Page 24 of Bad Luck Club

“We?” he asked. “Is Dottie coming?”

Stella laughed. “Oh, no. By ‘we,’ I mean me, Lurch, Drake, and of course you.”

His blood ran cold. She was building a reverse harem, and he was the next recruit.

“I won’t be able to make it,” he said, wondering how he’d gotten himself into this position. If he’d been in his element and his self-confidence hadn’t been dinged and dented, he would be putting this woman in her place. So why couldn’t he even get it together enough to form a coherent response?

“Lee has plans tomorrow night,” Dottie said. “Isn’t that right, Lee?”

He blinked. “What?”

“He has plans with Blue,” Dottie said, “so he won’t be able to join you.”

Stella’s nose crinkled. “Blue? What do you see in her? My art has meaning. It’s about life and death and sensuality. She spends her time knitting stuffed animals.”

Lee thought about the octopus she’d given him. It must have taken her countless hours to create. He didn’t have an eye for art like Adalia, but that didn’t stop him from saying, “She’s very talented.”

Dottie looked pleased with his answer.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Stella said, “So you’re smitten with her.”

Was he? Maybe, but was it a good idea to be involved with a woman who was trying to drag him into a cult?

Stella was giving him an appraising look and licking her lips.

Oh. God.

“Dottie’s right,” he said. “I have plans. Looks like I’ll have to take a rain check.” One heneverplanned to cash in.

Chapter Eight

“So he’s coming over to your apartment tonight. At eight o’clock. And it’s not a date. Or a booty call.” Adalia’s voice filtered over the Bluetooth speakers in her Lexus, another relic of her life before.

“Exactly,” Blue said, watching the road. “He confirmed it last night.”

Specifically, he’d said,I’m still not sure about agreeing to the club on Sunday, Blue, but I’ll give you Saturday. You intrigued me. Thank you for the octopus. Your work is beautiful.

She’d told herself that he meant her talk about the club had intrigued him, not her personally.

“And you can’t explain because of the rules of Bad Luck Club,” Adalia pressed.

“Right.”

“Een-ter-est-ing.”

“No bugging my house,” Blue said, her mind flashing to her mom’s text. What would she find when she got to Greenville? Her mom’s friend had texted back yesterday, telling her that she was away from town for a long weekend but would absolutely do a mental health check when she got back, and her mom had finally answered her phone last night. While she had sounded happy on the phone, it had been an on-top-of-the-world kind of happy, which was worrying in and of itself. She hated that. The last thing she wanted to do was worry because her mother was happy, but with that text the other night…

“No promises,” Adalia said, bringing her back to the conversation. “Maisie’s pretty good at installing doggy cams.” She paused, and Blue imagined her in the studio, circling one of her mixed media pieces. She’d been working like a fiend lately, putting in the final preparations for her show. Just a few more weeks. Blue couldn’t wait to see the pieces she’d watched spring to life arranged in a gallery. There was a kind of magic in that, and she felt privileged to be a part of it. She’d finalized her plans for the New York trip this last week. The expenses had been worrying, particularly since the Asheville Buchanans were staying at a nice hotel, but Maisie and Jack, bless them, had invited her to stay in the living area of their hotel suite. “You’re at the studio, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged. I actually sold one of your pieces for you. I went into the display area to grab some coffee and saw someone peeking in through the window. I popped up in front of it and gave them a good spook. But then I let them in and did a hard sell of an octopus. They picked up a weaving too, although I had to pretend it was a sunset instead of an abstract. I put together a whole story about it. You know, you’re notnearlyaggressive enough for your own good.”

A smile floated to Blue’s face. “Thanks, Addy. You know sales isn’t my strong suit.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that impression from the fact that you do donation yoga classes.”

“People donate,” she protested weakly.

“A few dollars. You’re a fully trained yogi. You should charge as much as anyone else in town.”

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