Jackie laughed. For all the good she was with accents, all she could say to describe him was “British.” She poked her beer bottle and finally looked around behind the bar, spotting a stool and pulling it up so she could sit across from Liam. It was nice to get off her feet, let them relax. The backs of her ankles were already blistered, and sooner or later, her shoes were going to cut right through them. Now she was able to sit, think, and just enjoy the company without wanting to complain about her stupid feet.
“Hey, at least your accent doesn’t make ya sound like you’re dumb as a post,” she said with a smirk. “People hear the Cajun or Southern accent and they wanna deduct ten IQ points.”
A loud amount of cat calls came from the stage area, and Jackie couldn’t help but take a peek to see what was going on. One of the girls was getting her money worth; a whole bunch of dollar bills almost popping out of her g-string. Jackie couldn’t help but chuckle. If the woman dropped some money, Jackie would be snagging it later. The only girls who were really safe from Jackie’s sticky fingers were Roxy and Ella.
“All the way from England then,” she said. “So why did ya come to New Orleans?”