Page 26 of How to Get Lucky
But it’s also a reminder of the giant roadblock that keeps me sitting here wanting to link our fingers but unable to hold her hand or any other part of her.
“Great. So you’ll tell him we’re collaborating, and he’ll be stoked.”
“Definitely. He’s pretty busy with meetings, but I’ll catch up with him in a day or so.”
“Were you guys close growing up?” I might as well quiz her about her relationship with him. It’ll keep the issue front and center.
Right where I need it.
“Definitely. He looked out for me, was always weighing in on family talks with Mom and Dad. He took it quite seriously. Like what school I should go to, what sports I should play, what classes I should take. And so on.”
“Did you like that?”
“It was eye-roll-inducing as a tween, but looking back, I love that he always had my best interests at heart. That he wanted to be involved. My parents are like that too. They even had matching jackets from my cheerleading and dance team days and used to wear them to my competitions. Now they break them out whenever I come over. They’re still together after thirty-five years.”
“Goals. That’s awesome. And they live here?”
“They do. I’m having dinner with them tomorrow night.”
That makes me ridiculously happy. Sure, Tracy was close to her dad, but they both always bad-mouthed her mom. That should have been a big red flag. Nice to see London likes and respects both her parents. “Mine live here too. I’m seeing them next week.”
“Birds of a feather,” she says in a soft voice that hints she likes that we’ve got the same plumage.
Soon, we reach our stop, and as we exit the station, I raise my face to the fading sun. Here we are at the end of another . . . almost date.
Saying goodbye to the woman I like a whole hell of a lot.
Fate, you can fuck off.
I walk her home, and when we reach her house, Mr. Darcy is outside cavorting with two guys I recognize as her friends from the club, the ones who look like they could be on the cover of any celebrity magazine in the world.
“Do you live with Tom Ellis and John David Washington?”
London laughs. “I know, right? Everyone in LA is ridiculously beautiful. Tom Ellis is Eli, and John David Washington is Nate.”
The A-list look-alikes are watering the lawn. Only in LA.
As London’s shoes slap the sidewalk, the butterscotch-colored Chihuahua mix loses his mind with glee, darting over to her at the speed of sound.
“My little love,” she says, scooping him up and peppering him with kisses as he wags his tail like it’s a propeller.
She clutches the dog in her arms as she gestures to her friends. “Guys, this is Teddy. Teddy, this is Nate and Eli.”
Nate arches a teasing brow and meets London’s gaze. “Ah, the guy you had dinner with last night, who kisses like a rock star?”
Beet. Red.
Wait—that’s inaccurate. She turns every shade of red in the color wheel, and I want to thump my chest.
London narrows her eyes. “You’re evil, and we’re not friends anymore.”
Eli laughs and drapes an arm around his partner. “Nate, love, did you forget? She also called him the total hottie with the sexy voice and yummy eyes and lips that she couldn’t get enough of.”
Eli flashes a devilish grin at London. Yup, Eli is pure Tom Ellis at his Lucifer best, and he sounds like Ellis too, with a proper British accent and all.
Nate elbows him. “Look at you, showing off with your perfect memory of how London described the man.”
London points at them each in turn. “You’re both officially out of my will.”
The guys laugh, then Eli says to me, “Nice to meet you, Teddy.”
We exchange hellos, and London offers to drive me home. “Plus, I need to escape from these two before they serve up more of my secrets,” she says.
“Or before you do,” Eli adds, as London grabs her keys from her pocket. Her car is parked on the street, so she opens the back door, tucks Mr. Darcy into a dog car seat, then buckles him in.
Yeah, that’s not totally fucking adorable.
I get into the passenger seat, and she drives me to my place, pulling into the lot of my condo.
“Thanks again,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt.
“You’re most welcome,” she says, unclipping the dog. “He doesn’t like to stay in the back seat unless I’m driving.”
“And he should have everything he wants.”
“You get me. Thank you,” she says, as the dog folds himself into a dog ball on her lap, looking like a contented prince.
Well, he is in her lap.
“Also, can we rewind to that moment on your front lawn?” I ask, a smirk tugging at my lips.
“I don’t know. Can we?” she tosses back.
“So I kiss like a rock star?”
