Page 33 of How to Get Lucky
A smile breaks out. “I’ll be sticking around for a while.” Especially since I want that raise. Because . . . bills. “Maybe not forever, but for now. No worries there. Just trying to grow my side business at the same time.”
“Makes sense. You want options for the long-term. Just do me a favor?”
“Sure,” I say, hoping it’s something I can deliver.
“Give me a heads-up if anything changes, okay? So I can look for a replacement?”
That feels like the least I can do. “Of course,” I say, my shoulders relaxing.
He gestures to his laptop. “I’ve got a ton of work to finish before I go on this corporate camping retreat.”
I tilt my head. “Corporate and camping? That sounds like an oxymoron.”
“You’re telling me. I’ve got to work even later to go on an unplugged retreat . . . about work. Maybe we’ll eat nothing but jumbo shrimp.”
“That’s seriously . . . funny.”
“I see what you did there. Not bad, Teddy. But I’m sure I’ll learn tons, so there’s that.”
“Let’s at least hope the s’mores are good.”
“There’s always the s’mores.” He nods toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”
I take off, grateful to be needed. Glad everything is all good.
At home, I take Bowie for a long walk, checking out the science podcast London recommended.
I learn about toasters and decide filaments are cool. When I go to bed, I chalk up a win—I’ve navigated another day without lusting over London. And as if to prove myself to the universe, I text her, suggesting she meet me after my show at the station on Monday night so we can continue our strictly professional arrangement.
Yep, I’m rocking this resistance. Rocking it like Springsteen rocks, well, everything.
I go full Boss the next day too, working out with Sam, catching up on the news, chatting with Sherri en español, then listening to another episode of the science podcast. Before I head to the club, a fantastic email lands on my phone. One of the community groups I emailed needs a DJ for an awards ceremony, so I say yes and add that to my calendar for early next month.
Finally, I head to the club for a raucous Saturday night.
By the time midnight rolls around, I’ve conducted a London detox.
Pretty damn impressive.
But when she texts me, my resistance gets up, walks out the door, and deserts me entirely.
All that’s left is my desire to get to know the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met.
And to know her in every damn way.
17
A few minutes earlier
From the Woman Power Trio, aka the text messages of London and her two besties, Olive and Emery
Emery: Just text him.
Olive: You know you want to.
London: You’re such enablers.
Emery: You say that like it’s a bad thing.
London: It is a bad thing. For many reasons. I told you the reasons.
Olive: Reasons, schmeasons. Besides, you have research to do.
Emery: And we do want to know if our theory holds up.
London: So I’m your lab rat?
Olive: You’re too cute to be a lab rat. Also, I’m against animal testing.
London: Yes, me too.
Emery: Same, obvs. But we don’t want you to be a lab rat. We want you to be a lab woman who goes out and gets it, girl.
Olive: I mean, in your libido’s defense, it’s been a while.
London: So you’re looking out for my sex life, or lack thereof?
Emery: I think that’s quite a noble calling.
Olive: I concur. Now, go forth and text. In the name of research.
London: I’ll just text to say hi. That’s all. I’m not texting for other reasons.
Emery: Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.
London: ENABLER!
Olive: AND YOU LOVE IT!
18
After work, I melt into the couch with a bowl of dandan noodles, Bowie cuddled next to me. Just as I’m about to dive into this peanuty goodness, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
It’s a text. From London. After midnight.
Okay, Teddy, relax. Put the chopsticks down and read the message.
London: Hey, you!
Maybe it’s the hey, you that does it—the easy conversational vibe, but also the intimacy of it. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.
Or maybe I just like the woman too much for my own good.
Teddy: Hey to you too.
London: I hope it’s not too late to text.
Teddy: I’m a night owl.
London: Whew. Good. Did you just get off?
My fingers move faster than my brain, and the text is on its way before I have a chance to second-guess myself.
Teddy: Yes, but I was thinking of you the whole time.
But before I can castigate myself any further, a reply pops up on the screen.
London: I was asking about WORK, but it’s nice to hear you’re thinking of me . . .
I kind of can’t stop thinking of her. Even when I was trying to, she was there in the back of my brain.
London: Just checking in about Monday. Are we all set to meet at the station after your show?
