Page 133 of Lucky Shot

Kind of pathetic.

And yet kind of the best feeling in the weirdest way as I’m sitting here alone, with a bottle of beer in one hand, the city laid out before me, wondering if this is the something I’ve been missing in my life. The wanting—to take care of someone, to be with someone, to worry about someone, to be better for someone.

“You’re bloody mad, Har.”

My cell alerts a text from Lennox. Have several options and people interested. Will vet them and get back with you.

And no sooner do I set my phone down, does it ring again. I almost don’t answer it. It’s most likely the guys again and their crass nickname calling—pussy-whipped, dick-dazzled, who knows what else—over why I haven’t gone out with them tonight. But when I look at my screen, I’m scrambling to answer it.

“Whit? You okay?” Worry is a constant presence these days.

“Hardy-Har-Har.” She giggles and has my heart lifting up off the floor where it just flopped in concern. “That was funny, wasn’t it?” Another bout of laughter.

“You’re drunk.”

“Yes. I am. I think. Antibiotics and alcohol probably aren’t the best mix.” Another giggle. “Kind of makes you get drunk super fast.”

“It sounds like it.” I miss her. “Are you having fun?” How can I miss her when it’s only been a few hours?

“Yes.” There’s silence with just the normal bar chatter in the background. “Can you come bring me home? There are too many doors, too many buttons on the elevator, and . . . can you come bring me home?”

Home. The word hits me strangely. Have I ever had a home? Or rather a place that felt like a home?

Not since I was ten years old.

Since then it’s been wherever that framed jersey of my dad’s is hanging? Probably. But I’ve never quite called anywhere home.

Until now. Until she just asked me to bring her there and I just realized I am the home. It’s wherever I am that is home.

“Yes. I can bring you home. I’ll be right there.”

My stomach flutters as I make my way down the lift, across the courtyard to the other tower, and then to the bar beneath it.

When I walk in, I spot her right away. Patrons turn and look my way, some stare as I was so excited to see her, I forgot my baseball cap. Luckily they’re polite enough to stay in their seats and keep their distance.

I watch her from afar. She’s animated and laughing. Her eyes are alive as she sways and rests her head on Suri’s shoulder. Suri sees me before Whitney does and locks eyes with me. She offers me the slightest of smiles—almost as if saying she sees it too. The acceptance that Whitney has slipped into that there’s something here. That I care for her best friend. That she’s happy.

“Hardy!” Whitney shouts out when she sees me, throwing her arms up and pulling my focus from Suri. If people didn’t recognize me before, they sure as hell do now. But I don’t mind. Not when she’s looking at me like that with a wide smile and adoring eyes. “There you are.” She jumps up from her seat and virtually falls into my arms and holds on tight like she hasn’t seen me in years. “I missed you.”

Every word is over annunciated.

“I missed you too.” I laugh the words out, but fuck if they aren’t true.

“Take me home, Alexander.”

“Okay. Let’s go.” I glance over to Suri. “You okay? Do you need me to give you a ride home?”

“No.” She smiles and leans in to brush a kiss to my cheek in greeting. “She deserves the world. If you can’t give it to her, don’t promise it,” Suri whispers in my ear.

“I never make promises I don’t keep.” The words come out without thinking. Hard to think when I have Whitney pressed up against me, her head nestled under my chin, and a whole host of feelings coursing through me.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Suri warns.

“Don’t I know it.”

There’s a first time for everything.

The phrase is on repeat as Whitney and I make it back to the penthouse but in such a different context in this moment than any other in my life.