Lucky Kisses Page 7

  “They’re contacts!” she shouts up over the music. “I need them for reading, but I thought why not? Purple is like my favorite color! You know?”

  “Right. Lucky has eyes like that, only they’re real.” I try to sound casual as if I’m not making too big of a deal about it. But damn, Lucky Madden’s eyes should be under glass at the Smithsonian.

  She squints over at me hard. “Who’s Lucky?”

  “Just some chick I know. She’s a feisty brunette about this tall, lots of personality—too much if you ask me. She’s got a mean edge to her. Funny as hell, though. You know, she’s actually—”

  The blonde lifts a hand. “I think I see my friends. Nice chatting with you.”

  It goes like that all night. The clock ticks closer to midnight, and Rush has already taken Jenna to The Row, showered, and made his way back to the bar.

  It’s eleven fifty-nine, and I can’t help but glare at my friends. It looks like Eli has joined in on the fun because the three of them are making their way over with a shot of something brown as syrup in Grant’s hand.

  Shit. I cast a desperate look at the girls still swinging their hips.

  What do I do? For the life of me, I try to recall if it’s illegal to pay someone to have sex with you. It’s only illegal the other way around, right? Fuck, I can’t think straight.

  “Time.” Rush lands his mitt on my shoulder. “It’s midnight, Cinderella—your dick is about to swell up like a pumpkin.”

  “It’ll be temporary.” Eli offers up his weak attempt at comfort. “I hear the swelling goes down in three to six weeks.”

  Fuck. I have never lost a bet. I have never had so much on the line and lost a bet.

  Grant pushes the shot glass to me. “Scotch neat. Drink up, princess.”

  “You mean prince.” Eli offers me a pat to the back as the three of them navigate me to the door.

  “Prince,” I mutter as I glare at the murky brown liquid before I down it. “I guess I’m ready for my close-up.”

  I’m not ready by a long shot, but there’s no way I’m willing to admit it.

  Rush drives us down to Jepson, down to Think Ink, where the mutilation of my man parts is about to commence.

  “So, what went wrong?” Eli seems genuinely interested in how I managed to lose a bet with my dick on the line. “The entire bar shut you out?”

  “He couldn’t keep his mouth shut,” Rush offers.

  “What?” I glance over at him as the streetlights whitewash him a sickly shade. “I talked to every chick in that bar twice. I don’t know what the hell happened. Maybe you paid them all to shut me down.” Now it’s making sense. Of course, he did. Rush has a wad of bills with him at all hours. Bankrolling the girls at the Black Bear is something he might consider if he thinks he can turn my dick into entertainment for the evening.

  “You wish.” Rush barks out a laugh so loud and hostile, it alone refutes my theory. “I talked to Sharon about a half hour ago, and word at the bar is you kept bringing up your girlfriend.”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend, so that right there proves you’re a lousy detective.” And perhaps a lousy friend, considering he’s sped us all the way over.

  “Dark hair—purple eyes?” Grant interjects. “Dude, you talked to every chick in there about another girl. In the event you don’t realize it, that’s a big no-no when you’re trying to get laid.”

  “He’s right,” Eli spouts off from the backseat. “That’s Getting Laid 101 basics. Do not mention another chick. Nothing dive-bombs a potentially fun night faster than another girl. You’ve got to make them feel like they’re number one. You got to make sure—”

  “All right. Enough from the peanut gallery.”

  Rush brings his truck to an abrupt stop and kills the engine before we head inside. Think Ink is in a seedy part of town with derelicts and the odd cop car parked precariously up the street, and oddly it’s not enough to make my dick or me feel safe. Nope. Not even an entire army of men dressed in blue is able to get me out of this predicament. I’m the one that landed myself in this shit hole, and now I’m the one who’ll suffer for it.

  “You can chicken out if you want,” Grant says, looking at all the artwork displayed on the walls. It’s surprisingly clean and bright inside.

  A beautiful blonde jumps out of her seat once she spots us and gives Grant a running hug. Her nametag spells out DAISY in rhinestones that shine like the real deal. “Where’s Ava?” She gasps as if we’ve lost a child.

  “Girls’ night.” Grant is quick to answer.

  “You boys getting tatted tonight?” Her eyes spring wide with hope at the prospect of four paying customers at this late hour.

  “Pierced,” Rush corrects before giving me a tiny shove forward. “And it’s just the one.”

  “Prince Albert here wants the royal treatment.” Eli howls out a laugh.

  Who the hell invited him to this party again?

  “Oh!” Her eyes enlarge. “Ooh.” She winces. “Follow me.” She sets us up in a large room that has the capacity to seat us all. “You sit here, sugar.” She offers a sickly smile. “I don’t do needles, so I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

  Jet comes in, and she bounces a kiss off his lips before taking off. I knew it was his girlfriend. I’ve seen them together at the bar on more than one occasion. And they work together, too? It must be rough to be chained down like that, never able to escape.

  “It’s you.” Jet offers a polite smile. “And you.” He slaps Grant five. “What’s up, boys? Who’s having all the fun?” He gurgles a dark laugh while gloving up.

  The room gives a slight spin, and as much as I’d like to blame the scotch, I know for a fact it’s that tray of mid-century weaponry he’s got laid out in front of me.

  “I’m up.” I take a deep breath. “It’s a Prince Albert kind of a night.” That sounded stupid as shit, just like me sitting here waiting to have my dick punctured is stupid as shit.

  “Let’s see it.” Jet puts on a pair of clear goggles and a paper gown. “You might be a bleeder.”

  Bleeder? My dick has the potential to fucking bleed? The room gives a slight spin again.

  I unbutton my jeans and pull my junk out of my boxers. Jet comes in close and flicks the tip hard with his middle finger.

  “Holy shit!” I bark out, and he laughs.

  “Relax. That was me gauging your response. It wasn’t pretty. Buck up, buttercup. You’re in for a shit ride. You need something to bite down on? I don’t like a lot of noise. It scares potential customers.”

  “I’m good.” I growl over at my ex-friends all tittering to themselves like a bunch of thirteen-year-old girls.

  “All right. I’ll have you pick out a piece. He hands me a black velvet box filled with gold and silver rings with a round nub on the end of each of them.

  “This one really gets the girls going.” He lands his finger over a thick one with a particularly large ball on the end. “She’ll thank you, and you’ll thank me.”

  “Good enough. How bad is this going to hurt?”

  Jet ticks his head back a notch as he takes the ring out and soaks it in alcohol. “Dude, you’re getting a very sensitive part of your body punctured with a fucking needle. Do the math.” He takes my dick in his hand, and I begin to sweat. “You sure you go to Briggs?” He gives a little wink, and that’s when I see Lucky’s face hiding out there in his features. Those exaggeratingly large eyes, that smooth skin, the same straight nose, and squared-off teeth. I’d give anything to be with her right now and not locked in a room with my dick in her brother’s hand.

  “Close your eyes if you have to.” He comes at me with a ball of cotton dipped in something that resembles blood.

  “Just cleaning you up. The risk of infection is low, but I need you to keep this shit clean. You got that?”

  As soon as that cold liquid touches down over my skin, I hop out of my seat, stuff my unroyal ass back into my boxers, and make a beeline for the exit. I’ll run home if
I have to.

  Eli, Rush, and Grant pour out of Think Ink laughing their asses off.

  “You should have seen your face!” Rush leans back and howls at the moon.

  Grant comes in and pats me on the back. “Thanks, man. I couldn’t watch you do it. I think you spared all of us nightmares that would have spanned decades.”

  Eli comes over, shaking his head at me, that stupid grin still plastered on his face. “Rush told half the girls we were headed over. I bet there’s a line forming outside your bedroom right now with girls just dying to take you for a test drive.” He pats my back. “This could still work to your advantage.”

  “Great,” I say lackluster as we pile back into Rush’s Rover.

  My phone buzzes, and I look down to see a text from Lucky.

  Hail to the King! Or should I say Prince? Half the girls in Cutler Tower didn’t even know what a Prince Albert was until tonight. Way to educate the masses. Hope you brought your tweezers and magnifying glass! Do they make rings that small? ;)

  I frown down at her words as if it were Lucky herself. She’s the exact reason I’m in this mess to begin with, and yet ironically having her shoot me a text makes everything feel a little better.

  I text right back. I see good news travels fast. If you’re gunning for a dick pic, you can tuck yourself back into bed with your teddy bear. This isn’t show-and-tell, princess. This is for the big girls. Unless you’re volunteering to kiss it and make it better, I’ll see you on the flip side.

  She texts back. Kiss it and make it better? Just vomited all over my imaginary teddy bear. Good luck with your bloody specimen. A word of advice, bedazzling body parts is never suggested or recommended, especially not the delicate variety. I’m sure your mom is proud.

  My mom. I laugh out loud at the thought, and Rush glances over. “Who’s that?”

  “Lucky,” I say under my breath just as I shoot off another text her way.

  My mom doesn’t give a rip what happens to my man parts or me. Haven’t seen her in years. Not sure why I confessed that. I’m sure Lucky couldn’t care less that I have a virtual relationship with my mother that consists of her Facebook updates and a monthly Skype chat. I happen to know Lucky’s own mother has passed away. I’m pretty sure Lucky would do anything to have a virtual relationship with her mom, and now I feel bad for rubbing it in—not that I meant to.

  “Lucky, huh?” Grant pipes up from the back. “You’re getting awfully close to the fire, my man. You two should hang out with Ava and me sometimes. Ava would love it.”

  “Lucky would hate it.” Because she seems to hate me. But she does seem to enjoy the art of hating me. Even I’m a little amused by her efforts. “Trust me, she’s a hurricane that none of us should have anything to do with.”

  She texts back. Sorry about that. My parents weren’t perfect either so I get it. How about I buy you coffee sometime, and you can tell me all about how you sucked it up and took it like a man while some dude drove a spike through your winky? I promise I’ll do my best to pretend to care.

  “Winky?” Eli reads from over my shoulder, and I’m quick to tuck the phone to my chest.

  “You mind? This is a private conversation.”

  “It might be private—hell, you might be in denial about how you feel, but one thing is for sure. You’re getting sucked in at a hundred miles an hour by that hurricane force you keep complaining about.”

  Rush chuckles at the road ahead. “Me thinks he doth protest too much.”

  “All right, Shakespeare, get us home in one piece.”

  I text back. Coffee sounds nice. And leave it at that.

  Everything about Lucky sounds nice right about now, but I’m not Grant, or Rex, or Knox, or Jet. I don’t need a significant other to give me all the feels. Nope. I’ve seen the flip side to love, and it ends badly. I’m not putting my balls on the chopping block for anyone—not for Lucky, that’s for damn sure.

  She pings back. Then it’s set. I have a date with the prince! Goodnight. Hope you can sleep with that bag of ice on your crotch. When it’s time to urinate and fire comes shooting out of your nice new hole, just keep telling yourself I make good decisions!

  I fire right back. I do make good decisions. On second thought, I’m talking to you, aren’t I? Thanks for sponsoring my new existential crisis. Night.

  A silly grin springs to my lips all the way back to The Row.

  I do make good decisions—that’s why I chose not to inflict myself with another orifice. And that’s why I choose to inflict myself with Lucky’s special brand of torment.

  Wait—Lucky isn’t a good decision—is she?

  I hit my bed and think about that—about her all night and well into the morning.

  Winds are picking up. A storm is headed in this direction.

  Hurricane Lucky is about to hit land, and neither my black heart nor I want to get out of her way.

  Netflix and Chill

  Lucky

  A week blows by, and I spend most of my time in class or at Think Ink trying to dodge the cameras that are taking over my brother’s life. All I do is sit there for three hours straight, studying at the counter as if it were the library. I’m not sure why Jet thought I would be a good fit for the shop other than the fact he actually wants me to earn my way through school. I suppose I do save him the trouble of paying someone else, and he’s forever giving me cash, so this kills two birds with one stone. And, of course, there is always the standard go-to answer when it comes to Jet and me—this is a great way to monitor my time from five to eight p.m. I’m not sure what else he thinks I might be doing during those nefarious hours, but in truth I think Jet just likes to keep me close.

  On Monday, the community interaction project is another thorn that’s about to pierce my side. Come to find out, this community-based project I signed up for requires me to actually interact amongst the community. Go figure.

  Rush emailed my assignment last night, and I’m to show up at Hollow Brook Middle School between the hours of twelve to one so long as it doesn’t mess with my schedule. And considering I have a break between eleven and two, this small window in which I usually pass time in the food court will now be spent hauling ass across town and wading through a bunch of seventh graders. I’m still not sure whether to consider this a blessing or a curse. Harper was assigned the women’s shelter, and Rush says he has the boys’ club. Nevertheless, I’m to meet my partner in middle school crime at the main office at noon sharp to discuss what our task might entail and get acquainted with school authorities. I went to Hollow Brook Middle School myself, so to be back on campus, volunteering no less, at my old stomping grounds makes me feel a bit heroic, if not like a well-put together adult. I’m neither, but that doesn’t seem to make a difference.

  Heading to the main office on any campus to discuss anything with authorities sends my adrenaline soaring and my heart palpitating as if I’ve just been caught red-handed after hosing down the gym with a can of spray paint. I’ve never been in trouble, not in a major sense, and most certainly not in the scholastic sense. Mostly because when you get down to the brass tacks, I’m a good girl. And, if I ever did do anything even remotely rebellious, there would be Jet to contend with. If anything, my brother was a tour de force that blew out any rebellious flame in me before it could ever turn into a blaze.

  I head into the large blue building, among the smell of old schoolbooks, something just this side of glue and crayons, the faint after scent of body odor—or maybe it’s burrito day in the caf? A large glass door with the word office stenciled on the glass greets me, and my heart gives one last rollicking thump as I make my way inside. A mob of kids moves past me—it’s scary how baby-faced everyone looks after you leave the establishment for a few years. I try to maneuver around the mob and stumble, landing chest first into a familiar looking body.

  I look up, only to meet with those hauntingly familiar emerald eyes.

  “It’s you.” It comes out depleted of emotion, but for some reason, my
heart kicks up a few hundred notches and drums straight into my ear.

  “Glad to see you, too.” Lawson flexes a brief smile, and my heart palpitates ten times faster. Honest to God, if he inspires a coronary incident in me, I will truly haunt him for the rest of his days. “Rush must have thought we’d make a stellar team.”

  “Rush likes to annoy me—thus, your ever presence in my life.” I start in on a scowl, and that conversation comes back regarding his mother. If anything, I’m a sucker for a good sob story, and Lawson has one in spades. I’ve dealt with enough rejection in my life to know that it feels like a rusted razor sawing you in two from the inside. “Maybe we can turn the tables on Rush and actually get along?” I swallow hard because I can’t help but feel like I’ve walked into a hornets’ nest with that one—especially considering that I don’t particularly get along with anyone.

  His brows furrow as if he doesn’t know what to make of me. “Maybe we can?”

  The office attendant hands us a brief list of rules of what not to do, general school regulations, and a rundown on how to approach every situation with positivity. What she doesn’t give us is an actual assignment. Instead, she lets us know the student body is enjoying their lunch and will be for the very next hour.

  “Great,” I say as we step out into the hall where nary the squeak of a sneaker is present. “So, now what?”

  “That’s easy, Madden—we go eat lunch.” He tousles my hair like he means it. “What the heck, your meal is on me.”

  Lawson and I follow our noses down the corridor and into the building across the way where hundreds, although it sounds like thousands, of students fill the large, cavernous room. An entire plethora of funky scents take over—which on a normal day might cause me to hurl, but on this half-starved day all I want to do is get in line and start snapping up the green Jell-O with the best of them.

  Lawson and I do just that. With the cutting calculation of a surgeon, we meticulously piece together our meals. Pizza and fries for me with a side of said green Jell-O, and a burger with extra pickles, and fries for my partner in junior high crime.