There’s an ease to it, a gentle persuasion, that could be dangerous in the wrong hands.His hands though are lovely.Inked and strong.I can almost feel the rough edges caressing my skin as he looks me over.
I curl my fingers around the cool glass, already damp from perspiration.“This is the best, is it?”
“Won’t know until you get a taste, will you?”
Giving in to him would be dangerous.Lucky’s rye-whiskey eyes and inviting smile would slip in as easy as a knife, all the better to rip your heart out.
I should say no.
I won’t, but I should.
I’m no slouch; I’ve done my research.
Lachlan Williams, thirty-five, born in Stretford, raised in Manchester.Goes by Lucky.Played lead in the independent rock band Red Dragon, who saw minor success in the UK before he left to focus on writing at twenty-three.The following year saw five of his songs hit the top 100, and he got his first platinum record withHalf Measures.
I take a sip.It’s sweet—I can taste pineapple and raspberry—but there’s an undercurrent of spice beneath it.It’s every bit as good as promised, and, boy, does he look pleased about that.
“You must miss being onstage.”
He picks at the label of his beer.“Not even a little.Half the reason I quit was getting up there.Got sick before every show.Shit scared I’d mess it up or forget the words to my own damn songs.Never did, mind you, but it still freaks me out.”
“So, you’re human after all,” I tease.
Goose bumps flood my skin as he leans in.Close enough that I can practically taste the salt of his skin.“I can give you a hands-on demonstration if you’d like.”
It must be a wonder to walk around with all that self-assuredness.Most days, I don’t trust myself to wake up on time, and here Lucky is, bold as anything, trusting I won’t throw this drink in his face.
Though that would be a pretty effective way to get his shirt off …
“Tempting,” I admit, distracted by his mouth.Now that I’m looking, I can’t stop—full pink lips that constantly move, curling around his words, always ending in a smile, so expressive, so eager.
“Please tell me you know how lovely you are.”His beautiful, perfect mouth ghosts my ear, his voice cascading over me in a purr, and my pulse spikes.
It’s waking up something inside of me I didn’t even know was asleep.
“Let me take you out.”
“We’re already having a drink together.”
“Dinner then.Breakfast.I’ll cook.”
I want to say yes.It would be easy, I think—to fall into something with him, fun and comforting—so much easier than with, say, Sterling.
I’ve hesitated for too long.
“Ah,” Lucky says, reading into the pause.“There’s someone else.Shame you can’t have two boyfriends.”
I laugh.If only.“The only way I’d want that is if all three of us were boyfriends.”Wait, that didn’t sound right.I’m already tipsy.“I mean?—”
“I know what you meant, love.”Lucky taps my glass with his.“And I like where your head’s at.”
“But …” And I do feel the need to clarify because there is a gorgeous man hitting on me and I’m turning him down for what?The totally unattainable man—equally gorgeous, for sure—I can’t have?“The other guy—he isn’t—we’re not …” I take another sip, a breath; hopefully, the alcohol will save me.“I need to get over him.We work together, and it’s”—an ache every time I see him—“awkward.He doesn’t even know.”
“He’s an idiot then.”He pauses, chewing over his thoughts.
I force myself to wait, see what it is that’s meaty enough that he needs to think it over first.The house lights are all the way up; his shirt is like liquid silver over the rise and fall of his muscles, and, God, it’ll be a thousand times better under a spotlight.Seductive.Enticing.Impossible to look away.
“Big paper,The Observer.That’s the one Sterling Ross works for, yeah?”
