Page 11 of How to Get Lucky
She drops her voice. “Is yours real though?”
I laugh, like that’s the craziest thing I’ve heard. “Yes, London, it’s real.” I add in a whisper, “Want a hit? Also, why are you asking if it’s real when you have one too?”
“Mine’s purely decorative,” she says, setting the keys back in her purse as I put mine in my pocket.
I wiggle my fingers for her to fess up. “You’re going to need to explain the nonfunctional sriracha bottle. Because . . . why? Sriracha is better than almost any hot sauce anywhere.”
“I couldn’t agree more. But there are risks in life you take—like choreographing a new show—and risks in life you don’t take—like the chance of sticky red goop spilling all over your purse.”
“Sure, I get that. But I could argue—lip balm, lipstick, mascara. Those all go in purses too. They could also spill.”
Her mouth falls open. She shakes her head, whip fast. “First, the risk of lipstick spillage is smaller than the risk of hot sauce spillage. Second, those are necessities and worth the risk.”
“I could argue sriracha is a necessity. Much like wasabi,” I say casually, popping a piece of yellowtail into my mouth. “Also, why do you have a decorative bottle? Is it to pledge allegiance to the alliance of sriracha love?”
“Obviously. Also, it’s a good luck charm. My brother gave it to me for fun, and the day he did, I snagged the job in Vegas.”
“I suspect it was talent that nabbed you the job, but I wholly support homages to the gods and goddesses of luck.”
“Gods and goddesses. I like that inclusive spirit, Teddy.” Her eyes lock with mine, and holy hell. The spark in them is doing things to me. As in, all the things.
“Also, you get me,” she says, still holding my gaze. “You clearly get me.”
Oh, do I ever want to get her.
In pretty much every way.
Is this what it’s like to feel instant attraction? Perfect chemistry?
If it is, I am all in for both.
Throughout the meal, we talk a little more about luck, then dive into all things nerd, from Star Wars to Adult Swim.
As she plucks at pieces of tuna, snapper, and eel, I notice her chopsticks game is on point, and I can’t help thinking of how good her nimble fingers might be at holding something else, much thicker than a chopstick.
Obviously.
I snag another piece of fish off the plate and take stock of this moment. I don’t want to forget any of it—the cool beach breeze, the way her face dances in the candlelight on this patio, the one freckle under her right eye that I want to trace with my tongue.
Note to self: find my passport when I get home because I want to spend some time in London.
An unexpectedly wet noise breaks my reverie. It’s coming from a couple at a nearby table. London and I snap our gazes to them at the same time.
Because . . . holy loudest lip-smacking ever.
We’re talking full-on face-suck.
I lean closer and whisper, “Is it just me, or is he trying to Hoover her whole face?”
She cringes but laughs too. “I hope we’d try a soft butterfly kiss first. That’d be my suggestion.”
And I like that suggestion.
In principle.
Not for them though. For her and me.
A few tables away from us, the man’s hands slide to the back of the woman’s neck and he tilts his head a bit, angling for more. He twists his tattooed hand in her long, straight dark hair, tugging on her locks. If he’s not careful, he’ll get them caught in his bracelets. Guy must think he’s Johnny Depp.
They show no sign of letting up. “Should I let them know?” I ask. “Offer them a tip or something?”
“No. I kind of like to observe,” she says, like it’s a naughty confession.
And it’s one that interests me very much. “You like to observe strangers kissing?”
She shrugs with a smile. “Why not? If they’re going to kiss in public, I’m going to exercise my right to observe. Ooh. Look. He’s going for a lizard kiss.”
I steal a glance. My eyes pop. The guy’s tongue is flicking snakelike into his date’s mouth. But they don’t seem to care. “Mmm, that seems a little animalistic for dinner. Personally, I’d have to recommend the earlobe kiss. Great starter kiss at a restaurant. Sophisticated without being too over-the-top.”
London’s eyes turn heated, like she’s intrigued. Very intrigued. “That’s your recommendation for kissing choreography?”
“Yes. It’s not too PDA-y, but definitely could leave her wanting more.” We both seem to have forgotten about the hipster couple and have locked firmly onto each other. At this moment, I’ve forgotten everything else in my life too. My business plans, the raise . . . all that melts away, and I only feel this burning desire to connect with this woman. Honestly, emotionally and physically.
