Page 8 of Getting Lucky

Once they were inside, Maisie set the lemon drop martini down on the kitchen counter.

“Don’t take it the wrong way, but it turns out I’d rather take the bartender home than finish the drink,” she said, grabbing Jack’s bicep. It felt just as good as she’d thought it would. And as soon as she got him out of River’s shirt, she could stop thinking about the fact that itwashis shirt, questioning whether her attraction to Jack was about Jack or whether she was projecting. She didn’t think she was. Not this time. Jack was sexy as hell, smart, and quick-witted enough to keep up with her. But she’d gone to see her older sister a couple of months ago, and Mary had told her, gently, that her last three boyfriends had looked like they’d come from an audition for the role of River Reeves. They’d even had the same kind of baggage. Broken homes, parents who’d adiosed.

Just like Jack.

Stop sabotaging yourself. A smoking hot man who can make you laugh also wants to make you moan. Forget River. Forget Adalia. And definitely forget Georgie. Tonight’s for you. You, and this man with the ridiculous arms.

“I can’t fault your decision-making,” Jack said with a grin.

She heard voices near the back door. If anyone came in right now, it would destroy the spell between them, this bubble they were making, so she grabbed Jack’s hand and tugged him toward the front of the house.

“You can follow me,” she said as she led him out the door. “If you leave your car here all night, they’ll assume you got eaten by Stella.”

“All night, huh?” Jack said, his voice husky.

She could practically feel the prickles rising on her back. “Well, I wasn’t planning on driving you back in the dead of night. Last I checked, I’m not a taxi service.”

She came to a stop in front of her Jeep, and he stopped with her.

“Hey,” he said, lifting a hand to her hip, his touch searing her. It had been much too long since she’d been touched like that, and she wanted those hands everywhere. They were strong hands, capable. “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I’m just feeling pretty lucky. It’s not every day a gorgeous woman invites me home.”

“You mean it’s only a once-a-week kind of a thing?” she asked.

He shook his head slightly. “After the goats and the goose and Stella…I’d say this is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.”

The way he was eyeing her up said he wasn’t just talking about the circumstances.

She wanted to kiss that grin off his lips, make sure the kiss in the kitchen hadn’t been a fluke—weren’t you supposed to preview the goods before you went all in?—but they were in full view of anyone in the street, plus maybe some of the people out back, and she didn’t want anyone to see them. She’d meant what she’d said: one night. The last thing she was equipped for right now was a healthy relationship. So she settled for touching those arms again, squeezing them.

“Which car is yours?” she asked.

He nodded to a Prius that had seen better days, and she reached around and patted her green Jeep, which had also seen better days.

“Nice car,” he said, and she just nodded. It wasn’t. But it had been her dad’s car, and her parents had been gone almost a decade now. She’d drive it into the ground and then some.

“See you there?”

“I look forward to it,” he said, in a deep, husky voice she felt down to her ovaries.

Down, girl.

He squeezed her hip and headed down to his car.

She drove carefully all the way home, checking her rearview mirror frequently to make sure he was still behind her. It had occurred to her belatedly that she should have given him the address, but Jack clearly knew his way around a car just like he knew how to stir a drink and calm a pissed-off goose. Every time she looked, she saw him there, right behind her. His expression looked intent, like he was planning all the things he wanted to do to her. Thinking about it gave her a full-body shiver. Her text alert went off a couple of times, and after she parked in her drive, she checked her phone.

They were both from River.Where are you? Dottie says there was an ‘incident’ with the goats, and you left. Someone stowed a goose in my old room, and I’m thinking of declaring the space a loss.

The second text was a picture of Diego sitting in the midst of a bunch of torn-up bedclothes and goose turds.

No mention of Jack. Somehow, she suspected it wasn’t because Jack’s absence hadn’t been noticed too, but because River would never guess she might do something as impulsive as take him home.

She was tempted to text back:Too bad. I stole the goose whisperer. Good luck getting the goose out now.

But a quick glance in her rearview mirror showed Jack was pulling up beside her, and she turned off her phone instead.

They got out at the same time, almost clicking doors. It wasn’t funny, not really, but she laughed anyway. Because she was feeling nearly giddy with the moment, something so unusual for her she felt a little beside herself.

Einstein must’ve heard the cars and her laughter—her corgi was old, not deaf—because he started barking at the door. Chaco, the little mutt she was fostering at home and leaning toward keeping, joined him.

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