched on top of the neatly made covers we’d left rumpled this morning, looking like he belonged there with his fingers laced behind his head, ankles crossed, and a wicked smirk dancing in his glittering green eyes.