Page 35 of How to Get Lucky
Teddy: Sounds a bit more like a hypothesis than a law to me.
London: Hmm. Good point. And hypotheses do need to be tested. Did you have an experiment in mind?
Teddy: The kind where we’d need to run multiple tests to ensure the accuracy of our results.
London: I do like the sound of multiples.
Teddy: Me too.
I’m burning up everywhere. I head to the refrigerator to grab a seltzer because this interaction with London requires a cooldown.
I return to the couch, staring at the screen. The ball is in my court.
This feels like a challenge. The good-guy challenge. And I’m not sure I can refuse it.
But am I ready to throw my personal rules and guidelines out the window?
I flash back to Archer and our conversation last night.
I flash forward to tomorrow and the wedding.
The wedding London’s attending too.
I groan, wanting her, and wanting to resist her.
Which side will win?
I don’t have a clue.
All I know is I can’t wait to see her again.
Teddy: See you tomorrow at the wedding. I’ll be the guy with the headphones on, resisting rogue-kissing the prettiest woman there.
London: I’ll be the girl resisting rogue-kissing the DJ. After all, we made a pact.
And I’m going to do my damnedest to honor it.
19
The first thing I do when I’m out of bed the next morning is check my texts, feeling a little like Bowie nudging his nose in the dog food bowl in the early a.m., hoping kibble will magically appear.
But there aren’t any new texts from the city’s sexiest woman, so my guy and I hit the trails for a morning hike.
An hour, several checks of my phone, and some hard-earned sweat later, I understand my dog a whole lot more.
Staring at the dog food bowl can reap rewards.
Because check this out.
I’m the lucky recipient not only of a text from London, but a video file.
Lifting my face to the sky, I offer a silent prayer to all the dirty gods and goddesses. Let this be a video of her stripping down to nothing . . .
Wait. Nope. That’s so uncouth of me. Truth is, I’d be happy to watch a video of London brushing her teeth.
As soon as that thought hits my brain, another one slams into it like one car rear-ending another.
You’ve got it bad for this woman if you want to see her brushing her teeth.
Shaking my head at my runaway thoughts, I mutter, “No shit, self. Also, fuck off—fresh breath is cool. Right, Bowie?”
My furry friend tilts his head, his tongue lolling out.
“Good,” I say as I make my way down the final bend in the trail, clicking open the video clip.
And happy Sunday morning to me.
This is way better than good dental hygiene.
London: I’m in the studio this morning. Feeling all kinds of inspired. Here’s what I have so far for “Come as You Are.” What do you think?
At the foot of the trail, I hit play.
My. Jaw. Drops.
London drags a hand down her chest.
Pops her hip to the left.
To the right.
Lets her head fall back, her hair trailing down her back as she moves to the music.
What do I think?
I think I might come as I am.
I reply.
Teddy: Change nothing. Not a single fucking thing.
Then I pat myself on the back because I’m so damn focused on this work project with her, and only on the work project.
* * *
Bloom’s nuptials are not my first wedding.
I’ve spun at plenty before tonight. Not as many as I’d like—Edge keeps me pretty busy on the weekends, and those are the prime coupling days. A few months ago, though, I did get to deejay for some friends who were high school sweethearts and got hitched in their early twenties. Late last year I was in charge of the tunes at the reception for a couple of Sam’s buddies. My mom also hooked me up with one of her book club friends, who met the love of her life at her twenty-fifth high school reunion, and the sheer number of eighties songs to which they got their groove on made for a helluva night.
What’s not to love about being at a wedding? An entire day devoted to celebrating love while surrounded by family and friends? An opportunity to meld two separate worlds into a larger, richer community? Sign me up.
But this is the most fun wedding I’ve deejayed by far.
Bloom’s friends love to dance. They shake and shimmy to every song, with Nate and London busting out the moves. But I haven’t seen her for the last hour. Not that I’m clock-watching. Besides, I’m in the zone, lasered in on spinning tunes and only on spinning tunes.
The lady of the evening bounces over to the DJ booth. This is Bloom’s first break from the dance floor since she and her hubs cut the cake, and the bride is absolutely glowing.
