How to Get Lucky

by Lauren Blakely

  London: I know, right? And I’m going to have to say something to Archer soon . . . but I want to figure out what this is first.

  * * *

  Olive: Smart. But can we rewind to the hot sex stories first and then do the wedding registry?

  * * *

  London: He’s waking up. More later!

  29

  Waking up feels better than it has in a long time. It’s for two reasons, I’d wager.

  First—the great-sex effect.

  I had it last night, and it was fucking awesome.

  Plus, the aftereffects last till dawn.

  Who knew?

  That should be on the list of side effects of great sex—you’ll still feel fantastic in the morning.

  But there’s another reason.

  An even better reason.

  My arms are wrapped around London as my eyes open. It’s a helluva way to start a day—with London’s rear nestled against my groin.

  Why, yes, I’ll avail myself of this side effect too, thank you very much.

  London grinds her hips into me on a low moan, then reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a condom.

  My hand on her hip slides gently toward her center, where she’s warm, wet, and just as ready for this as I am.

  Taking the condom, I sheath myself and slide into her from behind, pumping slowly to give her time to accommodate my length.

  With one of my hands cupping her breast, we move together under the covers, feeling each other from this new angle. It’s not long before we’re coming together, and it’s fantastic.

  I always knew morning sex was going to be awesome. I’m glad to finally have the proof.

  “And now, I’m hungry for food,” London murmurs.

  “Ravenous,” I agree.

  We get out of bed, brush our teeth—shout out to my dentist for the drawer full of unused toothbrushes—and leash up the dogs for a quick walk.

  As I clip the leash on Bowie, my phone pings with an alert. Sliding my thumb across the screen, I grin as I read a response to Bloom’s Yelp review.

  A request for another wedding booking. “Yes!”

  “Let me guess. You got a coupon for a free scoop at McConnell’s today too?”

  “That is indeed cause for celebration, but so’s this,” I say, showing her the review.

  She beams, her whole face lighting up with pride. Damn, that looks good on her. And it feels good, too, to elicit that reaction. “Teddy, I am so excited for you,” she says in a way that hooks into my heart.

  “Thanks. Me too. I’m stoked. I’ve had two new booking requests this morning from her review. So things are looking up.” I rap twice on the doorframe for luck.

  “It’s not luck. You’re good at what you do.”

  “So are you,” I say.

  She blows on her fingernails as she wraps the dog’s leash around her other wrist. “Look at us. Making things happen. My routine is almost ready to present to Archer and the partners, and to use in my portfolio, and you’re on a fast track to becoming LA’s premiere wedding and event DJ,” she says.

  When she puts it like that, everything feels possible.

  Everything including being with her.

  Perhaps that maybe someday isn’t so far away.

  We leave with the dogs. On the landing, the rattling of pans from inside Sherri’s home reaches my ears, so I give the door a quick knock to see if Vin Scully needs a trip outside. Sherri hands her dog over in no time.

  “Buenos días, oso,” she says, greeting me, and then she catches sight of London as she’s clipping Vin’s collar. “Oh, is this the guapa you were telling me about?”

  “Sí, Sherri. Por favor, no me avergüences. This is London,” I say, and after a brief introduction and a suggestive smile from Sherri, my sleepover companion and I head down the hall.

  “Guapa? Is that good or bad?” London asks.

  “It means ‘beautiful.’ I told her that you are, because . . . duh. Then I asked her not to embarrass me.” A slight flush heats my cheeks.

  “Too late,” London says with a smile.

  Yeah, it’s too late for a lot of things.

  Like turning back.

  That’s both the good news and the bad news.

  Thirty minutes later, we arrive at my favorite breakfast spot.

  “House of Pies? I didn’t know it was dessert for breakfast day, but sign me up.”

  “Far be it for me to tell you not to have pie for breakfast, but they do have other things on the menu. That’s where they get their name.” I point to a glorious glass case full of pies next to the register. It sparkles like a shrine to sugar.

  We stand at the door, since Mr. Darcy is with us. A hostess swings by with an aww, cutie for the pooch, asking if we’re three or two.

  “Two, and one under the table.”

  “He’s so handsome,” she says to the dog.

  “Thank you. He knows it too,” London says.

  “Good for him. Body confidence is so important in this city.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” London says.

  The hostess shows us to a table outside, where Mr. Darcy tucks himself under London’s seat.

  Soon, the waiter swings by, offering coffee. We both nod, and he fills our cups. After we order a pair of egg white omelets and he takes off for the kitchen, I offer a toast.

  “To great sex.”

  “That’s awfully presumptuous of you, Mr. Lockhart.”

  “Not complimenting myself. Complimenting you and the way you made me feel.”

  She grins. “The feelings are indeed mutual. So there.”

  “Good to know.”

  “So . . .?” She leaves the unasked question dangling.

  I grab hold of the opportunity. “We should do that again. And I mean the sex, but also everything else. Like this. Hanging out together the next morning. Going for dog walks. Listening to music. Talking. All of it.” I’m laying it all on the line, and nerves rise up in me.

  But it’s worth facing those nerves.

  Because I want what’s on the other side.

  That’s the thing about great sex—it’s great because it’s not just sex.

  It’s connection.

  Intimacy.

  Feelings.

  I feel so much for this woman.

  And I need to make room in my life for her. How to do that is another matter, but I’m determined to figure it out.

  Especially since the universe is aligning and seems to be on my side.

  If my event entertainment company can grow quickly, like it’s trending now, maybe I don’t need to worry about the risks of dating my boss’s sister.

  Maybe he won’t be my boss for much longer.

  He asked me to give him a heads-up about leaving. With gigs coming through, maybe that time is coming any day now. And sure, it’s a risk—I’d be walking away from a regular paycheck for a few gigs. But I’d still have the radio show, and maybe this is the push I need. The push to take the leap, to hustle harder, to make this thing work if it’s what I really want.

  Then I won’t have to face the music.

  I can simply slide out in the nick of time, like Indiana Jones snagging his hat before the boulder can crush it.

  Or him.

  Yup, I’ll be Indy.

  I draw a deep breath. “What if we see each other for the next few days, maybe even the next week, and that should be enough time for me to sort things out with my career?”

  She frowns. “I think that sounds great, but I do want to tell my brother that I’m seeing you. I feel like I’m keeping something from him.”

  My gut twists, guilt winging through me. “Shit, London. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that. About you keeping stuff from him. I don’t want to put you in that position.”

  “It’s okay. I didn’t think about it much myself until the last few days, when it felt like we might become something. But now it seems that way, and I don’t want to keep a secret from my brother. A secret that affec
ts him.”

  “Of course. I get it. I do.”

  “If he were in town, I’d honestly want to tell him today. But he has that camping thing.”

  Ding, ding, ding!

  “That camping thing” might buy me some time. A few days to get my ducks in a row.

  This is the kick in the pants I need. I can’t ask London to keep her lips zipped. And I definitely don’t want to break things off. But we have a couple days to sort this out while Archer is unplugged.

  Maybe the answer is a simple one.

  “This might be crazy, but if everything keeps going my way, I could give notice on Friday when Archer is back. Then I’d leave the club in a few weeks, and I wouldn’t have to worry about mixing business and pleasure. Know what I mean?”

  Her smile spreads nice and easy. “I do. But quitting is a big deal. Are you ready for that?”

  I rap my knuckles against the table. “Business is taking off. Seems like my time to fly.” The way I see it is I’ll give notice, finish out the job, then find the right time to tell Archer I’m dating his sister. But it won’t be a conflict of interest anymore.

  She reaches for my hand and squeezes. “As long as you’re doing it for you.” I tense for a second, but she squeezes tighter. “Because you should do it for you. I know you like your job.”

  “My job is fun. But it’s also not my endgame. So it’s time to start my endgame sooner. And you’re part of that reason.”

  “I can’t argue with that. And of course I want to be with you. I’m so into you. I can’t believe it’s been less than two weeks, but I just am.”

  There she goes again.

  Making me feel like I’m on top of the world.

  “You’re doing everything to me, London.” I lean across the table to drop a kiss onto her lips. She kisses me back, soft and slow, and it goes to my head.

  To my heart.

  Makes me feel like all these plans are possible.

  That luck is real.

  When I break the kiss, she’s still smiling. “Before I met you, I wanted to just focus on my career,” she says. “Find some great opportunities. But then you showed up at the dog park and . . . well, I like you a lot, Teddy. I want to see where this can go.”

  Ah, hell.

  I might be swooning right now—melting here at the table.

  I like this woman so much.

  Although it’s so much more than like.

  “Good. Because I’m thinking we should now take on the dating challenge, the sixty-nine challenge, and the getting-to-know-you-even-more challenge,” I say, and we both break out in stupid grins.

  “I’m up for all of those.”

  Our eggs arrive, and as we eat, we geek out over the recent science podcast episode about why microwaves cook from the outside in, as London feeds bits of melon to Mr. Darcy.

  It’s a perfect morning to cap off a perfect few days.

  And I feel like the luckiest guy in Los Angeles.

  Nothing and no one can change my luck.

  Of that I’m sure.

  So sure that we don’t even order dessert. If I play these cards right, I should be able to have my career and London too.

  And that’s a hell of a lot tastier than pie.

  30

  On Tuesday evening, London and Mr. Darcy make a welcome return to my place. The dogs enjoy a rawhide on Bowie’s spot on the floor, which he’s graciously sharing with the little dude, while London and I dine on grilled chicken salads that I ordered from a great café down the street.

  What? Cooking is hard.

  London edges me out, three games to two, in a Jeopardy! marathon, and we end the night with some marathon sex. We both win at that.

  After I meet with my new clients on Wednesday to prep for their events, London and I spend the afternoon at her place fine-tuning the set list for her video shoot while I admire her moves, her curves, and her sexy-as-sin work ethic.

  “I can’t wait to show off this routine to Edge ownership,” she says, breathing hard, but smiling harder. “And then to see the dancers put it in motion.”

  “The crowds are going to love it. The partners will love it. And so will Archer,” I say, but I nearly choke on the name.

  I’ll give him notice in two more days, and then I’ll be on my way to everything I want—the career, the woman, and the life.

  That evening, we play mini-golf then go to her place. The dogs are officially besties now, and there’s nothing cuter than my fifty-pound bruiser cuddling with his teacup companion. I’m quite partial to snuggling up to Mr. Darcy’s owner too, which we do that night.

  Then we practice some new choreography. But these moves are just for the two of us.

  On Thursday, I wake with a knot coiling in my chest, mixed emotions swirling through my head.

  Sure, my side hustle is firing on all cylinders, and so is this thing with London. But that only amps up my need to move on from Edge, which has to wait till Archer returns from his oxymoronic corporate camping excursion. That should be a relief—having to wait just twenty-four more hours—but I feel like I’m living on borrowed time, waiting to be called into the principal’s office.

  But that’s silly. I can’t be called in, since he’s out of town. I’ll get the jump on him and talk to him the second he returns.

  I try to narrow my thoughts on that plan.

  I spend the morning hiking with Bowie, but the clear blue skies do nothing to get me out of this haze.

  After, I work on my playlists for my upcoming events, send out another round of inquiries, email my new clients, then make my way to Edge.

  Once there, I help with the prep work for London’s performance. The playlist is cued up on the club speakers that are set to auto-fade while I stand in front of the stage, phone camera ready to film her work.

  She moves through Nirvana, Taylor Swift, Imagine Dragons, Duran Duran, and Survivor with grace, power, and sex appeal.

  I hope the camera captures her raw magnetism and electric sensuality as palpably as I can feel it live.

  When she’s done, I stop the recording and slide the phone into my pocket. Then I start a slow clap, long and proud.

  London, only slightly out of breath, smiles when she says, “For real? You liked it?”

  “Loved it. That was incredible. Seriously amazing.”

  She beams and then throws her arms around me.

  I wince, wishing I could linger in a hug with London for hours, but we need to keep our distance at the club until we can sort everything out.

  “Hey, watch the sweat, woman,” I tease to create some distance between us.

  “Right, right. I’m covered in it,” she says with a laugh. Then she sighs, relieved. “That felt good. The performance.”

  “Because it was. You’re better than us.”

  Stanley’s voice booms across the club as he appears in the main room, Carlos by his side. Stanley’s not normally the loud one, so I tilt my head, curious.

  “You saw that?” I ask.

  “Saw it. Loved it.”

  “Did you really?” London chimes in, eager perhaps for feedback from another dancer.

  “So much that I’ll be coming here as a patron too,” Stanley says with a big, genuine grin.

  “Me too, and that’s saying something,” Carlos puts in. “Very sexy. If you’re into ladies.”

  “Some men are,” Stanley adds with a shrug, softer this time, his usual tone.

  “Takes all kinds,” Carlos says, then moves closer, bumping hips with London. “We’ll have to work on a dance someday, girl. You’ve got the moves.”

  “Name the time and place, and I’m there,” she says, and I’m grinning too as London basks in the moment and the praise from all quarters.

  Then she goes right into work mode. “Okay, Teddy. Let’s get that video edited and uploaded so I can start sharing it with some casting directors and choreographers, and Archer, of course.”

  “I’m on it, boss,” I say, loving this take-charge side of L
ondon.

  “And assuming Archer likes the concept—” she says.

  “Which he totally will,” Stanley cuts in.

  “I hope so. Then we can start prepping the next steps on this thing,” London continues. “Hire dancers, rehearse, promote.”

  “Can’t wait to see it,” Carlos says, and he and Stanley head to the dressing room.

  London turns to me, her eyes full of gratitude. “I couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you. For everything.”

  “The pleasure has been mine.” We’re alone in the club for the moment, the joint unusually quiet.

  “Mine too,” she says in a soft, barely audible whisper that makes me shiver.

  My body sways a little closer to hers, but I determinedly resist the urge to kiss her. Her smile tells me resistance is hard for her too.

  But we won’t have to do it for much longer.

  Tomorrow, I’ll make the first move—set the wheels in motion so that in a few weeks’ time, we can come clean.

  It’s risky, but I’m ready.

  It’s time for me to do my own thing.

  And then to get the girl.

  31

  The woman I want crosses one ankle over the other, lounging seductively at an outdoor table as the sun streams across the sidewalk.

  Then again, everything she does is seductive to me.

  She could clean the kitchen counter and look hot.

  As I near her, London pops her purple sunglasses up on her head and shoots me a smile.

  I give her a curious look as I join her at House of Pies the next morning. I worked too late to see her last night.

  “Purple shades? An homage to Prince?” I ask when I reach her table.

  “Or maybe it’s my favorite color when I’m in a particularly good mood,” she says, rising from her chair.

  That’s my invitation to slide in for a kiss.

  I cup her cheek, press a kiss to her soft lips, and imagine we’ll do this every day.

  We break the contact and sit. “So, purple is your favorite color. I can’t believe I didn’t know this,” I say. “We need to rectify this right now. I need all sorts of favorites from you.”