Page 14 of Lucky's Trouble

Myla basically knows everything about me, including my track record with women. There’s no chance in hell she’ll be okay with me pursuing her sister. For someone who fucks for a living, she gets awfully judgmental when I talk about my weekends full of sex and booze. I used to think it was funny to watch her face screw up as she called me a “man-whore,” but now that she’ll be the cockblock between Tinleigh and me, I’m regretting sharing so much with her.

Suddenly, rushing back to the Honey Pot doesn’t sound like such a good idea because once we get there, I’ll have to walk away. I’m not ready for that yet. There’s still so much I want to know about her that I won’t get once Myla’s around.

I spot a popular breakfast spot up ahead and decide a little detour is in order.

CHAPTER FOUR

TINLEIGH

My heart pounds in my chest, and with how fast my breaths are coming, I fear I’ll hyperventilate. It’s not the adrenaline from being on a motorcycle that has me all riled up, though Lucky’s bike is dead sexy. No, it’s because I’m certain someone is going to realize I’m gone.

I’ve only snuck out once before and vowed to never do it again, not after Neal found out and taught me a lesson I’ll never forget. Still, I can’t bring myself to regret it because it was the night I got Myla out of there.

Slowing my breaths, I tell myself it’s too late now, and if I’m going to be punished for this little jaunt, I might as well enjoy my time away. After this, it might never happen again, so I’ll put on a brave face and soak up all the sister time I can.

Except when Lucky parks, it’s not at the Honey Pot. It’s at a small restaurant called Squeeze In.

The engine has barely been cut before I’m off the bike and in Lucky’s face. “What the fuck are we doing here?”

He pulls his helmet off and shakes his head, reviving his long, wavy hair that I know from experience is silky and smells like spice with a hint of motor oil—a scent that might only be appealing to me. That’s not the only thing I notice. His eyes are gray-blue, like a stormy ocean. They’re hypnotic.

No. Not hypnotic. Annoying. Because we’re at a restaurant and not the brothel where my sister is.

“Calm down, hellcat,” he says, noticing my sharp gaze. “I skipped breakfast since I had to wake up at the butt-crack of dawn to pick your ass up, and I’m starving.” He takes the helmet from me and rests it on his bike.

“Isn’t there a restaurant at the Honey Pot?” I ask, knowing full well there is. Myla and I haven’t spoken a lot since she left the Thirst Trap, but she did give me a run-down of the brothel when she got the job.

“I eat there all the time.” He throws an arm around my shoulders and propels me forward. “I want something different.”

I shove him off me. “I don’t have time for this.”

Instead of doing what I want, he continues into the restaurant without me, knowing he’s my ride and I have no other options. I’d call an Uber, but I don’t have a bank card. I’m literally stuck here.

“Lucky!” I yell, shielding my eyes from the sun.

Again, the bastard ignores me and walks into the restaurant.

Huffing, I follow after him. The second I’m inside, the delicious aroma of eggs, bacon, and sausage hits me, and my stomach growls. I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday since I try to not eat before a shift—dancing with a full belly is a bad idea for many reasons—and by the time I got home, I was so anxious about today that I couldn’t bring myself to eat.

I spot Lucky at the hostess station, where a teenage girl is ogling him with puppy dog eyes as she gathers menus and leads him into the dining room. With my arms folded across my chest, I march after them.

“I’ll have a coffee, and she’ll have. . .” He motions to me as I take a seat in the booth across from him.

“Orange juice, please.”

The girl’s smile falls when she sees me. She was probably hoping Lucky was dining alone. Her disappointment makes me feel a bit better. This is only one of many unpleasant things that will happen in her innocent life, and I’m happy I was part of it.

Does that make me a bitch? Probably. But nobody has any business being happy in a world where evil things are going on right under their noses. Things that wouldn’t happen if people weren’t so caught up in their own bullshit.

I guess you could say I’m jaded.

“I’ll grab your drinks, and your server will be right with you,” she says, her attention only on the big scary biker, who apparently isn’t scary to teenagers. But he is to the adults in the room. I didn’t miss the conversations that quieted as he entered or the hushed whispers now that we’re seated.

I should tell them I’m a stripper and really give them something to talk about.

“Glad you could join me.” Lucky rests his folded arms on the table, his plain white tee pulling across his biceps. One of his arms is heavily tattooed with what I think is a colorful pirate motif, but the other is nearly a blank slate. I wonder why he got them and how much more of him is tattooed.

No, I don’t.

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