Page 42 of Lucky
Which makes me want to be bold in return.How about I cook you dinner?
I wait breathlessly for his reply because surely that will induce further flirting.But I wait, and I wait, and I wait.
My stomach sinks a little, and I think… maybe that was inappropriate.Maybe that’s a level too serious.Maybe… he doesn’t like me in a romantic way and coming to my house would be crossing a casual line?
Brain running away, panic settling in, I start trying to recall the text when his reply chimes in.
Sorry… Atlas threw his jockstrap at me.But yes… dinner at your house is perfect.
I make a tiny squeak of delight and tap out the information before adding:7 pm.Be prepared for Buttermilk to give you a Spanish Inquisition-style interrogation with only the power of his beady little eyes.
And that’s it.Date number three is officially happening.
And if he’s still as charming and disarming as he was on dates one and two… I might be in trouble.
The best kind.
CHAPTER 14
Lucky
I’m on timeand admittedly, a little nervous as I ring Winnie’s doorbell.Of all the ways a man might imagine a woman opening her door to him, she fits my fantasy perfectly.
Winnie’s feet are bare and she’s wearing faded jeans.I take in the purple V-neck that saysLet’s Get Figgy with It, complete with an image of a fig dancing under disco lights.I stare at it, trying hard not to notice how it accentuates her breasts, and laugh.
“You dress like this on purpose, don’t you?”I ask, stepping inside.
“I like to keep expectations low,” she shrugs.
And then there’s Buttermilk.
He’s parked inside the doorway like a small, judgmental bouncer, completely still, nose twitching.His beady eyes track me like he’s calculating my worth in carrot credit scores.I absently rub at my neck where I normally have my lucky rabbit’s foot, but I knew it would be in poor taste to wear it in front of Buttermilk.
“Does he always greet guests like a passive-aggressive doorman?”I ask, eyeing him suspiciously.
“That’s hisnicestance,” she quips, shutting the door and nodding down at the rabbit.“If he didn’t like you, he’d attack.”
“Wait!What?”I ask, taking a step aside.Buttermilk thumps a back leg and that seems pretty aggressive to me.
“Relax,” she says with a straight face.“He’s had his rabies shots.”
“No pressure then.”I hold out the flowers I had been hiding behind my back—sunflowers and daisies, bright and cheerful, like Winnie.I keep one eye on the rabbit in case he makes a move.“I come bearing peace offerings.”
She smiles as she takes them, and I swear my brain shorts out a little.
“You brought me flowers?”she murmurs as she sticks her nose in the bouquet and inhales.I had sniffed them myself and didn’t find them very fragrant.She glances up at me.“They’re wonderful.”
“They’re one of the things on my list.”
She tilts her head.“What list?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Well, come on in… want a beer?”
“That would be great,” I say as I look around.
Winnie’s house isn’t big or flashy, but it feels like her.
