Etienne (The Shifters of Shotgun Row Book 1)(12)

“Whoever makes the best BLT.” Because bacon.





Etienne

“Best BLT down here is at T-Mac’s. It’s not on the menu, though. Only for locals.”

She gave me a look. “Really? Is it like gator bacon or something weird?”

I tried like hell not to openly cringe about the thought of my belly being fried to a crisp and served next to a stack of pancakes.

“There’s no such thing as gator bacon, darlin’. It’s just an item Melissa doesn’t put on the menu. Next time you need something, just call the station, and I’ll come wherever you are. I’d prefer if you not get too close to Bruno. Trust me.”

She stopped walking, and immediately I missed the clicking of her heels on the sidewalk.

“You’d prefer I didn’t get around him? Look, I know my granny told you to watch over me or whatever, but no one, and I mean no one, tells me what to do or who to talk to.”

Her feisty attitude kicked up the hint of cinnamon in her smell and my overwhelming desire to shove her into the nearest alley and take advantage of her full lips again.

“I’m not telling you what to do, Tansy. And anything I suggest you do is only for your own safety and well-being. You got it? I don’t tell other people what to do—especially people I...I just don’t.”

“Well, next time, change the tone. That growly tone makes everything you say sound like you’re angry.”

I grunted. She was probably right. But what could I say? Alligators are ornery. Period.

“Yes ma’am,” I said, like a good Southern boy should, and ushered her into T-Mac’s with my hand on her lower back. The place was older than dirt. They claimed it had been open for a hundred years, and from the age of the old cypress beams on the ceiling, I didn’t doubt it for one second.

The place went dead still as we entered, our shadows cast on the floor against the light from the sun coming through the open door.

“This place is really old,” Tansy whispered, placing one hand over her heart.

“Let’s get a table in the back,” I suggested, only so the human didn’t get stared to death.

I got another glare. “It’s just quiet back there. I’ll be a good boy—mostly.”

She quelled a smile, and I got a waft of fear in the air. Certainly, she wasn’t scared of me. Maybe she was.

“Okay. As long as you behave.” Her lips said to behave, but her side-to-side sexy walk said, please don’t. Tansy’s walking contradiction caused me some serious walking issues myself.

The other shifters in the room gave me the side-eye, but there was nothing really they could do about it. I was more dominant than they were, and if they didn’t like it, I would kill them in a death roll and drag them down to the deepest part of the bayou and let them die slowly.

And each and every one of them knew it.

“Your regular, Etienne?” Maggie had a thick Cajun accent.

“Yes. And a special BLT for this one—double the bacon, right?”

I was doing it again—ordering for her. She’d probably ream me out for ordering for her.

“Just a Coke, yes.”

“What kind?” Maggie snapped her gum and stuck her pen in her mouth, waiting for Tansy.

“Tansy?” She was lost in some kind of thought. “Maggie is wanting to know what kind of Coke, darlin’.”

With a shake of her head, she was back with me. “Coke is Coke.”

“No, around here, Coke means soda. Now she wants to know what kind.”

“Oh. Just Coke, Coke. Regular normal brown Coke.”

Maggie got a kick out of that.

“What’s up with you?” I didn’t know the woman well, but she was definitely acting off.





Tansy

“Just realizing how different things are down here, ya know, with the whole Coke thing.” I lied a little too quickly. The last thing I wanted to tell him was a ghost was hanging around Bruno, and, by default, admit I saw the darn things. Part of me wanted to explore his dislike of Bruno a tad bit more to see if he inadvertently gave me a hint as to the dead dude, but more of me wanted to forget about it completely.

That man was a creeper, and even though I didn’t want Etienne to think he was the feckin’ boss of anyone, I was on the same side as he was at this time. Did he know the guy was bad news or was it just the manly “I don’t want no one sniffin’ around a woman before I decide if I want her” thing? Not that it mattered. Except it did, I wanted him to want me even though I needed to stay as far away from him as possible. Ugg I was such a freckin’ mess.

“I forget you northerners say pop instead of Coke,” he teased, his eyes not leaving mine. Could he tell I was lyin’? Probably, I always stunk at it. Meemaw said it made me a better person, but look where that got me. Back home they still thought I was a cheating liar-head. Not that they mattered, but still. And graduatin’ would’ve been nice.

“We don’t say pop. That’s the Midwest. Soda. We drink soda.” I winked back at him, my inability to not flirt frustrating me to no end.

As if the conversation was her cue, the waitress popped the lasses in front of us. “Your lunch will be a couple more minutes.” Before I could answer she marched off. Weird lady. Actually, the entire place was pretty stinkin’ weirderific now that I thought about it.