Page 3 of Lucy and Her Wicked Three

Portia stands tall beside me, watching him leave. "Lucky bitch."

I smile like a fool. Mateo and I have our ups and downs, but I'm so in love with him it hurts. "I really am."

I can practically feel her rolling her eyes, but it doesn't dampen my newly energized mood. Becca's not-so-patiently waiting, a sour look on her face, with my next outfit in hand. I finish slipping on the romper while Becca fusses with my makeup.

"Anything smudged? Am I good?"

"Practically CGI," she states sagely.

"Perfect. Do I need tape?" My confidence plummets whenever someone suggests I need to be taped or tucked, so I always ask first.

"Nope, it's perfect. But they're a little short, so they might ride up when you walk. Just keep that in mind."

Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I brush off the exhaustion and stretch my smile wide.

It took another hour of posing and fake laughing, but eventually, Ziva called a wrap, and we were done; my perky smile was fraying, and I couldn't manage more thana perfunctory "Love y'all!" before bolting for the door once released from my duties.

I find Mateo leaning against the brick building, his lean frame, dark hair, and olive-tone skin cast in ominous darkness in the streetlight's shadow. He's tapping furiously on his phone, oblivious to my admiration. Portia busts out of the door behind me, the sound finally compelling Mateo to look up. His ever-present scowl softens when he catches me staring.

Reaching out for me, I step into his embrace, and with an arm slung over my shoulder, we follow Portia down the street. She and I already had plans to grab a drink and meet up with Delaney, and Mateo's used to just tagging along beside me, getting in any time we can to spend together since he's always so busy.

My exhaustion wanes under the support of Mateo's arm while we stroll. He's still dressed from work, wearing a crisp navy suit, looking dapper as fuck. He makes my legs go weak. Despite the number of times I glance up just to get a glimpse of his face—five-o'clock shadow, thick dark eyebrows, wide soft lips, coal black eyes—watching him never gets old. I wonder if it ever will.

"Lucy!"

"Huh? Oh, what? Sorry," I giggle sheepishly while Portia rolls her eyes, smirking and shaking her head. Determined to be a better friend and pay closer attention, I step out from under Mateo's arm, but he snags my hand and holds it while we walk.

Portia handles the cracks in the sidewalk like she's teaching a MasterClass in runway.

"How do you get away with wearing an extra six inches while we're doing an athletic shoot, anyway?"

Portia snickers, "Please, no one's exercising in this dress." She flaps the skirt piece, exposing the tiny little shorts beneath the skirt material.

"Truth." It's too cute to get sweaty in, even if it didn't cost hundreds of dollars.

We round the corner, turning at the next block, approaching one of our local haunts. It's the same high-end bar where I met Mateo.

That night, I was celebrating landing an advertising deal with a vegan meal prep company and took myself out for drinks. And there was Mateo, sitting at the bar with a coworker of his, who kept getting distracted by the bartender's tits falling out of her top.

Though the bartender only had eyes for Mateo, he barely noticed her, so laser-focused on the portfolio of work in front of him and, what I now know, scrutinizing the stock market on his phone. So when the bartender finally gave up on him and his coworker wandered off, I walked right up to him and asked if he wanted to have a drink with me. I think he was so shocked to be asked—no coy flirtation, fake giggling, or boobs spilling into his face—that he said yes. And I had his attention the rest of the night.

He holds the door open, Portia stepping in first, with me following behind, Mateo's hand heavy on my lower back. I spot Delaney at our usual table, talking into her phone in selfie mode, live on social media.

"Okay, love you guys!" Delaney kisses her fingers and waves goodbye to her fans. She hangs up, barely acknowledging our arrival. "Oh my god, I'm starving. This was such a shitty day. AllSpace called and changed my advertising agreements again, and I am freaking out."

"That really sucks, D, I'm sorry. Can you request a new contract so they can't keep jerking you around?" I ask, climbing into the high steel chair.

Delaney rolls her eyes. "Um,duh, Lucy." Then she knocks her knuckles against her head, implying I'm an idiot for asking. Iwince, but she continues, "I have to check. I need a new agency, anyway. They screwed me over, not giving me more control with my advertisers."

This never surprised me; she always liked to toe the line between edgy and getting canceled, which is kind of an agent's worst nightmare.

Delaney's voice goes up a pitch, "Mateo, maybe you know a good contract lawyer I could talk to?"

Mateo barely glances her way, face buried in his phone. "Yeah, I dunno. Maybe."

I drag my chair closer to him, and he rests a hand on my seat, fingers gently caressing my back. I squeeze his thigh in thanks, knowing he gets bored when we talk about social media.

In her typical frenzy, Delaney talks a mile a minute, chatting with everyone in spitting distance, the servers, and people who walk past our table. If I didn't know any better, I might think she was on uppers, but that's how Delaney is—the life of the party. Most people don't even mind it, and she doesn't seem to get exhausted by the constant output of energy like I would. I envy that about her.

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