How to Get Lucky

by Lauren Blakely

  “Ooh, a rectification. I’m down for that. Also, how dirty does that word sound? As dirty as, say, flange or masticate?”

  “Or bilabial fricative.”

  She blinks, then narrows her eyes. “Wash your mouth out with soap.”

  “I know, right? Sounds filthy.”

  “Sounds intriguing. What the flange is a bilabial fricative?” she asks, but before I can answer, a waiter stops by.

  We order eggs and coffee, and thank him.

  Once he leaves, I answer London. “I wish it were a wild new position I could introduce you to. It’s just a type of consonant sound. But it’s one of those things I learned from having to, ya know, use my voice for a living.”

  “If you want some dirty-sounding jargon from my profession, I can offer coccyx balance.”

  I lean closer, lowering my voice. “I’d like to balance you on my cock.”

  She laughs. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist that.”

  “You were right. But don’t let me distract you from the rectification. Tell me stuff.”

  She taps her glasses. “These are my prescription shades, because purple is my favorite color. But sometimes red is too. You know my favorite food is sushi and that I pledge my allegiance to ice cream. I should probably add that my favorite movie of all time is Ten Things I Hate About You because Heath Ledger can sing and act, and I love the nineties, which you know because of my 90210 shirt. And I bet it won’t surprise you to know that my favorite book is Pride and Prejudice,” she says, and I grin like a lovestruck fool because I knew some of that, but not all, and I fucking love learning things about this woman.

  Love.

  There’s that word.

  I think I’m more than falling for her.

  I think I’m falling into something I didn’t expect to happen.

  “More, gimme more. I’m hungry for London intel,” I say.

  “If you insist, here’s another tidbit. Did you know I’m excellent at ballroom dancing?”

  I laugh. “No, but I’m not surprised.”

  “Tango is my favorite, and that’s why I’m excited today and wearing my purple glasses.”

  “For your good mood?”

  “Yes, because I got a fantastic email this morning. It’s about a job.”

  “The one with André Davies? The producer?”

  She shakes her head. “No, it’s from Shay Sloan. The woman I worked with in Vegas.”

  A sliver of worry spreads under my skin. “Are you going back to Vegas?”

  She laughs, shaking her head. “No. But she recommended me for a job in San Francisco, and she said the director of that show is interested in talking to me today about a ballroom dancing sequence in a musical he’s producing. And if all goes well, he’ll fly me out ASAP for a trial and to see if I like the city.”

  This is awesome.

  And a little alarming.

  “To see if you like San Francisco?” I ask, since that’s a twist I didn’t see coming. “Did you know that was going to happen?”

  “I had no idea. I just got an email. He wants to talk on the phone later today, so we set up a call.”

  I swallow, trying to figure out what to say next, how to be the supportive . . . boyfriend?

  Since I think that’s what I’m supposed to be.

  “That’s really fantastic,” I say, meaning it, but also trying to figure out what the hell this San Francisco job means for us.

  She reaches for my hand, threading her fingers through mine. “But don’t worry. I still want to see you. Whatever happens with the job.”

  Fuck, do I even deserve her?

  I want it to be tomorrow so I can begin to sort this out.

  I need to get my shit together and stop playing What’s Your Favorite Color games, even though I love knowing all her favorite things.

  Because I love . . .

  A brash voice cuts across the morning air. “Goooooood morning, Insomnia!”

  I jerk my gaze from London as Carlos calls out in a distinct Robin Williams impersonation. How does he have this much energy after a full night of working the pole?

  The smoothie in his hand is my only guess. He’s a few feet away, walking toward us with Stanley, both of them in muscle tanks and gym shorts.

  “Hey,” I say, my back straightening as a bolt of tension shoots through me. London and I are only having breakfast, but we were kissing, and she was holding my hand, and fuck me.

  I need to figure my shit out fast because I don’t want to run into anyone from work here. Don’t want to see anyone before I tell Archer I’m going to leave and then date his sister.

  Maybe they won’t notice who I’m with. Or, hey, maybe they’ll walk right on past us without glancing her way or saying another word.

  No such luck. The two big men stop at our table.

  “Lookie look. It’s my new dance partner. When are we going to work on our routine?” Carlos asks, bending to drop a kiss onto London’s cheek. Never let it be said that Carlos takes a long time to make friends.

  “It better be soon. I saw you dance a few weeks ago, and you have got some serious hip action,” she says.

  Carlos’s brown eyes twinkle, then he nudges Stanley. “See? Told you I was a better dancer than you.”

  Stanley narrows his eyes. “I don’t think that’s what she said.”

  “That’s what I heard.” Carlos’s eyes flick to me and back to London, like he’s processing the scene fully. And process it he does.

  “Ohhhhhh. You two are together. Holy shit. I didn’t know you were dating the boss’s sister,” he says, smacking my shoulder.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  London shoots me a look that says Fix this.

  But before I can say a word, Stanley cuts in. “Oh, the scandal of it all,” he says, as though the two of them are on a daytime soap.

  Carlos sweeps his hand in front of him like he’s framing a marquee. “Tune in at three for the latest drama on As the Edge Turns.”

  I groan, my chest tightening, my gut coiling. “All right, guys, it’s just breakfast,” I say, hoping to end their fun.

  But they won’t be denied.

  “And people who have breakfast together usually had dinner together the night before,” Carlos says to Stanley.

  “And probably dessert too,” Stanley fires back.

  “We’re just talking about work stuff,” I say, nearly choking on the lameness of my reply.

  Carlos claps my shoulder. “We’re just messing with you, buddy. You two enjoy your work breakfast. See you at the club tonight.”

  “And no worries, Teddy. Your secret’s safe with us,” Stanley says like he’s in a cheesy horror film, and the two head off.

  My skin prickles with nerves.

  No, worse—with guilt.

  As they walk away, I turn to face London. Her brown eyes display her worry too.

  I groan, the loudest groan in the city, then drop my face to the table. “I’m such an ass.”

  Running into my coworkers for breakfast and lying to them? How the hell did I get to this point?

  Oh, right. By trying to hedge my bets.

  A soft hand strokes my hair. “You’re not an ass. But maybe . . .”

  I lift my face. “Maybe I am?”

  She shakes her head. “No. But maybe if you feel that way, we should . . .”

  She doesn’t have to finish the thought—I do. I hate what I’m about to say, but I have to say it. “Cool things off?” It comes out strangled. Hell, the words are choking me.

  She nods, her gaze full of sympathy. “I don’t want to, but I get why you feel crummy. You’ve been honest with me about where you’re coming from. I know that mixing work and relationships is tough for you.”

  “So we should cool it?” I ask, needing the confirmation, needing to say it aloud, so it registers fully.

  “Maybe? Probably,” she says heavily.

  My heart sinks like an anchor in my chest. Because she’s right. I’ve been honest with her,
but I haven’t been honest with Archer. And that’s on me. I knew I was playing with fire. I was living on borrowed time, a mouse playing while the cat was away. But that’s not how you tell someone something hard.

  There’s a right way to do things.

  To say the hard stuff.

  Seeing the guys is the splash of cold water I needed. I can’t keep having my cake and eating it too simply because of a fucking camping trip.

  Archer unplugged is a reprieve, but it’s not permission.

  I thought I had set my defenses up to protect against this possibility. All I had to do was meet a woman from outside my place of business. Keep work and my private life separate. In Los Angeles, of all places, that shouldn’t have been difficult. Then I met London. And now she’s the only woman I want.

  Trouble is, I haven’t earned her yet.

  If I’m going to take the good-guy challenge in bed, I need to behave like one outside of the bedroom too. That means doing the right thing, even when it’s difficult.

  I swallow roughly, then nod, owning this next step no matter how much it sucks. “I should sort things out,” I say, doing my best to play it cool, like this is easy. Because I don’t want to make anything harder for her.

  Her face relaxes, her expression softening, like she’s relieved. “That moment just now was a little too close for comfort. Maybe we both need to breathe.”

  “Absolutely. You’ve got this new opportunity in San Francisco. You should figure out what that means too.”

  “More than that, Teddy,” London says softly, like she’s forcing the words out. “I see how conflicted you are right now, and I don’t want to be the one to stand in your way.”

  Her last line hits me square in the chest. But as much as I want to fight for us, she’s right. “And I don’t want to stand in your way either.”

  She glances inside toward the restaurant, then smacks her forehead. “I just remembered. I got the time wrong on that call. It’s in a half hour. I better go and take it at home.”

  I blink, surprised. London usually remembers details like that. “Of course. Good luck.”

  “And to you too,” she says, then grabs her purse, palms her keys, and stands.

  What the hell do I do now? Hug her? Kiss her goodbye? Shake hands? “I’ll talk to you soon?”

  It comes out as a question, one neither of us can answer.

  She shoots me a sad smile, then nods, spins on her heel, and walks away.

  I groan in frustration, dragging a hand through my hair. I don’t know when I will talk to her, because I’m pretty sure we just broke up.

  And surer still that we needed to.

  My stomach churns, and my head pounds.

  I sink low in my chair, rubbing my hand across the back of my neck, wishing I could go back in time. Redo things. Change things. I don’t even know.

  Do something differently.

  All along, I’ve been playing with fire, chasing a work high, a sex high, and then a falling-in-love high too.

  But with all highs, there’s a low. The higher you soar, the farther you fall.

  And this is a bumpy ride back down.

  A minute later, the waiter brings two plates of eggs, but I don’t even have the stomach for one.

  Especially when my phone buzzes and I check my email.

  It’s from the bride who just hired me.

  Turns out she’s postponing her wedding indefinitely.

  Looks like in the span of ten minutes, I’ve lost a gig, the woman, and maybe even the job I already have.

  In one damn morning, all my luck has drained away.

  32

  I do my best to focus on work after the world’s worst morning. I’m tweaking some new online ads for my website when the phone rings later that day. Mom’s picture lights up the display, and I answer immediately, grateful for a friendly voice.

  Someone who’s on my side.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say, setting my laptop on the coffee table.

  “Have I ever told you what a charming and wonderful son your father and I think you are?”

  “Mmm, flattery. Something must be broken.” I know this routine, have played it for years. Today, it’s weirdly comforting.

  “The bathroom sink is completely clogged. I tried unscrewing a pipe—”

  “Mom, what have I told you? Do not attempt handiwork.”

  “Yes, it did seem to cause more problems. But you’re so clever and—”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Ninety minutes later, I toss my wrench back in the toolbox, the job done. At least I did something right today.

  “Good as new, Mom,” I say, walking into the kitchen. “And I organized the towels under the bathroom sink.”

  She arches a brow. “You don’t organize. Something must be off.”

  Everything is off.

  “Least I could do,” I say, grabbing my keys off the entryway table.

  “Want to stay for some lemonade? Shame to come all this way just to turn around and drive home.”

  Pretty sure I don’t deserve lemonade, but I can’t resist. She makes it from scratch with vanilla and honey. “Sure.”

  “If all I get is a sure to the one thing that you’d beg, borrow, and steal anything to have, I’m guessing you’re having a bad day. What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  I heave a sigh. The saddest one in the country. “Might be easier to tell you what’s right,” I say, taking a seat on a barstool by the island.

  Mom pours me a glass of lemonade as I serve up the sad, sorry state of my heart. “London and I broke up today.”

  Her brow knits. “I didn’t know you were dating anyone. You said the other day you weren’t.”

  My shoulders sag. I suck, and lemonade won’t fix it. I lied to my parents. “Yeah, sorry, Mom. I didn’t want to say anything, because she’s kind of off-limits,” I say, then give her the details. The PG version. “So what started as a simple date turned into a complicated thing, because her brother is my boss and the lines were getting blurry.”

  “That sounds familiar,” she says gently, leaning on the island opposite me.

  “It feels familiar. But also not. The circumstances are definitely reminiscent of Tracy, but my feelings for London are decidedly different.” I take a drink of the lemonade. “This is delicious,” I say, enjoying the simplicity of the drink. The constancy. Then I soldier on, too much to get off my chest now that the floodgates have opened.

  “I’d convinced myself that we could make it work because my event company was picking up steam since the last time we talked. Then one of my bookings canceled this morning, I don’t know where I stand with the job I already have, and now I’ve lost the woman too.”

  Mom cuts right to the chase. “Do you love her?”

  The answer flutters to life in my gut the second she asks. I try to think it through, to apply logic, but my body knows instantly—it longs for London. I met her two weeks ago, and she’s fantastic, open, fun, passionate, supportive, and the coolest person ever. But there’s even more than that.

  We spark.

  On pretty much everything.

  From dogs, to tacos, to Instant Pots.

  From kissing, to connecting, to spending time together.

  Every moment with her is electric, in bed and out of bed.

  And that’s awesome and terrible at the same damn time.

  Because I really need to figure things out.

  And fast.

  I give my mom a helpless smile. “I think I’ve fallen in love with her.”

  Mom smiles, but it doesn’t last long. “Sounds like you still have a lot to work out. Finding a career of value and substance is important. The same can be said of finding a partner. As long as you’re honest with yourself first, you’ll figure out what to do next.”

  I hope I figure it out soon, since I’m going into work in a few more hours.

  My mom’s advice clangs around in my head on the drive home. I want to do the right thing, one step at a time, but my l
ife is a Jenga tower right now, teetering on a bunch of center blocks.

  As I walk into my place, my normally boisterous door greeter doesn’t even look up. He keeps gnawing on his hedgie in his spot.

  “Hey, buddy. Did you miss me?”

  He jerks his head away and kills the toy even more dead.

  I flop down on the couch. “Tell me what to do next.”

  Bowie is usually a good listener, but he shakes the hedgie another time, focused only on the toy.

  Great. My dog won’t even amateur psychoanalyze me now.

  I take a shower to clear my head, but the heat and the steam don’t bring answers about what to do next.

  I text Sam to see if I can stop by his place before work. He says yes.

  Ten minutes later, Sam lets me into his living room, where a yoga mat and blocks dominate the space.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt your practice.”

  “All good, brother. Your text came in the middle of my vinyasa. Normally I’m too centered to deal with my phone, but something told me you needed me. Almost like your reaching out was a part of the flow, know what I mean?”

  My brow knits in confusion. Hell, my whole body is a pretzel, and not the yoga kind. “I don’t know what anything means right now, man.”

  “Whoa, slow down, bro. What’s going on? Sit.”

  I take a seat on his couch as he returns to the floor, holding court, listening attentively in half lotus. I catch him up on everything: London, running into the guys this morning, losing an All Night Entertainment gig. “And now I’m not even sure where I stand with Archer and the club—the one thing that’s been a constant for me this past year, and I’ve probably fucked that up too. All because, out of the four million people in LA, I happened to fall in love with the one woman related to my boss.”

  “Ten million, actually.”

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  “Four million people in the city, but ten million in LA county. You found the one in a sea of ten million.”

  “Oh. Sounds romantic and star-crossed when you say it like that.”

  Sam takes a deep, even breath and slowly lets it out. “It kinda is, Teddy. Think about all the possible moments in your life that can set off sparks. All the interactions that could ignite something fierce. And after Tracy, you were actively trying not to let that fire happen at work again, but it did. What you and London have is undeniable, man. Unavoidable. You just told me you loved her. Didn’t even flinch.”