Lucky Ball

by Lisa N. Paul

  Chapter Eighteen

  Touch This Cookie and I’ll Break Your Fingers

  “Here, try this one on.”

  Wren grabbed the lavender lace bra-and-panty set Emmy tossed her way. They were scanning the racks in Victoria’s Secret, looking for the perfect undergarments to wear beneath the outfit they hadn’t yet purchased. Emmy’s theory on looking sexy was to start from the layers closest to one’s skin. The women had met at the gym for an early workout, showered, then gone to the mall for shopping and lunch.

  They giggled as Wren admired the lingerie in the tri-mirror.

  “Oooh, you look hot, Wrenny. If I swung that way, I’d do ya.”

  “I really like this set.” She thought about the dirty texts from earlier in the week when she described to Logan a blue thong that she didn’t actually own. “Let me see if they have this in blue.”

  Two lingerie sets and two gauzy tank tops later, excitement energized Wren’s every step, leaving Emmy struggling to keep up.

  “Slow down there, Energizer Bunny. We’re shopping, not running a 5k. We need to find you something to wear over those. Logan didn’t give you any hints as to where you guys are going?”

  Not for lack of trying. Wren had done her best to weasel hints from the man all week. “The only information he gave was nice jeans were acceptable.”

  “Hmm, what’s with all the secrecy?”

  Wren giggled at her friend’s expression. The way Emmy’s nose scrunched up reminded Wren of all the times Emmy had tried to guess her birthday presents when they were younger.

  “He says if I know where we’re going, I’ll try to guess what he’s feeding me and it’ll cause me stress,” Wren said.

  “Ahh, that is one smart man.”

  “Emmy! I’m not that bad. I wouldn’t get all worked up days in advance.”

  Her friend stopped walking midstride and stared at Wren as if a second head were growing on her shoulder. “Yes, you would. You’d probably call the restaurant and ask them how they prepare their food as well. I’ve known you practically your whole life and never thought to withhold the name of a restaurant. This guy has known you a minute and has you all figured out. Keep him, Wrenny. Do you hear me?” Emmy gripped Wren’s shoulders and shook her dramatically. “Keep him.”

  Laughing, Wren took Emmy’s hand. “I don’t think he’d go away even if I asked him. So don’t worry, I’m keeping him.” Something about admitting that out loud felt good. Really good.

  After hours of shopping, the women were seated at a table in the Cheesecake Factory. There were two things she liked on the menu, so Wren had the Fortune Eight Ball decide her meal, and the girls chatted while waiting for their food.

  “How has work been since the douche’s demise?” Utter delight showed on Emmy’s face as she asked the question. Only a true best friend would bask in the glory of the termination of a nemesis that was not her own.

  “Honestly?”

  Emmy’s brow arched. “No, I want you to lie to me.”

  Jeez, she was even testier than usual. “I thought I’d feel bad about playing a part in getting him fired, but the entire work atmosphere has improved in the less than a week since he’s been gone.”

  “Sweetie, you played no part in getting that pile of dog doo fired. He did that all on his own. You were just lucky enough to bear witness to his downfall. Wish it could have been me, but since I don’t work there, you were the next best thing.” Emmy raised her glass of Diet Coke. “Here’s to Dave. I hope the door hit him right where the good Lord split him.”

  Giggling, the girls clinked their glasses and dug into their meals.

  “Anything from Smith?” Wren asked before popping a French fry into her mouth. Each day her questions about him got shorter, and each day Emmy’s responses got cooler.

  “Nope.” She sipped her soda. “I’ll admit I was into him. You know I was, and you know I’m not one to get all sappy over boys. I thought he was different.” She shrugged. “My fault. I mean, look at him. He’s an all-out, self-titled player. I should have stayed away, and I didn’t.” Her eyes looked sad as she moved the salad around her plate with her fork. “I didn’t, because he was charming and sweet and funny. The man fucked like he was put on this earth to fuck no one but me, and it was amazing. But I don’t care how great the sex is—was—no one… no man is worth any sort of bullshit that makes me question my value.”

  Wren covered Emmy’s hand with her own. “Ems, maybe—”

  “No way. There are no maybes. If something was wrong, Logan would have told you. Has he said anything?”

  Wren stayed quiet because Smith hadn’t been mentioned at all.

  “Exactly,” Emmy said. “Smith was fun, and now Smith is done. You know me. There are no second tries when it comes to guys.”

  Wren knew exactly how her friend was with men, and her hope sank. Stupid Smith.

  “Okay, enough about me,” Emmy said, her voice filled with honest cheer. “You have your outfit, your lingerie, and your shoes picked out. Don’t forget to shave your legs and your Cheerio.”

  Wren laughed at the name they had adopted as young girls. “Maybe I shouldn’t shave my Cheerio.” She instantly regretted the words when Emmy glared at her. “I’m just saying, if I’m not… maintained, I won’t feel bad if the ball says no to sex.”

  “Wren Jamison, the two of you are crazy about each other. Are you telling me that what you know in your head and your heart isn’t enough validation? You still need the dictator’s permission to have sex with a man who is clearly making you happier than you have ever been?”

  Uncertain as to how to answer the question, Wren replied, “No?”

  Emmy sighed as she slipped her credit card into the billfold for the waitress to collect. “You’ll learn. One day you will learn. I just hope it isn’t too late.”

  *

  Soft music played in the background as they entered the small Italian restaurant. Logan helped Wren out of her coat, finding himself once again, as he had been when he picked her up at her house, dazzled by her beauty. Seeing Wren in the dark blue wrap sweater, its deep V-neck showcasing the perfect amount of teasing cleavage and tapering into a slender waist that flared out into shapely hips, made his throat dry. The woman was an hourglass, an old fashioned pin-up, toned yet soft. A goddamn wet dream. Her black skinny jeans left off just before the most spectacular pair of fuck-me blue suede shoes. The things he planned to do to her while she wore those shoes…

  “This place smells amazing. I’ve never eaten here before.”

  He could hear the nerves in her comment, but instead of calling attention to them, he weaved his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. “You’re in for a treat. This place has the best Italian food around.”

  The soft glow of LED candles made for a romantic ambiance even though the restaurant was known for its food and not a fancy dining experience. Once they were seated, the waiter introduced himself and informed Logan and Wren that he was aware no menus would be brought to the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw Wren chew her lip but remain silent. The arrangement must be painfully difficult for her, but the fact that she placed her trust in him meant more than he could express.

  Two glasses of ice water had already been placed on the table. The waiter brought out two additional glasses, a bottle of beer, and half-full bottle of Gatorade.

  “This place is a BYOB,” Logan explained. “I came by earlier with a beer for myself, and I brought you a drink as well.” Opening her mouth in what he assumed was going to be an objection, Logan touched Wren’s hand. “The night we met, you and Emmy were drinking Grape Ring Pops.”

  “You remember that?”

  “Yes. I told you to trust me, Wren. Do you remember that?” he asked with a smirk.

  “Yes.”

  “Then dinner starts now.” Logan poured the premixed fruity drink over the ice in her glass and handed it to her before lifting his own poured beer. “Here’s to us. To trust. To more and more.”


  “To more and more,” she echoed and sipped from her glass.

  When the waiter approached the table, Logan noticed Wren’s hands wrap tightly around her glass. If he was being honest with himself, in a way, her fear made him nervous. He didn’t want to make a mistake. Not when so much was at stake. Reach for what you want, Enders. Make it yours.

  “For our appetizer, we’ll have the fried calamari—please do not put the tentacles on our plate. For dinner, I’d like the chicken Marcela with spaghetti, and the lovely lady would like the eggplant parmigiana with penne. We would both like the house salad instead of the soup—no onion on either salad. One with vinaigrette on the side and one with Italian on the side. Thank you.”

  The waiter eagerly repeated the order and left the table while Wren sat wide-eyed, mouth agape like a stuffed fish.

  “You okay, Lucky?”

  “I’m completely… I-I don’t know what I am.” Her blue eyes glistened as she licked her luscious lips. “Maybe amazed, maybe freaked out. Have you been following me around for the past few years? Because that’s the only way you would have known to order like that for me.”

  “I listen when you talk, Wren.” Taking a pull from his beer, he let the words sink in before he continued. “I watch how you eat. I pay attention. You’re an on the side kind of eater. I can handle that as long as you aren’t an on the side kind of woman.” He winked, and she giggled.

  “I certainly am not. Seems like I have all I need right here.”

  One by one, the courses came to the table. While her words said the food was delicious, her body language screamed, This is DELICIOUS! Each time her mouth closed around a forkful of food, she would make the sexiest little noises, as if savoring the flavors and relishing the textures.

  “Is there anything you aren’t good at?” she asked dreamily.

  Knowing he not only made her happy but hearing her easily admit that the food was fantastic, Logan felt as though he could accomplish anything. “There are plenty of things I’m not good at, but I work hard and I learn fast when it’s something that matters. Like I said before, you matter.”

  Over crusty bread and perfectly prepared pasta, their conversation flowed with ease. They laughed over their mutual experiences of being only children and the envy they had over their friends with siblings.

  “I wanted a younger sister so badly,” Wren admitted, “if only to have someone to blame when I broke or ruined something in the house. Emmy’s older brother blamed everything on her. It was awesome. I mean, not for Emmy, but the concept seemed genius.”

  “You’re telling me. Smith and Marcus are twins. They played the blame game so often, I think even they got confused as to who screwed up and who didn’t.” Logan chuckled. “It got to the point where their parents started punishing them both for everything.”

  When the dinner plates were cleared from the table, the waiter returned with a cappuccino for Wren, black coffee for Logan, and a covered dessert dish.

  “I don’t think I can eat another bite,” Wren said, rubbing her hand over her belly.

  Logan tried hard to contain his self-satisfied grin. “If you’re too full to try dessert once you see what it is, we’ll have it wrapped up and take it to go.” He pointed at the covered plate. “Go ahead, open it.”

  Hesitantly, Wren reached for the lid. Logan couldn’t imagine the thoughts going through her mind as she lifted the dome.

  “Ooh, chocolate chip cookies. Yum,” she said. “Thank you. How about we get them wrapped up?”

  She obviously didn’t understand the significance behind the cookies. No problem, he’d help her get there. “Babe, take a small taste of the cookie.”

  “I’m sure they’re really good, Lo, but—”

  “Lucky, one small bite. Trust me.”

  She broke off a piece. “Oooh, it looks like it would be crunchy, but it isn’t.” When she closed her mouth around the small morsel, her eyes popped open as she chewed.

  “What do you think?”

  She grabbed the cookie off the dish and broke off another piece. “Holy shit, Lo, how did you get Mrs. Russell’s recipe?”

  “I didn’t. That woman guards her recipes like they’re a national treasure.” He had tried, asking, begging, offering money—anything and everything to get the recipe. “Turned out, I didn’t need the recipe at all. When I told her why I wanted it, she shooed me away, told me she’d have a batch ready for our date. I picked them up earlier and dropped them off here with our beverages. The woman adores you, Wren.”

  “Feeling is mutual.”

  “That said”—Logan reached for the cookie in Wren’s hand—“I believe you told me you were too full for dessert.”

  “Touch this cookie, and I’ll break your fingers.”

  Even though the threat was made with a smile, he wasn’t sure she was joking, so he snagged his own cookie and quickly learned why Wren was so territorial over the sweet treat.

  *

  Wren: Most amazing dinner of my life

  Emmy: Where are you?

  Wren: Restroom… peeing

  Emmy: Eww :(. Excited about dinner. Can’t wait for deets. Hope you shaved your Cheerio.

  Wren: :)

  Emmy: Get back to your man. NOW. And wash your hands and phone. Ick

  From the moment Logan picked her up to the second she tasted Mrs. Russell’s chocolate chip cookie, Logan had done nothing short of rock her world. The man was perfection. Their conversations were stimulating, their chemistry off the charts, and he had no reservations about disagreeing with her when their opinions didn’t match. He couldn’t understand how she’d spent years dealing with her work situation without ever lodging a complaint with her bosses, and he made his opinion known. The thing that made him so likeable was his ability to listen to her feelings, hear her rationale, and respectfully agree and disagree.

  He was an active listener with a great sense of humor, and he seemed to genuinely care about her happiness. The fact that he was hot as hell was certainly not a flaw. On top of all of those things, when she stepped outside her comfort zone with him at dinner, not only had he done a great job, but he won the gold medal in food ordering. Seriously, it should be an Olympic event, or at least a show on the Food Network. Logan Enders had skills. What else could he do to her? Better yet, what could she do to him?

  “There you are.” Logan stood as she approached the table. “I was beginning to wonder if there was an escape exit you may have used.”

  His words were meant to be light, but she heard the hint of hurt beneath them. The doubt was there because of her, and it was her job to remove it. “If I promise you never ever have to worry about me giving you the slip again, will you believe me?”

  His thumb slid under her chin and tipped it back so their eyes met and held. “Yes. I believe you.”

  Relief blanketed her as she realized just how important his trust in her meant.

  “You ready to get out of here? I paid while you were holed up in the bathroom, doing whatever it is you ladies do.”

  Snickering, Wren reached for her purse. “I texted Emmy real quick.”

  Logan’s uncharacteristic silence as he helped Wren into her coat screamed an entire story.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, not knowing how to move past the weirdness of the moment.

  “Look”—discomfort laced Logan’s words—“can we try our best not to let what’s going on with them get in our way?”

  “Absolutely. Besides, there isn’t anything going on between them anymore, and there won’t be in the future.”

  “What?” Logan’s eyes snapped open.

  “I feel bad about the situation, because I know they had something special between them,” Wren admitted without giving away any best friend secrets. “It’s a shame Smith decided… whatever it was he decided. Because whatever they had is over. My friend is a million amazing things, but forgiving of men is not one of them.”

  “Shit.”

  “That doesn’t sound goo
d. What’s wrong?”

  “Smith is an idiot. That’s what’s wrong.” Logan sighed. “Guess he’ll have to figure things out the hard way.” He buttoned his coat, held open the restaurant door, and guided Wren through the parking lot.

  Tucked into the crook of his arm, she barely felt the frigid weather bite into her exposed skin. But inside the car, with heat coming from the leather seat and the vents, the conversation about Smith and Emmy left a cool spot between them.

  “I can’t decide which I liked more: the dinner or the company I shared it with.” Wren’s attempt to draw Logan out from the quiet place he’d slipped into was obvious, but hopefully successful.

  His large hand touched her thigh as his eyes stayed locked on the road. “I don’t know, Lucky, you sure seemed to enjoy your food.”

  “I really did. All of those flavors made my tongue so happy, but the guy across from me, charming me with wild tales and sexy winks… he was pretty freaking appetizing too.”

  Under the glow of the dashboard, she watched his profile change. The crinkles next to his eye deepened while his cheek lifted with a smile. The steamy look had her stomach flipping with excitement, lust, and desire.

  “Are you telling me the decision is too close to call?” He shifted gears then placed his hand back on her upper thigh. His fingers descended and rubbed the seam of her jeans in the intimate place where there was no hiding just how turned on his touch made her. “Really loved that eggplant, huh?”

  “Maybe it was the cookies,” she rasped, raising her hips to meet his fingers, hoping for a bit more pressure to ease the arousal awakening in her body.

  In an instant his hand was gone, back on the gear shift. An odd sense of disappointment accompanied the missing warmth of his touch.

  “Oh, babe, no need to pout, I have more cookies in the trunk,” he teased. “Why don’t we bring them into your place?”

  It wasn’t until that second she realized they were in her driveway. The way she kept losing herself with Logan should have been embarrassing, but it wasn’t. She wanted him, and judging by the way his body responded to her, the feeling was mutual. “At this point it seems like it’s a foregone conclusion, but would you like to come in?”