Page 25 of How to Get Lucky
She pats my elbow. “I had an inkling it was an amiable arm. But thanks for the clarification. Also, maybe you bring out my flirty side. And my goofy side. I should stop though. Flirting, that is. Should I stop?”
It’s a genuine question, but I can hear the underlying plea—say no.
“Nah. What’s the harm in flirting?”
I know the answer—plenty—but ignore it because flirting is too damn fun.
While we wait for the train, we discuss her routine, debating tracks that’ll flow from Nirvana to give her routine the poppy, sexy beat she wants. Everything about this day screams date, except for the fact that it’s not.
“So, about my brother—”
The train screeches into the station, cutting off the rest of her sentence with a deafening squeal.
But those words are enough to underscore the barrier between us. The reason why the train deflowering and the ice cream and the dancing are all we can allow.
Because we can only be . . . budding colleagues?
Ugh. What a fucking annoying word. Colleagues.
“Sure. What about him?” The doors slide open, and we grab seats next to each other.
“We’re very close, but I haven’t told him yet that I’m working with you.”
I furrow my brow. Shit. Is this another secret? Secrets are not my jam.
Perhaps sensing my worry, she sets a hand on my arm. And fuck, that feels good, the way her soft palm curls around me. “It’s not bad, Teddy. It’s that . . .” She dips her head, her hair sliding across her cheek. She swipes it away. “He’s kind of protective.”
Abort! Abort!
Abandon ship! Activate the escape hatch.
“Not in a bad way,” she continues. “Just in an older brother way. Know what I mean?”
That’s not reassuring either.
“I have an older sister. And protective isn’t how I’d describe Sabrina,” I offer with a shrug.
“Hey! I didn’t know you had a sister.” She lets go of my arm and bounces a little. “I want details.”
She legit sounds like my family tree is the most fascinating topic in the universe, and that is endearing as hell. “She lives in Seattle. She’s an ER doctor.”
“Good for her. That sounds intense.”
“That’s Sabrina for you. But she’s not protective. Mostly, when we were growing up, she liked to tell me I was cute and adorable and so sweet, and could I please sweep the floors, and put away the dishes, and vacuum the carpets?”
“And was she successful at complimenting you into doing her chores?”
“I was hooked and reeled in with hardly a fight. But she learned from the best. To this day, my mom calls and asks me to do basic handiwork around the house—hang a picture on the wall or fix a shelf or whatever—since my dad’s not handy. And she’ll say, ‘Oh, that was so funny when you did that celebrity impersonation. Can you fix my sink?’”
“It still works?”
“I’m a sucker for flattery,” I admit.
“So, basically, telling you that you’re a babe will get you to mow my lawn?”
I wiggle my brow. “Yes, London. That’s what’s required for me to . . . mow your lawn.”
Snorting, she covers her mouth with her hand. “That sounds quite dirty.”
“So dirty it wouldn’t take any compliments. I’d hang out in your lawn all day long for free.”
“All night too?” she asks, a naughty glimmer in her eyes.
“Yes. Yes, I would.”
She sighs and runs her hand through her hair. “I walked right into that, and now I need to segue back to Archer.”
I pull an imaginary hand brake then talk into my hands as though I’m on an amusement park PA system. “And we’ve now arrived at the end of Innuendo Trail. Please undo your seat belts and make sure you have all your personal belongings. Exit to your left as more flirts make their way onto the car behind you. Your ride is over.”
She laughs for several fantastic seconds. “Anyway,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Archer also sees me as the little sister, which of course I am. But he’s a look-out-for-her type of guy. And since he’s given me this great chance to present a routine for the owners of his club, I want to impress them. To show them I can deliver something amazing and keep Edge on, well, the cutting edge. Plus, I hope this routine will be a stellar addition to my portfolio and attract Andre’s attention as well.” She looks at me earnestly, as if she’s not sure I’ll understand. “That’s why I wanted to meet with you, make sure this”—she gestures from herself to me—“will work out before I let Archer know about it. He’ll be cool, but I wanted to give you the heads-up on the situation. This is a huge opportunity, and I want to do everything right.”
All of this is good news for her, for Archer, for the club, and, by extension, me.
