Lucky Ball

by Lisa N. Paul

  “You’re right,” Wren said. “It was completely out of line and immature to be angry with you. I was just…” Wren couldn’t admit to herself the reason for her anger, so speaking it was impossible. “I guess I just thought we were having fun and, like Cinderella, when the night was over, we would leave it all behind.” Lame, Wren, just lame.

  “Apology accepted.” Emmy sighed, all defensiveness gone from her quiet tone. “But remember, just because the carriage turned back into a pumpkin and the dress into rags, that didn’t mean Cinderella’s memories of the prince disappeared. It wasn’t magic that created their romance.” A beat of silence hung between them before Emmy spoke again. “Now get back to work before the douche finds a way to dock your pay.”

  *

  “You look like shit, man,” Smith said by way of greeting when Logan showed up on his doorstep. “Have you been kissing Greg or my brother? They have mono, you know?” The bottle of beer nearly covered Smith’s grin, but not quite.

  “Bite me,” Logan barked as he brushed past Smith and headed straight to the kitchen.

  “Gee, come on in, Enders. Make yourself at home.”

  Logan did just that by reaching into the refrigerator and yanking out two bottles: one of water and one of beer. He downed the water in a long gulp, tossed the empty in the trash, popped open the beer, and took a long pull.

  “Christ, Lo, take a breath.” So lost in his own thoughts, Logan barely noticed the concern etched around Smith’s eyes or the way his jaw clenched as he set his own beer on the countertop. “Bad day?”

  Logan took another swallow of beer before breathing deeply. It felt like the first free breath he’d taken since he woke up sixteen hours earlier. “These aren’t bad days; they’re just fucking endless ones. You know?”

  The band had returned home two weeks earlier, and the first gig Logan had committed to playing with them was only six days away. Between his music schools—where the kids were getting ready for their spring concerts—and the hours of band practice with Shades of Certainty, Logan felt as though he was running on fumes. It certainly didn’t help that when he finally crawled into bed at night, exhausted to the bone, he couldn’t keep his mind from traveling to the sexy-as-sin blue-eyed brunette who had captured his attention for hours then refused to give him anything more than a brief kiss before she fled into the night. With everything on his plate, the last thing he needed was a woman who played head games, but it seemed that what he needed and what he wanted were two completely different things. Hence the lack of sleep and his shitty mood.

  “I visited Greg today,” Smith said while grabbing another beer for each of them. “He’s bitching like a little girl, but between his mom, his sister, and the revolving door of chicks bringing him Popsicles—or should I say, licking his Popsicle—I’d say he’s well on the way to recovery.”

  “I don’t know how they do it,” Logan mused, thinking of his former band mates. “The constant invasion of their personal space, women prowling around and dropping to their knees just for bragging rights.”

  Smith chuckled. “Dude, your vagina’s showing. From where I’m standing, nostrings-attached sex sounds like a fucking fantasy.”

  Logan leveled his friend with a knowing glare. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. When your gym was mentioned as one of Philadelphia’s hottest places for singles to meet, you were pissed. You hadn’t poured your blood and sweat into Flawless so it could be considered a fluff gym. If I remember correctly, which I do, after the article was published, you had women in full hair and makeup, strutting around your gym and working out nothing more than their smiles. Sure, people were getting laid left and right, including you, but how did that work for your business?” When the cocky smile left Smith’s face, Logan knew he’d hit his target.

  “Point made. But the guys in the band love their lifestyle. They aren’t complaining. And can you honestly say that you aren’t enjoying being back in the fold?”

  “No, I can’t.” Logan closed his eyes and thought back to the practice session he’d just come from. “I love jamming with them. Playing my music, singing my lyrics, fuck…it’s euphoric. It’s addictive. Truth be told, I’m stoked to get back on stage. Nervous as hell to sing in front of an audience again, but fucking stoked nonetheless.”

  A small grin played on Smith’s face. “Then enjoy the ride, buddy, and when it’s over, you’ll have no regrets.”

  “Sage advice coming from you frightens me.” Logan shuddered and ducked to avoid Smith’s right hook. “Speaking of enjoying the ride, did you ever end up calling the blonde from Eclipse? Umm, Emmy?”

  Logan had wanted to ask about her for two weeks. When he’d mentioned Wren’s disappearing act the day after she refused to give him her phone number, Smith nonchalantly said he’d gotten the blonde’s number but hadn’t called. In the weeks since, Logan had not only been busy, but his pride had firmly refused to allow him to ask about her again. But it appeared his mouth was done taking orders from his pride.

  “Yeah, we’ve hung out. She’s a cool chick.”

  They’ve hung out? She’s a cool chick? That girl had obviously brainwashed Smith.

  “Hung out, huh? Are you bringing her to the first show on Thursday?”

  Something that, even after decades of friendship, Logan couldn’t recognize flashed over Smith’s face. “Yeah, she’s gonna try to make it. I didn’t tell her it was a Shades of Certainty show, but she loves live music, so hopefully she’ll stop by.”

  After they’d finished their beers, Logan headed home, body exhausted and mind overwhelmed. As he drifted off to sleep, a pair of cornflower eyes ghosted through his thoughts.

  Chapter Five

  Does That Chick Have A…

  “Are you sure this looks okay?” Eyeing her reflection in the full-length mirror, Wren pivoted to re-examine her backside in the denim miniskirt.

  “Oh my God, Wrenny, for the millionth time, you look great.” Emmy flopped onto Wren’s bed with a huff, pulled out her cell phone and checked who knew what, then placed the phone back in her purse. “Sweetie, the whole purpose of having me assist with your outfit choice is that it takes less time than doing it on your own because you trust me. I’d never let you leave your place looking like a fool. With my help, we’ll get done quicker and stop missing events…” Emmy glanced at her watch before mumbling, “Maybe.”

  The ladies walked into a rather crowded Crushed. The bands usually didn’t start playing until ten o’clock on Thursday nights, so to see packed tables at seven thirty was unusual. Whatever band was playing certainly had a following. Emmy had suggested they come early to get a table, but that didn’t look as though it would happen, so Wren searched for empty bar stools. That was when she saw him.

  Their eyes met across the room, his brown to her blue. All sound around her muted, and all people ceased to exist. Sure, she remembered he was ridiculously handsome, but her brain must have filtered the memory of his aesthetic perfection in order to allow her to move on from what could only be looked at as grave stupidity. The man was mouth-wateringly gorgeous. Had it not been for the Fortune Eight’s no go reply, she would have written her phone number on the guy’s arm in permanent marker. However, the ball had never led her astray, and three weeks of pining was probably better than whatever heartbreak would have come from ignoring his advice.

  “Wren, you remember Smith, right?”

  Emmy’s elbow to Wren’s ribs broke the spell she’d obviously been under. “Uh, yeah, hello. It’s good to see you again, Smith.”

  “You too, Wren. Hope you ladies don’t mind, but we already have a table toward the front, near the stage. The band is incredible, and I can guarantee you won’t want to miss a minute of the show.” Smith pointed at the table sporting the reserved sign. “Why don’t the two of you go sit down, and I’ll help Logan carry the drinks over.” Sparkling eyes focused on Emmy as he threaded his hand through her hair. “What’s your poison tonight, babe?”

  “Hmm, a Whipped Pin
eapple Passion, please, for both of us,” Emmy answered, flashing him a seductive smile.

  After he left, she wove her arm through Wren’s and led them both to the small wooden table near the stage.

  “What the hell, Em?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Emmaline! What the fuck is going on?” Between her thoughts and the nerves in her belly, Wren felt as if she were on a rollercoaster with no end in sight. “Did you know he was going to be here tonight?”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t feign innocent with me,” Wren whispered through clenched teeth as Emmy stopped, her doe-eyed look firmly in place. “Emmy!”

  “Fine.” Emmy sighed. “Yes, I knew Smith was going to be here. He’s the one who told me about the live music. This band is supposed to be—”

  “I don’t care about the band right now. I care that you blindsided me with Logan.” Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Wren nibbled on the flesh as she contemplated whether to murder her friend there and then or to make it look like an accident later in the week.

  “You’re ruining perfectly good lipstick. Stop eating your face,” Emmy chided. “Now, I didn’t blindside you, per se.” Clearly the daggers Wren shot from her eyes successfully met their target, because Emmy stammered, “W-what I mean is, I had no clue that Logan was gonna be here tonight. I swear. And the only reason I didn’t tell you about Smith is because I know you and I know you wouldn’t have come.”

  Emmy wasn’t wrong, but if Wren was being honest, she hadn’t exactly heard everything her friend said because her eyes were glued to Logan’s fine jean-clad ass. Even from across the room, she’d have to be blind not to appreciate the man’s body. He and Smith appeared to be talking while waiting for the drinks. As if he felt her gaze on him, Logan peered over his shoulder and caught her staring. A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, revealing the straight white teeth she remembered. Damn, how the hell was it possible for a mere smile to dry her throat and wet her panties at the same time? That drink couldn’t come fast enough.

  “God, you aren’t even listening to me, are you?” Emmy flicked Wren’s shoulder. “I’d like to say I’m sorry about the Logan ambush, but with the way you guys are devouring each other from afar, I’m not feeling all that apologetic.”

  “What? Oh, um, apology accepted.” Wren’s tongue swept over her parched lips.

  “Earth to Wren?” Her perfect view of Logan was interrupted by Emmy’s fingers snapping in front of Wren’s face. “Listen, I’m all about appreciating eye candy, but I kind of dig Smith, and according to him, Logan is a pretty cool guy who was bummed when you bailed the night we all met.”

  Wren’s eyes snapped from the sexy man at the bar to her friend. “So what are you trying to say?”

  “I’m saying I love you and I understand how you work, but they don’t. So I think it would be fair if you decide upfront if you’re going to let things go further than just the typical flirt and flee.” Emmy’s gaze dropped to Wren’s purse. “Do what you need to do, Wrenny. Just don’t lead a nice guy on.”

  Was it resignation on Emmy’s face? Wren wasn’t certain, but with the way Logan had made her body zing with excitement and warm with lust on the night they met, Emmy was right. Wren needed to go into the evening with either open arms or a shielded heart.

  Turning her back to the bar, Wren pulled her trusted friend from her bag, and for the first time in ages, she hoped that its answer would lead her into the arms of the most heavenly man she’d ever met.

  *

  “What are they doing over there, all huddled up?” The humor in Smith’s voice made Logan look at the table at the opposite end of the bar. “My girl doesn’t do weird shit like that when it’s just the two of us hanging out.”

  “Your girl, huh?” Logan didn’t bother to hide his grin.

  “Nah, man, what I meant was—”

  “Don’t try to deny it, Jones.” Logan chuckled. “You laid claim to the woman whether you meant to or not, and I think it’s cute. Ow! Punch me again, and drinks are on you for the rest of the night.”

  “Kittens are cute, asshole. I’ll admit I dig her. End of story.” He shrugged. “But her friend seems a bit strange. Emmaline’s already told me they’re a package deal, so I gotta get used to the… seriously, what are they doing?”

  Both women stood at the table the guys had reserved, their backs facing the crowd as if nothing and no one else mattered besides whatever they were doing. The inches of skin that showed between where Wren’s high boots stopped and her miniskirt started were like pricks of heat searing through Logan’s body. Her ass, rounded and encased in worn denim, swayed like tall grass in a summer breeze. It was inviting and could have lulled him into a hypnotic daze if not for the movement of her elbow. That action yanked Logan’s attention away from her ass and up to her arms.

  “Please, for the love of God, tell me you see what I see,” Smith said.

  Logan found it hard to believe Smith could even form words with his jaw touching the floor. Not that he could blame the man. From where they were standing, with Wren’s back facing them and the way her upper arm and elbow were moving, it looked as if she was… could she be… masturbating?

  “Dude, does that chick have a dick?”

  “What? No fucking way,” Logan growled, shaking off the lustful haze as he grabbed their drinks from the bar and headed to the table. “I think I’d know if I had kissed a guy. Christ, Smith, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “You never know, brother. I’ve seen some women on the internet, and from the waist up…” Smith whistled. “Smokin’ hot, but they yanked up their skirts and they were hung like a blue whale.”

  “Only you would know what mammal has the biggest dick,” Logan teased as they walked through the throngs of people.

  “Always gotta know my competition.” Smith’s quick retort was nearly swallowed up by the crowd, but the smirk that split his face and the cocky swagger in his step made Logan chuckle.

  When he and Smith placed the drinks down and greeted the ladies, who were still standing with their backs to the crowd, Wren’s entire frame jolted. Logan wasn’t sure how, in that sea of bodies, she could be so absorbed in a discussion that the presence of another person could startle her, but that was exactly what had happened. Whatever Wren had been holding clunked onto the wooden table and rolled toward the edge. Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw her lunge for the object as he heard her gasp. With lightning quick reflexes, he grabbed the black sphere just before it hit the floor. Hmm, is this what I think it is? Rotating the ball, he felt the side of his mouth pull up when he found the small window.

  “Holy shit,” Smith bellowed. “Is that a Fortune Eight Ball? I haven’t seen one of those in years.”

  Logan watched as Wren’s body went from tense to stiff. She and her friend were clearly uncomfortable, but Emmy recovered quickly while worry stayed etched all over Wren’s face. Logan had no idea what had caused that reaction. All he knew was that her blue eyes seemed to be begging for something her lush lips refused to ask for. With each noisy second that passed, the flawless skin on her cheeks flushed a bit more pink. God, the woman was beautiful.

  “Is this yours?” Logan asked, his hand open, the ball lying on his palm like a gift just waiting to be accepted. His focus was solely on Wren because he knew damn well the ball was hers, but he wanted her to make a move, to claim the item, to come to him. Wren had run from him before, and she needed to find her way back.

  “Yes,” her husky voice answered as she looked at him from beneath incredibly long dark lashes. “It’s mine. Can I have it back?” Her request sounded confident, but something soft, vulnerable even, in her eyes spoke louder than her words.

  With his arm still outstretched, Logan nodded. Just like when they’d met three weeks prior, when Wren’s skin touched his, surges of electricity sprang through his body. The way her eyes snapped up to his—yep, she felt it too.

  “Hello, hate to break up this angsty Dawson�
�s Creek moment, but does anyone wanna tell me what the fuck you girls were doing with that Fortune Eight Ball?”

  *

  “Jesus, Smith, first of all, it’s FEB for short,” Emmy sniped playfully, cupping Smith’s jaw. “Second, they were having a moment and you totally ruined it. I can name five better ways you could have been using your mouth.”

  If Wren could have disappeared, she would have. Anything would have been better than the heat burning in her cheeks. It didn’t matter that the ball had given the go-ahead to finally give Logan her phone number; the guy probably thought she was a complete freak now. Hell, at this point, she didn’t want her own phone number. A sharp pain to the back of her ankle, followed by a suspicious cough that sounded a lot like talk, shook Wren from her embarrassed daze.

  Emmy shot her a look that was more like a lethal glare, and Wren knew her friend was asking—no, telling—her to step up and take control of the situation. Okay, okay. Wren nodded to her friend. Jeez, the death stare and an ankle kick? I’m thinking Emmy needs anger management classes.

  Either way, she was right. Wren needed to say something, or she would not only look ridiculous, but she could lose the opportunity to get to know Logan better.

  Telling people about her relationship with the Fortune Eight was never easy, which was one of the reasons Wren didn’t have many friends. She wasn’t a stupid woman, but she was sensitive, and hearing people make fun of her was painful. After a while, she had stopped trying to make new friends and date new men because the fact was, she needed the Eight Ball more than she needed any of the people who had tried to enter her life. However, something had changed when she left Logan behind almost a month before. The man who she had spent less than a handful of hours with had refused to leave her thoughts, and for the first time in eight years, Wren had been disappointed in the ball’s decision. Sure, she could have gotten Logan’s phone number from Smith, via Emmy, at any time, but the FEB had never steered her wrong and her faith stayed true. Obviously, this was her second chance and the ball had clearly corrected its opinion.