Good Luck (18 page)

But when our cars pulled up—my borrowed BMW, his Lexus sedan—Drew just smiled down at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
This is it!
I thought, my pulse humming.

“I’d like to see you again,” he said simply.

I stared at him, not sure what he meant. It had been so long since I’d done this, I couldn’t get my footing. “You mean…later tonight?” I asked awkwardly.

Drew laughed. As though I’d just told a joke. Which I clearly
hadn’t.

“No. I meant next week. Are you free on Friday night? We could have dinner again.”

“Um…sure,” I said, hoping he couldn’t tell how mortified I was. Was he ignoring my not-so-subtle suggestion that we not end the date now—or had he really not gotten that? Should I clarify what I’d meant?

“Great,” Drew said. “I’ll call you.”

“Great,” I repeated.

And then he leaned over and kissed me softly on the cheek.

“Bye, Lucy,” he said.

“That doesn’t mean he’s not interested in you,” Hayden said.

“Were you listening to the part where he kissed me on the cheek?”

“Mmm, I was,” Hayden said patiently. “Pass me the sunscreen?”

I handed her the tube of SPF 15. Hayden squirted a white blob into her hand and rubbed the lotion over her bare shoulders and arms. We were poolside, reclining on the teak loungers. Hayden and I were both wearing bikinis and sipping from bottles of chilled water. Hayden’s eyes were closed behind her sunglasses, but I was too captivated by the view of the clear turquoise water lapping up on the sandy white beach and the tall palm trees swaying gently in the breeze.

“And you don’t think that’s bizarre? That he’d pass up on a night of no-strings-attached sex?”

“You’re overthinking this. He asked you out for another date. Obviously he wants to see you again.”

“Maybe he just panicked and said that in order to get away from me,” I said darkly.

“Yeah, because guys always do that. They ask out women they’re not interested in, just to avoid an awkward moment.”

I decided to change the subject. “I take it your date last night went well.” When I’d gone into the kitchen to make coffee that morning, I’d run into Ian foraging for cornflakes. He’d had that cheerful, rumpled air that spoke all too clearly about how he and Hayden had spent
their
postdate night. Obviously Hayden hadn’t been foisted off with a cheek kiss and plans for a future dinner.

“Mm-hmm,” Hayden murmured. “I like Ian. He’s a lot of fun.”

“Did you two end up going to the casino?”

“Yes. And I was on a lucky streak. I won five hundred dollars playing blackjack.”

“Wow!” I said admiringly. “That’s amazing. I’ve never won anything in my life.”

Hayden pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head and stared at me in disbelief. “You mean other than a multimillion-dollar jackpot?”

I blushed. “Oh, right. I keep forgetting about that,” I mumbled.

“Lucky you,” Hayden said, laughing, as she resettled the sunglasses on her nose.

Over the next few days I felt, in turns, apprehensive and annoyed every time the phone rang and it wasn’t Drew. I tried to put him out of my mind, remembering that the new Lucy wasn’t supposed to care about such things. And in the meantime Hayden and I settled down into lives of leisure, a well-honed pastime in Palm Beach.

We spent most mornings lounging by the pool, sipping iced coffees and taking lazy swims. Then we’d shower and head out for a late lunch at Ta-boó or the Palm Beach Grill. After lunch we’d shop at the boutiques on Worth Avenue, go to a matinee, or head back for more poolside time, depending on how ambitious we were feeling. Then, at around seven or so, we’d doll ourselves up and head out on the town. We’d have dinner at one of the many fantastic restaurants on the island—Cucina Dell’Arte, Trevini Ristorante, 264 The Grill. Then we’d usually end up at the Drum Roll so Hayden could see Ian. They were ridiculously cute together. And although I wondered if she was a bit too worried about the age difference—she’d even taken to wearing her hair in two low pigtails, like the young twentysomething hippie chicks—she did seem genuinely happy. Ian was equally smitten with her. Creatures of habit that we were, Hayden and I always sat at the same two stools at the end of the bar, and whenever there was a lull, Ian would hang out with us, leaning forward on the polished bar, gazing devotedly down at Hayden.

“It’s not going anywhere, of course,” Hayden said, when Ian went off to fill a drink order. She popped an olive into her mouth. “But it’s fun to be with someone who likes me so much.”

“Must be nice.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll call. Your date isn’t until tomorrow night. He still has time.”

“I hate being in this position,” I grumbled. “I don’t like waiting around for a man to call me. It makes me feel pathetic, which I swore I wouldn’t do anymore.”

“You’re not waiting around. You’re out at the hottest bar on the island,” Hayden corrected me. “You just need someone cute to flirt with.” She glanced around, looking for contenders. “Look, there’s Mal. You can flirt with him.”

It annoyed me that I felt compelled to look. But, yes, there he was again, looking scruffily sexy and surrounded by a bevy of very young, very pretty girls skimpily attired in halter tops and miniskirts. Hayden had met Mal a few nights earlier at an after-hours party she’d gone to with Ian. I’d begged off going with them—after all those years of keeping teacher’s hours, parties that began at two in the morning were just too late for me—and instead escaped home to bed.

“Yeah, he’s just my type,” I said sarcastically.

“I didn’t say you had to marry him. But I bet he could get your mind off Drew. Have you seen his thighs? They’re gorgeous, all tan and muscular,” Hayden said dreamily.

“I hadn’t noticed,” I said, which was not strictly true.

The night passed pleasantly enough. Hayden and Ian filled me in on their casino trip the night before.

“Hayden is the Golden Goddess of Blackjack,” Ian said. “She’s amazing, a total natural.”

“A natural card shark,” I said, grinning at Hayden. “Why am I not surprised?”

Hayden rolled her eyes but smiled. “I think Lucy’s luck must have rubbed off on me.”

I froze, while Ian looked at us, puzzled. Hayden had promised me she wouldn’t tell Ian—or anyone else—about my lottery winnings. She instantly realized her mistake and hurried to fix it.

“Lucy’s always been lucky,” she lied blithely. “She’s just one of those people who was born under a lucky star.”

Ian grinned at me, buying the lie. “Well, the next time we head down to the casino, you should come with us.”

I smiled back at him but shook my head. “Not my scene,” I said.

“Then you’ll have to let me rub your belly for luck before I go,” Ian said.

“Like a Buddha statue,” Hayden said, delighted with the idea.

“Wow, how flattering,” I said sarcastically. “A fat Buddha statue. Just what I’ve always wanted to be compared to.”

“Don’t worry,” Hayden assured me. “The only stomach Ian will be rubbing is mine.”

I pantomimed gagging, but Ian and Hayden were too busy exchanging smoldering looks to pay me any attention. I sighed and ate some peanuts. Nothing like being a third wheel.

“Hi.”

I turned in the direction the voice had come from, and found myself face-to-face with Mal.

“I thought that if we’re going to keep bumping into each other, it was probably time we officially met,” he said. He smiled a lazy, lopsided grin. “I’m Mal.”

“I know,” I said irritably.

His sudden appearance beside me, when I hadn’t even noticed that he’d crossed the bar, annoyed me. I knew it was irrational, but I couldn’t help it—I instinctively didn’t like the guy. Not only was he a player, which was bad enough, but he was also too damned pleased with himself, which was in my eyes an even greater failing. I didn’t like cocky guys, didn’t care for their swagger, their conviction that they were God’s gift to the world.

Mal whistled. “Tough crowd,” he said. His eyes were a very pale shade of blue. Unusually pale, in fact. Almost gray.

“Really? They seem easy enough,” I said, nodding over to the group of hippie chicks I’d last seen him with. They were looking back at us, swinging their hair and pouting glossed lips.

“No kidding,” Mal said. His smile widened. “I prefer more of a challenge.”

“Try a nunnery,” I suggested.

“That might be too much of a challenge. Plus, I have a rule about never dating women who bring up religion when you first meet them. Not that I have anything against religion per se, but it’s pretty clear that if it’s a top priority in your life, I’m probably not the man you’re looking for,” Mal said.

“Really,” I said. “What do you think about Jesus? Quite an extraordinary guy, all things considered. Water into wine, and all that.”

Mal ignored my naked attempt to get rid of him. “I also stay away from women who bring up marriage, children, and puppies right away,” Mal said. “For the same reason.”

“What do you have against puppies?”

“When a woman starts gushing about how much she wants a puppy, what she’s really saying is that she wants a baby. It’s chick code.”

“Oh, my God. You’re like a stereotype of yourself,” I said.

This seemed to interest Mal. “Is that possible? Can you be a stereotype of yourself? If a stereotype is defined as a simplified and standardized conception or image invested with special meaning and held in common by members of a group, that is.”

“I supposed what I meant was that you’re the absolute stereotype of a player,” I said crossly.

This made Mal laugh. “Why? Because I don’t date religious women?”

“Because,”
I said, “every time I see you, you’re with a different girl.”

“Woman,” he corrected me. “Calling grown women
girls
is misogynistic and condescending.”

“You know what? I think I officially hate you,” I said.

“Really? Huh. Women usually like me,” Mal said.

“So I gather.”

“Aren’t you going to at least tell me your name?”

“Her name is Lucy,” Hayden said, leaning over me to join our conversation. “Hi, Mal.”

“Hayden,” I said, turning to face my friend, “I’m going to head back to the house.”

“Come on, Lulu. The night’s still young.”

“I’m tired.”

“Twenty minutes,” Hayden compromised. “And then I’ll go with you.”

“Okay,” I said, checking my watch so I could hold her to it. Ian appeared and set a bottle of Amstel down in front of Mal and fresh vodka tonics for Hayden and me.

“Not for me, thanks,” I said, pushing my drink away.

But Ian, who’d been caught in Hayden’s force field and was gazing down at her with a familiar love-struck grin, ignored me.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Mal said. “We could try small talk.”

“Or I could just sit here quietly by myself,” I retorted.

“What do you do when you’re not playing the girl about town?”

“I thought you just said calling women
girls
was misogynistic,” I said.

Mal grinned so mischievously, it was hard not to smile back at him. I compromised by frowning severely.

“So I did,” he said. “I’m sure you meant to ask me what I do.”

“No, I didn’t,” I said.

“I’m a tennis pro.”

“You are?” I asked.

“Why does that surprise you?”

“I just…I don’t know,” I said. In truth, it made all the sense in the world. What better job for a gigolo to have? It was the perfect way to find rich women to take advantage of. A few sets of tennis, a steam bath, a quick rendezvous in the clubhouse…

“What’s it like to be a multimillion-dollar-lottery winner?” Mal suddenly asked.

I let out an involuntary gasp and my entire body went cold with fear. I could feel the fine hairs on my arms and neck stand up on end.

“What did you say?” I asked in a strangled whisper.

“I recognized you from TV,” Mal said. “Although your hair is different.” He narrowed his gray eyes critically. “To be honest, I liked it better before, when it was all long and curly. It suited you more.”

“But…but…” I looked around wildly, half-expecting to see the phalanx of press suddenly appear in the bar.

“Don’t worry. I don’t think anyone else recognizes you,” Mal said. Thankfully he was keeping his voice low. “You do look different.”

“You did!” I hissed.

“I have an eye for faces. And I remembered your eyes.”

“What about them?”

“I liked them,” Mal said simply. “They’re pretty. And honest. Not a combination I see a lot of.”

“They’re just ordinary eyes,” I protested. But, despite my shock at being outed and my fear that this meant I’d have to find a new town to hide in, just when I was starting to get used to it here, deep down I couldn’t help feeling a flicker of pleasure that Mal thought my eyes were pretty. And I got the feeling that he meant it too, that it wasn’t just a line….

Oh, good God, get a grip,
I told myself sternly.
Of course it doesn’t sound like a line. The best lines are the ones that don’t sound like lines. This guy is a pro. He’s exactly what Peter Graham warned me about.

“Look, I have to get out of here,” I said, and started to push away from the bar, ready to slide off my stool. The sudden weight of a hand on my wrist stopped me—Mal’s hand, gentle but insistent.