Page 5 of My Lucky Charm

Not ever.

“Thanks.” I smile, summoning pick-myself-up-by-the-bootstraps-Eloise.

Just like always.

I draw in a breath, as if to seal in this reminder. No sense wasting time on something that wasn’t right for me anyway, right?

The bartender nods and walks away. My eyes drift over to the man I’m sitting next to. Physically, he’s the opposite of Jay. He’s broad and muscular, and his hands are big and strong. His hair is sandy-colored, not quite brown and not quite blond, and now that I’m close to him, I can smell his woodsy, masculine scent over the stale alcohol-tinged aroma of the bar.

Also unlike Jay, this man seems disinterested by the women in the bar. In fact, he seems disinterested in everyone in the bar, period. He’s watching the game, drinking a beer, and letting really delicious mozzarella sticks get cold.

“Aren’t you going to eat those?” The question is out of my mouth before I can overthink it, but there’s perfectly good junk food on the bar, and the cheese won’t be as gooey if he doesn’t eat them hot.

He looks at me, and it’s obvious he hadn’t even realized I sat down next to him. This whole interaction isn’t going to be good for my self-esteem, I can already tell.

He doesn’t say anything, just pushes the basket toward me and goes back to watching the game.

“Oh, no, I wasn’t asking because I wanted them,” I say.

Without looking, he pulls the basket back toward him.

“But, I mean, if you’re offering . . .”

His shoulders slump, as if he’s exercising a large amount of self-control, and slowly slides them back to me again.

All of this with no verbal response at all.

Over my shoulder, I catch Meredith’s eye. She gestures at Mr. Hot and Broody, and then taps her watch.

“So, uh . . . are you here alone?” I ask, mentally facepalming.

I’m a talker. I’m extroverted. I love people. But this guy is a little like talking to a potted plant. And I would know because for months, I had a potted plant in my house that I called Martha, and we had great chats every morning.

It was easier to talk to Martha because she didn’t look back at me with a quizzical expression on her face, like the one this man is wearing. Also, she didn’t have a sexy scar above her lip like Mr. Hot and Broody does.

There’s a story there, and for some reason, I want to hear it. In detail.

When our eyes meet, I instantly lose my nerve. “Sorry.” I look away. “I’m not usually this weird.”

Poppy’s the quirky one. Raya’s the forceful one. I am supposed to be the charming one. The adorable one.

Right now, I’m about as adorable and charming as a packet of mustard.

I blame Jay.

I blame me.

I blame me for getting involved with Jay.

I sigh, shoulders sagging as I do. I take a deep breath and open the faucet that is my mouth.

“Okay, so, full disclosure, my ex is here with the woman he cheated on me with. I didn’t think I was ever going to see him again, but voilà! Here he is, and he’s with some tall brunette over there wearing half a dress.”

I make a half-hearted attempt to point.

“They’re a thing now, I guess. My ex and the brunette, not half-dresses. Those have always been a thing.”

I pause, but only long enough to take another breath and continue blathering, all the while remaining emotionally detached from what I’m saying.

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