Lucky:No. Swiss
Lucky: …
I stare at my screen as those little dots move, knowing he’s typing something else. Yep. I’m going to regret taking his keys.
* * *
Slidingout of Lucky’s Mustang the next morning, I smile. “I could get used to this.” I got a whole fifteen minutes of extra sleep this morning just because I knew I had wheels. It’s too bad I’ve got a list of groceries about a mile long to pick up for Lucky after my classes today. So much so, I have to stop at Lucky’s apartment to get more money.
No worries. I don’t mind. It helps me procrastinate, because, admittedly, I’ve got things Ishouldbe doing, like writing that stupid story. But helping Lucky out is much more enjoyable, especially since I get to see him again.
Now before you think too harshly of me about forgiving and forgetting about the date stuff, I think I may have taken my silent treatment a little too far, but it couldn’t be helped. Once it started, I couldn’t shut it off. Does that make sense? It took something like Lucky getting his ribs cracked to give me the opportunity to set things right. Well, at least get things a little back to normal. Deena and I made up a while ago, and that’s mostly because Deena is relentless. Lucky didn’t try very hard.
Or did he?
And does it matter now?
I’m going with no—it doesn’t matter now. The reality is my feelings for Lucky haven’t changed one iota since I was a teen. Just being around the man makes me weak-kneed. Even being mad at him has done nothing to quell those feelings. It took him being hurt for me to realize how much I still care for the idiot. Helping him out now is easy. Trying to keep my feelings to myself, well, that’s not.
And then there’s last night… I could have sworn he was going to kiss me, but that’s ridiculous. The last time he kissed me, he ran away so fast and for so long, it made my head spin. No, I need to remember—we’re friends. That’s it. Nothing more.
Accepting that is harder than you’d think. I mean, I’ve literally been dreaming of a life with Lucky Ganetti for three years. Even to the point I’ve named our three children. Sure, that’s typical teen girl stuff, but the sad part is I just came up with the names last summer. A summer Lucky spent in Chicago doing his internship. Hisentiresummer. Mom and Dad kept asking about him. Whenever Joe called to check in, they’d inquire about Lucky’s whereabouts. All Joe ever said was, “He’s working in Chi-town.”
I assumed he was going to stay there. When Deena told me she saw him in the management office of our apartment complex, I had to wonder why he was back. He graduated with Joe. Heck, I half expected him to move to San Francisco. Joe wanted him to, I know that for sure.
He didn’t, though, and I haven’t asked him why that is. And why did he come back to school? Sure, having a master’s degree is probably wise with his major, but he seemed set to get to work.
Oh, hell. What do I know?
Maybe I should just ask him about it?
Yeah, Becklyn….“I’ll ask him.”
28
Lucky
“Here you go.Last of your groceries, Your Highness.”
I feel terrible. Becklyn’s made two trips down to my car and back with my grocery order. I should have thought this through. Did I really need a ten-pound bag of potatoes? No. How ’bout the gallons of milk and orange juice? No.
Well, okay. Yes. I needed those two things, but I could have done without the potatoes.
“I’m getting a second workout today,” she says with a laugh.
“Sorry, babe.” I watch as she sets the final few bags on my kitchen counter. Then I watch as she starts to put things away.
“Where do you keep your cereal?” She stares at the box of Lucky Charms. My absolute favorite, and my cheat food when I’m working to build muscle.
“In the cupboard next to the fridge.” Close to the milk.
Once everything is put away, Becklyn reaches for her jacket. “Can you stick around for a little while?”
“Oh.” She looks down at her coat, then up at me. “A few minutes, sure.”
Good. Now, all I need to do is make good use of this time. I need to tell her—she needs to know how I feel about her.
“Let’s sit.” I point to my living room area.
