Page 56 of How to Get Lucky
My skin prickles with nerves.
No, worse—with guilt.
As they walk away, I turn to face London. Her brown eyes display her worry too.
I groan, the loudest groan in the city, then drop my face to the table. “I’m such an ass.”
Running into my coworkers for breakfast and lying to them? How the hell did I get to this point?
Oh, right. By trying to hedge my bets.
A soft hand strokes my hair. “You’re not an ass. But maybe . . .”
I lift my face. “Maybe I am?”
She shakes her head. “No. But maybe if you feel that way, we should . . .”
She doesn’t have to finish the thought—I do. I hate what I’m about to say, but I have to say it. “Cool things off?” It comes out strangled. Hell, the words are choking me.
She nods, her gaze full of sympathy. “I don’t want to, but I get why you feel crummy. You’ve been honest with me about where you’re coming from. I know that mixing work and relationships is tough for you.”
“So we should cool it?” I ask, needing the confirmation, needing to say it aloud, so it registers fully.
“Maybe? Probably,” she says heavily.
My heart sinks like an anchor in my chest. Because she’s right. I’ve been honest with her, but I haven’t been honest with Archer. And that’s on me. I knew I was playing with fire. I was living on borrowed time, a mouse playing while the cat was away. But that’s not how you tell someone something hard.
There’s a right way to do things.
To say the hard stuff.
Seeing the guys is the splash of cold water I needed. I can’t keep having my cake and eating it too simply because of a fucking camping trip.
Archer unplugged is a reprieve, but it’s not permission.
I thought I had set my defenses up to protect against this possibility. All I had to do was meet a woman from outside my place of business. Keep work and my private life separate. In Los Angeles, of all places, that shouldn’t have been difficult. Then I met London. And now she’s the only woman I want.
Trouble is, I haven’t earned her yet.
If I’m going to take the good-guy challenge in bed, I need to behave like one outside of the bedroom too. That means doing the right thing, even when it’s difficult.
I swallow roughly, then nod, owning this next step no matter how much it sucks. “I should sort things out,” I say, doing my best to play it cool, like this is easy. Because I don’t want to make anything harder for her.
Her face relaxes, her expression softening, like she’s relieved. “That moment just now was a little too close for comfort. Maybe we both need to breathe.”
“Absolutely. You’ve got this new opportunity in San Francisco. You should figure out what that means too.”
“More than that, Teddy,” London says softly, like she’s forcing the words out. “I see how conflicted you are right now, and I don’t want to be the one to stand in your way.”
Her last line hits me square in the chest. But as much as I want to fight for us, she’s right. “And I don’t want to stand in your way either.”
She glances inside toward the restaurant, then smacks her forehead. “I just remembered. I got the time wrong on that call. It’s in a half hour. I better go and take it at home.”
I blink, surprised. London usually remembers details like that. “Of course. Good luck.”
“And to you too,” she says, then grabs her purse, palms her keys, and stands.
What the hell do I do now? Hug her? Kiss her goodbye? Shake hands? “I’ll talk to you soon?”
It comes out as a question, one neither of us can answer.
She shoots me a sad smile, then nods, spins on her heel, and walks away.
I groan in frustration, dragging a hand through my hair. I don’t know when I will talk to her, because I’m pretty sure we just broke up.
And surer still that we needed to.
My stomach churns, and my head pounds.
I sink low in my chair, rubbing my hand across the back of my neck, wishing I could go back in time. Redo things. Change things. I don’t even know.
Do something differently.
All along, I’ve been playing with fire, chasing a work high, a sex high, and then a falling-in-love high too.
But with all highs, there’s a low. The higher you soar, the farther you fall.
And this is a bumpy ride back down.
A minute later, the waiter brings two plates of eggs, but I don’t even have the stomach for one.
Especially when my phone buzzes and I check my email.
It’s from the bride who just hired me.
Turns out she’s postponing her wedding indefinitely.
Looks like in the span of ten minutes, I’ve lost a gig, the woman, and maybe even the job I already have.
