Page 28 of How to Get Lucky
I have no choice but to laugh. I’m pretty sure I’m going to die of busting a gut, and London might too, because she is slumped against the steering wheel, gasping for air, when the dog finally stops moving his doggie hips.
“I forgot to tell you. My dog’s breed is actually horn,” she says.
“London, all dogs are horns, but yours seems to be the rare subbreed: cockblocker. Though maybe we needed his kissus interruptus.”
She brings her hand to her face. “I know we’re not supposed to be doing that. But you’re irresistible.” She juts out her chin, owning it, then strokes the horn dog. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy, for being a cockblocker.” She drops a kiss onto his soft head, and he lets his tongue loll out.
“Yeah, thanks, I think,” I say with a laugh, then I turn serious. “But really, I should behave.”
“I should too. No matter how irresistible you are. This is a big chance for me in my career, and I’ve worked hard, so I will not be distracted by your lips.”
“I’ll try not to let them get in the way of yours again.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that,” she says with a smile.
“Let’s make a pact. No more rogue kissing.” I offer her a hand.
She takes it and shakes. “We will have each other’s backs. Focus on work and on taking Edge to the next level. For both of our careers. All rogue kissing must end.”
I go inside, feed my dog, and take him for a walk before I head to the station, weirdly grateful that her dog saved my ass.
But kind of ungrateful too.
Because holy fuck.
That kiss. Those hands. That woman.
13
An hour later
From the Woman Power Trio, aka the text messages of London and her two besties, Olive and Emery
Emery: Where’s my full report?
Olive: Because we’re betting you caved. Drinks are on me if I’m wrong.
London: And if you’re right?
Olive: Drinks are on you, obvs.
London: I’m not paying for drinks at your bar, Liv.
Olive: You don’t have to, Dancing Queen. We’re at Speakeasy. It’s maybe a mile from your house. Get your cute butt over here and tell us everything about your elbow-licking work, work, work non-date.
London: If you insist. I just finished walking my main man, so I’ll see you in thirty.
Emery: Give us a hint though. Did you cave again?
London: Does kissing count as caving?
Olive: On every planet, woman. On literally every planet.
London: Then drinks are on me. And I’m hoping the willpower will be on the two of you, because I need it, friends. Desperately. Gimme some of yours?
Emery: *activates pep talk gene* *prepares to impart epic advice and willpower*
Olive: We will not let you fail. Your career goals are too important to be distracted by hot lips. Think of us as your life coaches. Prepare for all sorts of wisdom and wine.
* * *
Three hours later
London: That was mostly wine. Not wisdom. You spent the whole time asking what I liked about him and encouraging me to see him when I’m done with this work project. You suck.
Olive: We love you too.
Emery: We can’t help it if we’re problem solvers.
London: Making plans for when we aren’t working together won’t solve a thing. He’s so not available for so many reasons. Make me stop thinking about him.
Olive: I’ve got this! Have I told you about this new audiobook I picked up where the heroine is into threesomes?
London: How exactly will threesomes help my cause? My dog already tried to have a threesome with Teddy and me.
Olive: Threesomes won’t help. But books will. Just listen to this hot tamale, and it’ll take your mind off the guy you can’t have and won’t see again because you’re going to be such a good girl. Here’s a snippet from Dax Long, my fave narrator.
“You can take it, kitten. You can handle both of us at the same time. That’s right. Just relax. You feel us now?”
London: Ugh, he sounds like Teddy. Not helping!
Olive: Teddy sounds like my favorite audiobook narrator? I’m so jelly now.
London: Good night, crazy girl.
Olive: Good night, Dancing Queen.
14
It’s Thursday night. We have three hen parties in the building, and Archer is like a general giving his troops our final marching orders.
“All right, gentlemen. The Rothman party is already seated,” he says as he paces the dressing room backstage. “That bride-to-be is an entertainment executive named Bloom, and she’s wearing a sash that says ‘My friends made me wear this.’ She’s a good friend of one of my sister’s roomies.”
I almost ask, Nate or Eli? But I catch myself and zip my lips because I shouldn’t know her roomies.
I keep my insider knowledge of London’s life locked up airtight as Archer continues, “The maid of honor tells me Bloom has a thing for Aussie men. Sam, you know what to do. Play it up.”
“No worries, mate,” Sam says, doing his best down under accent. “Even though I won’t be the one up there doing my best Hugh Jackman impression. Teddy will.”
