No Time like Mardi Gras. Kimberly Lang

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      ONE

      Sometimes being a nice guy sucked.

      But a friend didn’t turn down a friend in need, even when that need was for a relief bartender on Fat Tuesday in the French Quarter.

      Seemed he’d only thought his bartending days were over. And he’d forgotten how much he hated bartending.

      Colin Raine made another cash drop just as Teddy came downstairs from his apartment above the Lucky Gator, looking somewhat better rested and fresh from the shower. Owning a bar in the French Quarter had been Teddy’s dream, but the frenetic, nearly twenty-four-seven nature of the business during Mardi Gras would test even the most pleasant of dreams come true. The guy hadn’t had more than a couple of hours’ sleep in a row all weekend.

      “All good?” Teddy asked.

      “All good.” Colin usually avoided the Quarter on Fat Tuesday—at least since bartending had quit being his main source of income—far preferring to watch the parades over near his own place off Lee Circle or hang with friends. At least it was still early, only just past noon, and while the revelers were thick in the streets, he had time to escape before the crowds really got crazy. “You owe me, though. Some drunk frat rat puked in the men’s.”

      Teddy rolled his eyes. “Already?”

      First-time visitors to the Quarter on Fat Tuesday always faced a bit of a shock at the all-out, truly bacchanalian atmosphere. Half the people on the streets were still drunk from the night before, and the rest were rushing to catch up. Depending on perspective, it was either the biggest and best street party in the world or an absolute nightmare.

      The Lucky Gator occupied a great piece of real estate, just a block in from Canal on Chartres, and the place was hopping simply from the traffic of folks heading into or out of the Quarter itself or trickling in from the parade route on Canal. A local cover band played with enthusiasm—if not extreme skill—on the Gator’s small stage, calling folks in off the streets to continue the party indoors. Every table was occupied and folks stood in the doorways. They weren’t packed yet, but they would be—the crowds were already starting to pick up. Teddy was making a mint, which tended to dull the irritation of those who were letting the bons temps rouler a little too much.

      He helped Teddy restock and bring out new kegs, dumped his share of the morning’s tips into the beleaguered waitresses’ tip jar, and took out the trash, where he was waylaid by the stupidity of two women who’d thought flashing for beads at street level was a good idea. It took him ten minutes to get them out of the groping maw of an overly appreciative crowd that looked as if it could easily turn aggressive and on their way with their friends.

      With that, though, his good deeds for the day were officially done. He was getting the hell out of here. He had time for a shower and a nap before deciding if he’d head to a party or just stay home and work.

      He went to tell Teddy that exact thing, only to find him staring oddly at something near the stage. Colin followed Teddy’s line of sight and nodded. “She’s been there for a couple of hours now.”

      “She doesn’t look happy about it.”

      The she in question was a pretty brunette, maybe in her mid-twenties, scrolling idly through her phone. While the other woman at the table, a blonde, was turned around, straddling her chair, practically dancing in her seat and catcalling the band, the brunette looked, for lack of a better word, bored. She had a couple of strands of beads around her neck and a beer he’d pulled over an hour ago sitting untouched on the table in front of her. It was a stark contrast to the scene surrounding her. She put her phone back in her pocket and seemed to sigh as she turned to watch the street.

      Teddy shook his head. “A reluctant groupie.”

      Colin realized Teddy was right. The blonde was obviously there for someone in the band and the brunette was the fifth wheel regretting accompanying her now. It was a shame, really, practically a crime, not to be having fun in New Orleans on Mardi Gras—especially since she’d obviously come for the celebrations, not to listen to some just-shy-of-crappy band. “How long is their set?”

      Teddy sighed. “They’re booked for two.”

      He nearly choked. “Really? They’re not that good.”

      “Tell me something I don’t know. But every decent band in the parish was booked.”

      Two hours into the first of two three-hour sets. The poor girl had a long day ahead of her if the blonde truly was there as the band’s groupie.

      And her phone’s battery was bound to go dead eventually.

      “You should go talk to her.”

      Sleep deprivation was definitely doing damage to Teddy’s brain. “What?”

      “I feel bad for her. Plus, she’s kinda bad for business, sitting there like that all miserable. People can see her from the street and they’ll think twice about coming in here.” Teddy grinned. “Consider it a favor.”

      “I’m barely done with the last favor and you’re asking for another?”

      Teddy grinned. “If I recall correctly, your exact words were, ‘I’ll owe you for life.’”

      Damn it. Five years ago, the money Teddy had invested had been the final and crucial piece launching No Quarter and Rainstorm Games into the big leagues. He and Eric had pulled together every last cent they’d had—forgoing all but the most basic of human survival requirements—and had come up short. Teddy hadn’t had the money to spare at the time, but he’d given it anyway, pulling the cash out of his own business savings to support theirs.

      Colin had meant the sentiment at the time, but he’d never thought he’d regret it. And it wasn’t as if Teddy regretted the money; the return on that investment had allowed him to open the Lucky Gator three years earlier than anyone expected. “Seriously, now, how long do you think you can keep playing that card?”

      “The rest of your life, my friend. The rest of your life.” Slapping Colin’s shoulder, Teddy went behind the bar. “What? You got big plans or something?”

      “Maybe,” he hedged.

      “Plans other than locking yourself in your office and working?” Teddy grinned, knowing he’d gotten it right. As if Teddy had room to talk. He, Eric, Colin...they were all practically workaholics. Growing up just shy of poor and building СКАЧАТЬ