Page 53 of Lucky
“Correct.This is an unofficial date.”
His enthusiasm is a little infectious.“Okay… go for it.”
“Nope… on your channel,” he says, and I accept his challenge.
We’re standing near the edge of the overlook, the city behind us like a postcard.I lift my phone in selfie mode, switching to video, and give Lucky a quick glance.“Okay, say hi to the people,” I tease.
He slides in behind me, his arms wrapping snugly around my waist, chin resting lightly on my shoulder.
“Hi, people,” he says, voice low and warm.Then, straight into the lens, “Just want to say this woman right here”—he gives me a little squeeze—“brought me up to this insane view after a very tough loss tonight.”
I blink, surprised he’s admitting that on camera.But he’s not done.
“I was in my head.Pissed off.Frustrated.But she knew exactly what I needed—quiet, perspective, and her.”
His lips brush my temple, but his eyes stay on the screen.“And I don’t know if she realizes it, but this—just standing here with her, breathing in the city and not talking about stats or contracts or any of the bullshit—this is one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.”
I open my mouth to say something, but I’m speechless.He’s a freaking poet, unafraid to put his heart out there.I’m frankly stunned and can do nothing but try to keep my jaw from sagging further.
“So, yeah,” he says with a wink at the camera.“Shout-out to kindergarten teachers who moonlight as emotional support humans.”
I groan and turn slightly to swat at him.“You did not just say that on my channel.”
“Too late.”He grins.
I end the video with both of us laughing, his arms locked around me.How can this be real and still feel like a fantasy at the same time?
CHAPTER 17
Lucky
Winnie’s hand gripsmine hard as we follow the maître d’ through the restaurant.I feel the tension exiting her body and flowing into mine.
“Everyone’s staring,” she whispers.
I squeeze her hand.“They’re staring at you.And why wouldn’t they… because damn, girl… that dress.”
She makes a scoffing noise low in her throat and I glance down at her, which is dangerous because she doesn’t look a thing like the Winnie I’ve come to know.
The emerald-green dress is fitted to her curves with aV that dips just enough to make me think things I probably shouldn’t be thinking in public.Her hair’s down, smooth and shiny, brushing her shoulders like it knows it’s part of the presentation.Her makeup is glamorous, highlighting bone structure that takes her from freshly pretty to bombshell.
“So, you’re saying you like what I’m wearing,” she teases as we arrive at the table.
I beat the maître d’ to the chair, pulling it out for her.I make a point of looking her up and down, lifting a shoulder.“You clean up all right.”
“Just all right?”She laughs, sitting with a wink.“That’s dangerously close to average.”
I grin and slide into my seat across from her, taking the large leather menu in hand.“You’re the statistical outlier, Shaw.The rest of us are just trying to keep up.”
We chat about her workday after the waiter takes our drink order—she gets a glass of red and I stick with sparkling water.We peruse the menu together, choosing courses we’re both interested in so we can share.She tells me about Sadie’s latest reading obsession and a kid in her class who insists his dad is Spider-Man.I tell her about a bet in the locker room involving Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and a jockstrap that I wish I could unsee.
“This is beautiful,” she says, glancing around the low-lit space.White linen tablecloths, flickering candles, an actual piano with pianist tucked in the corner.“Do you bring all your TikTok girlfriends here?”
“Only the exclusive ones,” I reply.
She laughs and reaches for the bread basket.“So I’m number what—twelve?”
“Nah.”I watch the way her fingers tear into the roll.“Just number one.”
