Page 40 of The Lucky List
Never mind
Just talked to Hardy.
He said you were up at the firehouse late last night.
Lucy, you got some ’splaining to do!
[gif of Lucille Ball]
I’m just going to assume you had a late night and that you’re dick drunk and sleeping it off.
Summer is going to drop the boys off.
Also, I may have told her about the firehouse.
She was worried since you weren’t answering your phone.
I’M SORRY
Also, I’m going to need details!
Did you hump the hot firefighter?
I’ve been begging Hardy to bang me at the firehouse but he keeps shutting it down.
You’re a lucky girl.
I’m alive. Sorry for the scare.
I pocket my phone and head downstairs before I’m gone too long and the boys get into trouble. Or make another mess like the poopocalypse of a few years ago. I shudder at thethought of a repeat of that disaster. My Bissell still looks at me with disdain. Is it normal that my longest, most dependable relationship is with a vacuum?
When I hit the middle step, I hear a deep male voice. A deep maleand slightly Irishvoice.
I look around the space, terrified I’m going to run into Mike while looking like a total bridge troll. My hair is in a bun—and not the cute messy kind—I have no makeup on, and I’m wearing clothes from two days ago that were on the floor of my bedroom. And no bra. Fuck my luck.
He wouldn’t have shown up here the morning after our hookup, would he? I did agree to after-hookup dates, but surely, he’d give me some warning.
My boys wouldn’t just open the door and let him in, would they?
Yes, they absolutely would.
I get to the bottom of the stairs and look around, praying I don’t see his ridiculously handsome face, but the boys are sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the iPad.
“Do it again!” Levi laughs.
Micah’s fingers swipe on the screen, and a loud fart noise comes from the tablet. Oh, thank God, they must be watching one of those stupid YouTube videos again. I walk over to the kitchen and start straightening up the island.
“How was that?” the familiar voice asks, and I pause my movements. “That one sounded real, right?”
“It did!” both boys squeal in unison, and another fart sound blares from the device.
Micah turns around from his spot on the couch and holds the tablet up, pointing the screen in my direction. “Mama, say hi to?—”
All the blood drains from my face, and I don’t hear the rest of his sentence because my eyes are glued to Mr. March staring back at me from FaceTime.
I drop to the floor, hiding behind the counter like that cansave me from this nightmare scenario, except when my knee hits the floor, I don’t see the LEGO until it imbeds itself in my flesh. “FUUUUDGE!”
“Oh no, Mama!” Micah cries.
