Page 8 of How to Get Lucky
I blow on my fingernails casually.
“Honestly, though, if it comes right down to it and we are truly picking one non–ice cream option, like a cuisine forever and ever and into time immortal, I’d have to go with Japanese,” she adds. “I’m prepared to marry sushi.”
And there it is. The universe dropping a golden opportunity in my lap.
I clear my throat and take a deep, fueling breath. The game is on. “I know a great little sushi spot right on the water in Santa Monica. Have you ever been to Yoshi? I’d love to take you.”
And whoa. Did I just ask her out? Yes. Yes, I did.
She pauses, and when she glances at her shoes, I can see her hesitation. She’s taking too long to answer.
My stomach plummets.
Finally, she looks up, and her brown eyes sparkle. Something’s going on in her head, and boy, do I ever want to know what.
“That actually sounds great. I’d love to. Because I had this great idea. Sort of like a project.”
Dear God, please let it be a sex project.
A man can dream.
“Sure. I’m game for projects,” I say, trying to sound cool and casual.
“Terrific, but I should probably get your name first. I’m London, like the city.” There’s a hint of rasp in her voice that makes me hope even harder for a sex project.
And a yes to the date. Of course.
“I’m Teddy, like the bear.”
She arches one sexy brow. How the hell is an eyebrow sexy? “Or you could say Teddy, like a lace cami.”
It takes me a second to process her innuendo.
One. Hot. Second.
My throat is dry. My skin is sizzling. And my luck is about to change. “That’s what I meant to say, and I can’t wait to hear about your proposition.”
The smile she flashes my way tells me proposition was exactly the right word. “Let’s drop off our dogs, and I’ll meet you at Yoshi tonight at eight?”
“I’m there.”
“And I’ll tell you all about what I’ve been thinking,” she says with a smile that makes me think, Yes, I am about to score on all fronts.
A great date with a cool babe, and then maybe a little something more.
Or a lot something more.
Yep. An urgent need to see me tonight, a lingerie innuendo, and a bit of nervous hesitation when I first asked for the date.
Sex has to be her project.
And she’s come to the right guy.
3
That evening
From the Woman Power Trio, aka the text messages of London and her two besties, Olive and Emery
London: Stop the presses. I have a date tonight.
Emery: Listening to a podcast while you ignore our texts is not a date. Even if you do it with a glass of wine.
Olive: Is this the lit one where you geek out to Brontë and Austen deets? Wait, no. Must be that science one where you pretend you’re going to date the hottie host. I didn’t realize how serious it was, but I suppose when you’ve listened to every episode . . .
London: WITH A GUY. And I do not ignore you two. Though, fine, the Science of Everyday Things podcast guy does have a hella sexy voice.
Olive: Like my favorite audiobook narrator?
London: We are not discussing your narrator crush right now!
Emery: Yeah, Olive, way to be an attention hog. We are discussing London’s supposedly real date.
Olive: Yes, tell us everything. Does he meet the four basic requirements? Straight? College-educated? Gainfully employed? And doesn’t live at home with his parents? Wait. Amend that—it’s hard to live on your own in LA. Let’s say, “Doesn’t expect his mom to do his laundry.”
London: Pretty sure he’s ticking all of the above boxes. As in, he has his own place. I bet he does his own laundry too.
Emery: Le sigh. He’s not real, then.
Olive: I know. He’s soooo not real. Take a pic. Prove it.
London: I’m not taking a pic of my date. But I will say we had mega spark.
Olive: Spark is gooooood.
Emery: Spark is necessary.
London: Spark is what I didn’t have for so long. And this guy is all spark. He’s scrumptious, with hazel eyes and sandy-brown hair, all sun-kissed and golden, and a stubbled jawline. He’s edible and funny and clever, and . . . HE LOVES DOGS.
Emery: Yup. Imaginary.
Olive: So imaginary. But tell us where you’re going just in case we need to save you. Or spy on you.
London: Yoshi. In Santa Monica.
Olive: On the beach. Nice.
London: If you spy, don’t be creepy.
Emery: *rolls eyes* Don’t be silly. We only spy creepily.
Olive: By the way, we want a full report tomorrow.
Emery: Unless you’re banging him. Then give us the report post-banging.
London: There will be no banging tonight. But I’m not opposed to . . . other things. Even though I have a project for him.
Olive: I bet you do.
London: I swear. It’s a work thing.
Olive: Wink, wink. Have fun with your work thing.
