“I’m honored,” I whisper, and mean it.
“Is this the part where we make a wish?”
“Yup.” I try to sound casual, but every synapse in my brain fires off, commanding that I lock my lips over hers—and I plan on doing just that. “But in order for it to come true, we need to do this first.” I lean in and cover her lips with mine and linger. She doesn’t throw me over to the ground, so I go for it.
Lucky’s lips are the softest on the planet, delicious, feathery cushions, and as if that wasn’t enough, her mouth tastes like root beer. A soft moan emits from me as I indulge in the moment. I’ve never been much of a kisser. Never saw it as a singular act I could enjoy, simply a means to an end to get what I really wanted, access to far more lucrative bases. But with Lucky, this is enough. This is enjoyable. A perfect moment.
A laugh bubbles up her throat, straight into my mouth, and I join her right there, enjoying the hell out of this beautiful girl in my arms, this kiss, this perfect magical moment in time.
Lucky moves inside my mouth with vigor, with a powerful domination as if this kiss had become her mission in life. I know it’s mine. This kiss, this girl has become my mission, my goal, my destiny. All of those old eroded ideals of love and its ill-conceived notions have just gone out the proverbial window. Anna wasn’t my destiny. None of those one-night stands meant more to me than a bodily function—but this angel, this spitfire—Lucky Madden has put the shine back on that four-letter word, on the concept of forever. Lucky shines like a sparkler against the dim canvas of my life. She’s lit up my world, my life, my heart. There are moments in your life that leave you with perfect clarity, and right now one thing is very clear. Lucky Madden is the girl for me.
The next morning, I rouse to life just after two in the afternoon. Lucky and I spent hours in that old oak tree making out, making all of my dreams, all of my wishes come true. A dull smile springs to my lips before my lids have the chance to crack open. It’s finally happened. I’ve taken a big bite out of that forbidden apple—been struck with that fabled arrow straight through my heart. I’ve never felt this way before—not with Anna, for sure not with any of the other girls I’ve been with. I didn’t know this level of happiness, of wanting, of aching need was possible. And it wouldn’t be if it weren’t for Lucky. She’s it. There will never be another girl for me. Lucky Madden is my once in a lifetime. There’s no way I’m going to let her slip away. I’m not losing Lucky to Eli Gates or any other douche who tries to get in my way. Lucky and I are excellent at matchmaking, and that’s exactly why we’ve ended up together—whether we were willing to admit it or not in the beginning, we’re the perfect match. You can’t deny this. This is more than some primal infatuation—far more intimate than like. This is love. It is. I love Lucky Madden. I love her.
I groan into my mattress. I’m in love? Dammit all to hell.
A laugh gurgles from me. It’s true. I can’t see straight—don’t want to. I never want to go back to the way things were. And I pray to God that Lucky feels the exact same way about me.
I pluck my phone off the floor to text her good morning—good afternoon, and ask her if she wants to hang out—get some food, get back in that tree, in the laundry room, anything. On second thought, the laundry room is off the table. The next time I’m with her needs to be special, somewhere private where I can enjoy the taste of her skin, drink down her mouth like the most exotic wine.
I’ll take her to Lake Avalanche. We can make every square inch of that place our own. And after that, I want to take her home. Take her to meet my dad and Lynette once again, only this time as my girlfriend. I want to reintroduce her to Knox and Trixy that way, to my sisters, to Rex.
Holy crap. I sit up on my elbows as Jet and his fierce mug runs through my mind. He’s going to shit a brick and then cram said brick down my throat.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I flip it around, only to find Jet’s name staring back at me and I flinch. Damn. There’s no denying the dude is psychic, psycho, and all of the above.
Meet me down at Think Ink if you can. I’ll be here until four.
I frown into the phone. As much as I don’t want anything to do with Jet Madden, we need to find a way to coexist if I want Lucky in my life. The first step in that awkward direction will be meeting up with him. I have no clue what I’m about to say, but I’m sure it’ll come to me—and then I’m sure his fist will come to me as well.
At exactly three thirty, I shower and shave, put on my cleanest, least douchiest clothes I own, and head down to Think Ink with five minutes to spare from the deadline he gave. The smaller the window to deal with Jet, the better.
Think Ink sits in the center of the armpit of downtown Jepson. There’s a strip club across the street, The Dungeon, and I can’t help but feel as if I’m about to head into a dungeon myself.
The first thing I note before I ever walk through the door is a particularly bright illumination that seems to be taking over the place. The second and far more important thing I note is the shining jewel that stole my heart.
“Of all the Luck!” A grin takes over my face as I head her way with a spring in my step.
Lucky bubbles with laughter and comes around the counter with her arms held wide, a mile-wide smile of her own on her face.
And just as I’m about to dive over to her with all of my affection, Jet comes out with a cameraman by his side, a sound man holding a boom stick, and two burly women carrying glorified lamps on a stick.
“He’ll have to sign a release,” someone murmurs from behind.
Jet growls over at me as Lucky slips my way, her tits bouncing side to side like a metronome. One more second and Lucky is going to stick her landing, and just like that, I take a careful step out of her way.
Shit.
“Hey, kiddo.” I slap her five and mock shoot her like a grade A asshole. “How’s my little buddy?” Little buddy?
Lucky opens her mouth and hacks out a partial laugh, but that look on her face lets me know she’s indignant.
Jet slaps me over the back. “You better not be shitting me. You’re not into my baby sister, are you?” He sounds playful enough, but there’s a growl layered just underneath that spells out a broken leg or two.
Lucky lifts her chin as if daring me to tell the truth. But my gut clenches and I can’t stand the fact that I’m about to tell her how I feel in this environment in front of strangers and her menace of a brother.
“Nope.” I look right at her as if I can’t break my spell. “Not the least. We’re just friends and hardly that. She’s got thorns and horns, and I’m not looking to get chewed up and spit out.” Look at me, Lucky. You know I don’t mean it. This is our thing. We throw barbs at each other for the hell of it.
Lucky’s brows rise. Her fists spike into her hips. Her expression is wild and erratic, and now I’m in for it. Lucky has gone through a lot in her life. She’s dealt with enough rejection for me to know that she doesn’t need another ounce of it—especially not coming from me. I should have bucked up. Taken that tackle hug—and the inevitable sucker punch from her brother like a man, but that camera, that demonic look on Jet’s face… Truth be told, the dude can’t handle it. I’ve got to figure out a way to break it to him gently. I am no longer the man for the job he’s paying me to do.
Jet slaps me five, hard and stinging, and pulls me in, pointing to my face while looking into the camera. “This right here is my boy.” My bitch. That’s the version I heard. “Come on in the back.” He glances over to Lucky. “Man the fort, would you? We’ve got business to conduct.”
Shit. Please, God, don’t let him open that pie trap and spill all of the rotten beans for Lucky to slip and break her heart on. Even if she’s not as into me as I am her, just hearing that I was paid to keep idiots away from her might set off the bomb that is Lucky Madden.
Jet speeds us to the back, to the exact room where this tatted up beast, who looks as if he’s weight trained in prison, once held my Johnson in the palm o
f his hand. I’m still sick when I think about it.
“Take a seat,” he orders and I comply, sitting on the edge of the very same table I was on a few weeks back. Swear to God, if he goes for my buckle, I’m going to start throwing punches.
“How are things going with...” He nods toward the door at what I’m assuming is Lucky.
“Great.” I give a nervous glance to the camera with its ominous red light, letting me know our every move is being recorded for posterity—for who and what I have no idea.
“Good.” He slaps me five, and I feel a wad of cash getting passed to me in a discreet manner, as discreet as one can get with a floodlight and four witnesses in your face. “Let’s keep up the good work.” He wraps a hand over my shoulder and turns to face the cameras. “This guy is my right-hand man. He takes care of the things I can’t. Making sure my greatest treasure stays protected.” He pulls me in and turns us seemingly out of range of the watchful eye of the camera. “She’s chirping out there. Something is up. That girl is never this happy. Hell, she’s not happy. It’s not her style. Get to the bottom of this. I want this idiot who’s plastered that smile on her face brought to his knees. Get him out of her face, would you?”
Nice. Jet Madden might just be the only brother on the planet who would rather his sister wallow in misery. He’s a real piece of work.
I glance back at the camera and smirk. Reality TV. Nothing real is happening here today. “You bet, boss.” I shake his hand, my dead stare needling into his. I’m pissed that he chose to do this in front of a questionable viewing public. It’s not fair to Lucky, and it’s not fair to me.
I head back out to the front, and I’m met with Daisy instead of Lucky.
“Where did she go?”
Daisy shakes her head just barely as if she’s not willing to say a word, especially around her beefed-up boyfriend.
“Lucky had a test to study for.” Her affect brightens once the camera shines its day-glow light in her face.
“Got it.” My heart sinks because I do have it. My little two-step away from Lucky hurt her, and all because I didn’t want to take Jet down on camera.
I head for the exit, and Jet calls my name.
“Next Saturday night!” he calls after me. “Be here for the taping of the finale. We’re throwing a party. Free food. It’s just friends and family.”
Lucky is Jet’s family.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
No sooner do I jump into my truck than I text Lucky. Where are you?
I wait and I wait, but Lucky doesn’t text back.
It kills me that I might have hurt her with a slight I never meant. I need to talk to her, to Jet.
I need to return every wadded up bill that he’s ever shoved my way and set him straight on the fact Lucky isn’t someone he can keep in his emotional lair forever.
I’m going to tell him that I love her.
But first—I need to tell Lucky.
Love ’Em and Leave ’Em
Lucky
I can count on one hand the times I’ve poured my heart out and told my truths and still had four fingers left over. The night I tore open the wound my mother inadvertently inflicted and let Jade fly out of my mouth like a sparrow racing to the moon was one of them. I bared the deepest part of my soul to Lawson Kent of all people. I gifted Lawson Kent that most precious part of me, my virginity. What the hell has gotten into me? There was a brief moment of insanity that I thought we could have something, that we were building something real, but that was quickly shattered when he all but sidestepped from my affection like I had the plague. I get it. I simply overreacted. I accidentally put on Ava’s rose-colored glasses and let myself get caught up in the firefly, low hanging moon, arms wrapped around one another for dear life, soul melting kisses moment. Lawson Kent is just a player—plain and simple. And it’s time to face the lose-your-virginity-against-the-laundry-room-wall music. I’ve been played.
Monday, I trek out to Hollow Brook Middle School all by my lonesome. When Lawson tries to trap me in the parking lot afterward, I make up some lame excuse about having bad cramps. By Wednesday, he catches on and we don’t bother acknowledging one another once our burrito-based missionary work wraps up. He sends a flood of text messages, and I have Ava delete them from my phone before I ever read them. I may be an idiot in many ways, but I adamantly cling to the axiom fool me once shame on you, fool me twice and I’ll send you to hell with two bloody broken legs. Try hobbling down the court with double thigh high casts, buddy.
As it stands, the last game of the season is tonight, and Ava and Harper have somehow talked me into going. They reasoned the longer I stay out of his airspace the more power I’ll give him. The sooner he sees me out and about getting my groove back, the sooner he’ll realize I’m not soaking my pillow with tears—I might be, but it’s none of his business. I’ll finally prove to Lawson that, yes, I am just as cold as he is. The only thing we have in common is the fact we have barbed wire wrapped around our hearts. We are one in the same, and yet we repel because that’s what loners do. We crave our space like others crave oxygen.
The Mustang Dome is packed with a bevy of heavily made up, heavily perfumed girls, all donning five-inch FMs and short little skirts, you would think that a speed-dating event were taking place upon the final buzzer. It’s true in a way. It’s a well-known accepted and appreciated fact that the boys who run the ball in the name of all things Whitney Briggs are the hottest, the brightest, and the best. The basketball team at WB is smoking, and that in a nutshell is what has turned every filly in the student population into a bona fide jersey chaser—sans me, of course. With the exception that I happen to be lying to the one person who doesn’t buy my bull at the moment—me.
Daisy and Jet are here cheering on Grant, and oddly, I think Jet seems to be cheering on Lawson, too. It’s understandable, I guess. Rex is Jet’s good friend, and Lawson is sort of related in that respect. Piper and Owen are here along with Scarlett and Rex himself.
I guess it’s a good thing Lawson and I aren’t a thing. It would have been a minefield to navigate what with all the commingling of friends and relations, and the fact Jet would rather crush every bone in Lawson’s body than let him get down and dirty against a wall with me.
Eli is sitting with Knox and his girlfriend, Janelle, while Trixy sits with Ava and me. Harper, however, has sequestered herself next to Justin, who oddly is sitting so close to Knox’s girlfriend that their thighs are melding together. Can you say awkward and rude? I mean, Janelle is a stunner. Harper must not have too much of a problem with it because I’ve seen her look over about fifty times to witness the fusing of anatomical parts and hasn’t uttered a single word. Instead, she keeps lashing her tongue over the side of his face as if he were a salt lick. Disgusting if you ask me. Come to think of it, everything about Justin in general disgusts me.
The idea of love disgusts me. The idea that I dove headfirst into that dry swimming pool and landed my already cracked heart into a certain paralysis disgusts me. I don’t know what I was thinking. I drank the Kent Kool-Aid and ended up mortally wounding the one thing I worked so hard to protect. It sucks. And what sucks just a little more than that is the fact watching Lawson Kent chase the ball up and down the court makes me realize one very horrific thing. I crave something other than my personal space, more than oxygen—I crave Lawson Kent himself.
The final buzzer sounds, and the Mustang Dome explodes in roaring cheers as the home team delivers one spectacular victory. Every last one of us jumps to our feet. The crowd thunders so loud, I half-expect the top to blow right off this hard-boiled egg of a structure.
Eli picks me up and spins me. “Yes!” he howls so loud, he takes out my left eardrum, and just as I land on solid ground once again, I spot Lawson standing still, his expression stoic as he watches us. And the ovulating cherry on top? There seems to be a veiled look of sadness in his eyes. One can only dream.
I swat Eli’s cheek with a wet one as if doling out a punishme
nt.
Eli grunts and howls, still high off the victory before securing his hands over my cheeks and reciprocating with a longer, far more lingering kiss right back, smack on my cherry-stained lips.
Eli hops down the bleachers to the court, still whooping it up as if he won the lottery, and I freeze. My hand flies over my chest as I glance to my brother, but thankfully, Jet is seemingly oblivious as he offers Grant a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. Ava is already down there riding him piggyback. But Lawson—his dead stare is still glued squarely on me. And then just like that, the entire squad of cheerleaders seems to pick a team member to call their own and start in on what appears to be a mass dry humping session.
“Wow,” I mutter. I’m sure this will make their parents proud. I guess they’re not doling out the big bucks to this overpriced university for nothing. This is a well-rounded education both the cheerleaders and the players will benefit from.
A blonde cheer-bot eats away Lawson’s face as if she were on bath salts. Her legs are looped high around his waist, and his hands have disappeared under her skirt as they start to topple backward. Yeah, he was ambushed—so fucking what. It’s not exactly as if he’s about to catapult her over his head and shoot her into the basket from the three-point line. Nope. Lawson is holding on for dear life. He’s not fighting it. And why would he? She’s busy sucking his soul right out of his throat, and his hands are still precariously missing. It’s clear the two of them are enjoying the hell out of this.
“I’m out of here,” I say to no one in particular as I bolt down the stands and out of that beehive of carnal cheerleaders as they perform one final raunchy routine for the night.
“Lucky!” a female voice shouts from behind, but my feet can’t seem to stop as I continue to race as far away as possible from the pornographic afterglow of a hard won victory. Honest to God, if the cheerleaders were all male and this was the girls’ basketball team, I’m sure there would be at least ten different sexual harassment suits filed by morning. Girls would never let this shit fly. And yet the male species lives on to be accosted by the ponytail brigade another day.