Page 87 of Bad Luck Club

She silently pointed to it, her mind flitting to the themes they picked for Bad Luck Club. Dottie would have thought it was a sign, and frankly, she was inclined to agree. Lee’s eyes widened, but he took the turn.

“I’ve heard of this place before,” she said as he parked. “The rooms all have different themes.”

He turned to give her a look, his hand still up her dress, caressing her leg, making her wish it would continue its journey. “What do you think we’re getting into? What are the odds we’re going to find ourselves in a room full of murder clowns?”

She quirked her brow. “Would that be a problem?”

“Not if you have a thing for murder clowns. I just want to make you happy.”

Her heart swelled, and she reached for him across the center console, threading her hand into his hair and looking into those every-color eyes of his. “You do.” Then, because maybe Adalia and Maisie had rubbed off on her more than she’d thought, she added, “Murder clowns would strictly be a bonus.”

He laughed, his eyes twinkling, but when she went to kiss him, he pulled away. “No, Blue. Let’s get inside. I need you. It’s driving me crazy to wait.”

Heat filled every bit of her, from the crown of her head to her toes, welling in those places she’d ignored for too long. She couldn’t wait either, so she pulled away from him, missing his touch as soon as it was gone, and got out of the car. They walked to the door hand in hand, stumbling a little like they were drunk, even though neither had taken more than a few sips of their drinks at the bar.

When they entered the lobby, they exchanged a look, and both of them laughed, but it didn’t stop them from approaching the desk. A man in a vampire costume seriously vibing Boris Karloff stood behind the counter, his lips painted a dark red, his face powered white. Behind his coffin-shaped desk hung an assortment of colorful keychains, like prizes in a gumball machine. She saw a rainbow, an off-brand Stormtrooper helmet, and, yes, a clown hat. She pointed it out with her free hand, and Lee squeezed the one he held.

“Told you,” he said in a whisper. “You’re really doubling down on the whole abnormal thing.”

“And you’re taking it like a champ.” Any doubts she might have had left after their conversation yesterday had taken flight. Because although there was a humorous twist to his lips, he wasn’t scoffing at her or acting like there was something wrong with her. No, he was looking at her like she was the only woman in the world. Like he was something beyond lucky because she had decided to hold his hand.

The man behind the counter glanced up at them, and although she expected him to say something cheesy like,I vant to suck your blood, he just said, “Hey, I’m George. What can I do you for?” And somehow that was funnier, and this time she burst out laughing when Lee looked at her, and he did the same.

George’s expression didn’t even flicker, which only made Blue laugh harder.

“A room,” Lee gasped. “No murder clowns.”

George shrugged. “Different strokes for different folks,” and God, did he want to kill her with the laughing?

She was so hysterical with it, so light and free and happy, that she didn’t even register what Lee and George were talking about, other than that a card was exchanged and suddenly Lee was accepting a key from the man, one with a starfish keychain. And then Lee was taking her hand again, and they were walking down a hall that looked like a blender for movie ideas. A rainbow on the floor here, a fake spiderweb dripping from the corner there, complete with an animatronic spider. Who would want to go in that room?

Lee led her through the twists and turns expertly for someone who’d never been there before, but from the persistent tug of his hand, she knew he was as desperate for her as she was for him. Then they were stopping in front of a door, the hall here painted a beautiful cerulean blue.

“Ready?” he asked, jingling the keychain.

And she took it from him and opened the door, and gasped.

It was an under-the-sea room, the floor an ocean blue, with schools of fish painted on the wall. The bed was an enormous starfish, and there was a huge hot tub in the corner, designed to look like a wrecked ship. On the wall opposite the bed, an octopus undulated lazily through the water.

Setting the key on a side table, designed to look like a lump of coral, although flat on top, she turned to him. She pulled him to her and shut the door.

Standing on her tiptoes so she could be closer, their faces inches apart, his breath feathering her face, she said, “You asked George for this.”

All their joking fell away, and he lifted a hand to her cheek, touching her like she was the most precious thing in the world. “I did.”

Then, without saying anything else, she pulled off his jacket and then his gray polo shirt, revealing the muscular physique he’d gotten from pouring his emotions out at the gym. She let her hands trace him, learn him, rising up the ridges of his chest before traveling down each arm—and he grunted in a way that told him he was dying for her, that he wanted to grab her and throw her down on that starfish, but he was giving her this moment, this perusal, because she wanted it.

She reached for his belt then, taking in the straining beneath it, feeling the same pulse of womanly power she’d felt in the car the first time she’d brought him to the Bad Luck Club—something she felt whenever he was near—and slowly undid it before lowering his pants and boxer briefs.

He was beautiful, like a sculpture brought to life, only he wasn’t—he was a man, a beautiful, living, breathing man—and for now, at least, he was hers. She continued to trace him with her hands, crouching to run her fingers over his muscular legs, thinking of what he’d told her about running, and then skimmed them over his hardness too, taking in his gasp, his hitching breath, as she bent her head to kiss the tip. And then he was lifting her to her feet, his gaze both hungry and awed.

It hit her then that he’d allowed her to do this, to expose him and make him vulnerable, just like he had at the bar, and her heart swelled with something more than desire.

This man, this man.

He stepped out of his shoes, and she did the same, removing her jacket too. But when she went to remove her dress, he shook his head. “No. I want to do that.”

He reached behind her, beneath her mass of hair, and confidently unbuttoned the hidden closures at the neck, one, then two, like he’d been watching her enough today to have an exit strategy for her dress. And maybe he had.

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