Page 11 of Just My Luck

“Why is that so hard to believe?” I giggled.

“I’ve just…” He gave an apologetic look before starting to speak again. “Well, I just imagined some posh lady in her sixties owning that.”

His words had me erupting with laughter. Most people thought my company was owned by an old rich lady. When I took people on tours of homes or met to talk about selling their home, they thought I was the owner’s granddaughter.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Sir,” I teased.

“Not disappointed at all. Trust me,” he smirked. Not a cocky smirk either. This smirk was the kind that made women’s panties drop to the floor and their legs spread.

Fuck. I need some serious vibrator time.

“I’m surprised Mallory doesn’t work for you,” he said, interrupting my naughty thoughts.

“Oh, she wanted to at one time,” I admitted with a smile. “However, I don’t like mixing friendships with business. So, I sadly turned her down.”

“I am impressed,” he smiled. “You’re young and have a very well-off business.”

“You? Pft. I wish,” I laughed. “I feel like I’m an eighty-year-old walking around in a thirty-one-year-old’s body.”

“I completely understand that,” he chuckled. “I’m thirty-three and I feel that my eighty-seven-year-old grandfather could run circles around me.”

“Old-young people for the win.” I held up my hand to him and he high-fived me while laughing.

“Old-young people for the win.”

***

An hour or so later, I was still enjoying Maxwell’s company. We had shared stories and laughs over bottles of water and pretzels. It wasn’t the ideal St. Patrick’s Day celebration but he assured me that he was having fun. Deep down I didn’t believe him. What man wanted to spend their St. Patrick’s Day at a pub drinking water and eating pretzels with a woman?

“Stop that,” Maxwell laughed.

“Stop what,” I asked with my head slightly tilted to the side.

“Stop thinking that I’d rather be drinking than hanging out with you,” he smirked victoriously.

“Lucky guess,” I teased.

“Whatever you say, Beautiful.”

A loud crash had us both turning our attention across the pub. Mallory was standing on top of a table, yelling down at her boyfriend, who was paying her no mind. He was busy slamming shots back with his buddies.

“Looks like that’s my cue to drive her home before she ends up in jail,” I sighed heavily. I was really enjoying my time with Maxwell. And, definitely wasn’t ready for theparty– sort of speak– to end.

“Want some company?” Maxwell asked, giving me a hopeful look.

“Sure. I mean, if you don’t mind,” I said, downplaying my excitement.

“Sounds good.”

He stood up then offered me his hand. I slid over in the booth to the edge. Slowly, I placed my hand in his and he pulled me up from my seat. Our bodies were inches apart. The heat from his body radiated against mine, making me wish I could lean against him and bask in the warmth.

“You jerk!” Mallory screamed at the top of her lungs. I looked over just in time to see her dump a mug full of green beer on top of her boyfriend’s head. The poor bastard stood shellshocked as his friends roared in laughter.

“Oh, hell,” I groaned then took off across the bar to retrieve Mallory. Maxwell was in tow a few feet behind me the entire time. “Mallory! Get down off the table.”

“He’s such a jerk, Elaina,” she pouted, pointing at him. “A big fat jerk.”

“Mallory, get off the table. You’re classier than this.” I grabbed her arm and nudged her to come down. She looked at me for quite some time before hopping down off the table. “Let’s get you home.”

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