Page 55 of How to Get Lucky
Love.
There’s that word.
I think I’m more than falling for her.
I think I’m falling into something I didn’t expect to happen.
“More, gimme more. I’m hungry for London intel,” I say.
“If you insist, here’s another tidbit. Did you know I’m excellent at ballroom dancing?”
I laugh. “No, but I’m not surprised.”
“Tango is my favorite, and that’s why I’m excited today and wearing my purple glasses.”
“For your good mood?”
“Yes, because I got a fantastic email this morning. It’s about a job.”
“The one with André Davies? The producer?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s from Shay Sloan. The woman I worked with in Vegas.”
A sliver of worry spreads under my skin. “Are you going back to Vegas?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “No. But she recommended me for a job in San Francisco, and she said the director of that show is interested in talking to me today about a ballroom dancing sequence in a musical he’s producing. And if all goes well, he’ll fly me out ASAP for a trial and to see if I like the city.”
This is awesome.
And a little alarming.
“To see if you like San Francisco?” I ask, since that’s a twist I didn’t see coming. “Did you know that was going to happen?”
“I had no idea. I just got an email. He wants to talk on the phone later today, so we set up a call.”
I swallow, trying to figure out what to say next, how to be the supportive . . . boyfriend?
Since I think that’s what I’m supposed to be.
“That’s really fantastic,” I say, meaning it, but also trying to figure out what the hell this San Francisco job means for us.
She reaches for my hand, threading her fingers through mine. “But don’t worry. I still want to see you. Whatever happens with the job.”
Fuck, do I even deserve her?
I want it to be tomorrow so I can begin to sort this out.
I need to get my shit together and stop playing What’s Your Favorite Color games, even though I love knowing all her favorite things.
Because I love . . .
A brash voice cuts across the morning air. “Goooooood morning, Insomnia!”
I jerk my gaze from London as Carlos calls out in a distinct Robin Williams impersonation. How does he have this much energy after a full night of working the pole?
The smoothie in his hand is my only guess. He’s a few feet away, walking toward us with Stanley, both of them in muscle tanks and gym shorts.
“Hey,” I say, my back straightening as a bolt of tension shoots through me. London and I are only having breakfast, but we were kissing, and she was holding my hand, and fuck me.
I need to figure my shit out fast because I don’t want to run into anyone from work here. Don’t want to see anyone before I tell Archer I’m going to leave and then date his sister.
Maybe they won’t notice who I’m with. Or, hey, maybe they’ll walk right on past us without glancing her way or saying another word.
No such luck. The two big men stop at our table.
“Lookie look. It’s my new dance partner. When are we going to work on our routine?” Carlos asks, bending to drop a kiss onto London’s cheek. Never let it be said that Carlos takes a long time to make friends.
“It better be soon. I saw you dance a few weeks ago, and you have got some serious hip action,” she says.
Carlos’s brown eyes twinkle, then he nudges Stanley. “See? Told you I was a better dancer than you.”
Stanley narrows his eyes. “I don’t think that’s what she said.”
“That’s what I heard.” Carlos’s eyes flick to me and back to London, like he’s processing the scene fully. And process it he does.
“Ohhhhhh. You two are together. Holy shit. I didn’t know you were dating the boss’s sister,” he says, smacking my shoulder.
Fuck. My. Life.
London shoots me a look that says Fix this.
But before I can say a word, Stanley cuts in. “Oh, the scandal of it all,” he says, as though the two of them are on a daytime soap.
Carlos sweeps his hand in front of him like he’s framing a marquee. “Tune in at three for the latest drama on As the Edge Turns.”
I groan, my chest tightening, my gut coiling. “All right, guys, it’s just breakfast,” I say, hoping to end their fun.
But they won’t be denied.
“And people who have breakfast together usually had dinner together the night before,” Carlos says to Stanley.
“And probably dessert too,” Stanley fires back.
“We’re just talking about work stuff,” I say, nearly choking on the lameness of my reply.
Carlos claps my shoulder. “We’re just messing with you, buddy. You two enjoy your work breakfast. See you at the club tonight.”
“And no worries, Teddy. Your secret’s safe with us,” Stanley says like he’s in a cheesy horror film, and the two head off.
