Remembering My College Days With My Neighborhood Aunty

MsCaught in A Good Romance, 5 of 10By Leslie LoweChapter 5Early the next morning, I dressed in jeans, tennies and a white poloshirt and arrived at the marina on time, having no trouble findingLance's boat.After I announced who I was to several buff guys standing on the deck,they invited me to jump aboard, which I tried to do, almost falling inbefore one of them caught me by the hand and another strong man grabbedme under the arms and lifted me aboard. They were all good about it,telling me it happened to a lot of people."One of his ladies actually fell in," said a handsome guy wearing swimtrunks who was working nearby putting away a coil of rope."Yeah," said the guy who had caught my hand and helped rescue me, "Lancetold us if we ever let that happen again, he was going to throw usoverboard and tow us out to the race."Lance came up on deck and greeted me as if he really was glad I hadcome. He gave me a tour of the boat, saying I could use his cabin if Iwanted to take a nap or go to. “You better go,” I say. “Someone is going to catch up with me sooner or later. You don’t want to be around when they find me.”“Oh, I think I’ll manage.” He reaches out a hand and pulls me to my feet. “But you have a choice to make, and I want you to ask yourself a very important question.”He cups my cheeks, his large hands warm and comforting. I lean into him, enjoying his subtle musk. Somehow it smells a little like both of us. The storm eases, and I look up into his fathomless brown eyes. “What question? And what choice?”A choice is a novel thing these days. I’m realizing that I haven’t had one in a very long time. Not about my activities, my work, my partner. It’s all been arranged and planned, right down to my food. And my mental stability, taken away at the whim of someone I knew and had no reason not to trust.“Do you want to stay in New Orleans?” he asks.“No.” That choice is easy. The city isn’t alive anymore. I don’t think she’s been alive for a very long time. Laissez les.
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