Good Luck (23 page)

Drew.

I now remembered why I stopped having one-night stands. It was absolutely mortifying seeing someone who had slept with you once and then decided that the experience was so mediocre, it wasn’t worth repeating.

“Drew,” I said without enthusiasm. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, drawing closer.

Since I was holding a tennis racquet, wearing a tennis outfit, and standing on a tennis court, this seemed like a silly question.

“I’m simultaneously solving a quadratic equation and composing a symphony,” I said. I tapped my head. “All in here.”

“Ha-ha,” Drew said. He leaned down and kissed me full on the mouth. Which took me aback.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“My weekly golf game,” he said. He grinned and winked at me. “It’s in preparation for my retirement years. I want to kick serious ass at the old folks’ home.”

“It’s good to have goals,” I remarked. I nodded toward Mal, who was waiting patiently, observing us. “This is Mal. My tennis instructor.”

“Hi, Mal. Drew. Drew Brooks,” Drew said, holding out a chummy hand to Mal.

Mal hesitated for the briefest of moments and then took it. “We’ve met before,” Mal said.

“Have we? Sorry, I have the worst memory for faces,” Drew said cheerfully.

“Numbers too,” I said, and then, worried that I was coming across as shrewish—surely not something the new Lucy would ever be—I smiled. I thought I heard Mal snort, but when I looked over at him, he seemed to have himself under control.

“I was going to call you after my golf game,” Drew said. He either hadn’t heard Mal’s snort or he’d chosen to ignore it. “Are you free for dinner tonight?”

“Tonight?” I repeated. Part of me had leaped up in delight at the suggestion, thrilled that Drew hadn’t seen me as just a one-night stand. The other part of me held back, whispering that I should play it cool and not let him think I’d be available for last-minute dates.

But then, before I could say anything, Mal stepped in. “She can’t tonight,” he said mildly. “A group of us are going out for drinks.”

I managed not to let my jaw drop open as I turned to stare at Mal.

“Didn’t Hayden tell you? She and Ian organized it last night,” Mal said.

“Oh…right,” I said. I had no idea what he was talking about; in fact, I was fairly sure Hayden had said something about Ian being on a lucky streak, so the two of them were heading back down to the casino tonight. But I had a feeling I should go along with Mal’s story. I turned to Drew. “Another time, maybe?” I said.

The affable grin had vanished from Drew’s face, replaced with a quizzical frown. He looked from me to Mal and then back at me again.

“Okay…well, I’ll call you later, Lucy,” he said. “Sorry I interrupted your lesson.”

“No problem,” Mal said.

“Bye,” I said, and as Drew strode off toward the country club, I wondered if I’d hear from him again.

“He’ll call,” Mal said, as though he were reading my thoughts.

“He will?”

“He’s the type who always responds to some competition.”

“What? Competition from
you
?”

Mal laughed and shook his head. “Did it ever occur to you I might suffer from a fragile ego and that with every insult you’re just pushing me closer and closer to the edge of despair?”

“No, I didn’t mean it that way,” I said, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean that he couldn’t possibly be threatened by you. I mean…look at you.”

Mal’s eyebrows rose. “From anyone else, that would sound suspiciously like a compliment. But knowing you as I do, I have a feeling there’s an insult hidden in there somewhere.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please,” I said. “If you can’t take a compliment, don’t blame it on me.”

“Then what exactly did you mean?”

“Just that you’re my tennis instructor. I’m taking a lesson. Why would Drew assume there was anything more to it than that?”

“Don’t forget you’re going out with me tonight too,” Mal reminded me. “I think that got his attention.”

“Yeah, what was that? Did Hayden really organize drinks tonight?”

“Nope,” Mal said. “But I know his type. And I knew that if he thought there might be a rival for your affections, he wouldn’t make the mistake of not calling you the day after again.”

“Oh.” I absorbed this. “But…why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you do that for me?” I asked. I twirled my racquet in my hands.

“Because we’re friends.”

“We are?”

“There she goes again,” Mal remarked dryly.

“No, I mean…I’m sorry. I don’t know what it is about you, but I always manage to say just the wrong thing when I’m around you,” I said.

“So it’s my fault, huh?” Mal grinned at me.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Maybe I should just start ignoring everything you say,” Mal said. “Now come on. You still have ten minutes left in your lesson.”

I groaned but held my racquet up in a halfhearted ready position, while Mal jogged back around to his side of the net.

“That’s what I like to see,” he said. “The eye of the tiger.”

“Oh, shut up,” I muttered. But this time, when he lobbed a ball at me, I managed to hit it back. The ball striking against my racquet gave a satisfying
thwack,
and it cut across the court at a sharp angle. I had a feeling Mal could have gotten it if he’d really run, but he let it whiz past.

“Good shot,” he cheered me. And I felt my spirits lift. Maybe I wasn’t so bad at this stupid game after all.

Mal was right: Drew called later that afternoon. In fact, he must have phoned directly after his golf game. I was still wearing my tennis dress, sitting on a chaise longue by the pool, chatting with Hayden, when the phone rang. Hayden answered, and then, her eyebrows arched meaningfully, she handed the phone to me.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi,” he said. “It’s me. Drew.”

I smiled at Hayden and tried to ignore the excitement bubbling up inside me.

“Hey you. How was your golf game?”

“Terrible. I couldn’t play worth a damn. All of my hopes and dreams for my retirement years are crushed.”

“That does sound bad.”

“Look, I know you said you had plans tonight, but I’d really like to see you.” Drew’s voice deepened, somewhere between playfulness and urgency in tone. “In fact, I’m
dying
to see you. Is there any way you can cancel on your friends?”

I was quiet for a moment as I deliberated on the best tack to take. As much as I wanted to say yes, I didn’t want to undo Mal’s good work.

“Well…” I said slowly. “I don’t think tonight’s going to work.”

“Tomorrow then,” Drew said eagerly. “I’ll take you out to dinner.”

I smiled into the phone. “Tomorrow,” I agreed.

Sixteen

         
OVER THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, MY LIFE FELL INTO A PREDICTABLE
pattern. The days were spent shopping or lounging by the pool with Hayden, or taking tennis lessons with Mal at the Rushes. My tennis game was slowly improving, enough so that, without causing too much embarrassment to myself, I was able to join a women’s round-robin doubles league that met at the club on Thursday mornings. My nights were divided between dates with Drew or, if he was busy, hanging out at the Drum Roll with Hayden, where we were often joined by Mal and Ian, when the bar wasn’t busy. On the nights when Drew and I went out, he usually stayed over at the pool house with me.

“It’s weird. The last thing I wanted was to get involved with anyone right now. But somehow this thing with Drew seems to have evolved into an actual relationship,” I said to Hayden one morning after Drew left.

She and I were walking slowly along the beach. The tide had just gone out, leaving the sand cool and damp, and our feet made a trail of deep prints. Harper Lee jogged along beside us, panting with the effort. My French bulldog had been getting a bit tubby lately. Hayden was incapable of resisting Harper Lee’s melting stares and was forever sneaking her extra treats.

“Why is that weird? That’s how it always happens. When you’re least expecting it, Prince Charming comes along and sweeps you off your feet,” Hayden said.

“Hmmm,” I said.

“What?”

“Prince Charming? I don’t know. I don’t think there’s any such man. In fact, I think fairy tales are socially irresponsible. Last year I went to Disney World with Maisie and the twins, and you should have seen the princess crap they were selling. They had a parade where all the princesses were on floats, dressed up as brides and standing next to their princes. As though that should be every little girl’s fantasy. I can’t believe this is what we’re selling our daughters. It’s nauseating,” I ranted.

“So instead, parents should read little girls stories about a princess who falls in love with a handsome prince, and then have the prince mutter something about not wanting to get serious, get back on his white horse, and ride off as fast as he can?” Hayden asked.

“Why not? At least we wouldn’t be brainwashing them into thinking that the perfect man will come along and be the answer to all their problems.”

“I take it things aren’t going all that well between you and Drew after all,” Hayden commented.

I sighed. “No, that’s not it. Drew’s great. He’s thoughtful and funny, and I’m happy when I’m with him.”

Ever since that first weekend, Drew had made a point of calling every day. When I reported this to Mal, he got a smug expression on his face and said, “Told you so.” I’d rolled my eyes, but secretly I preferred Mal when he was being smug and sarcastic. It made it easier to resist the physical attraction. The last thing I needed right now was to develop a crush on a gigolo. Not, I quickly reminded myself, that Mal had done anything to encourage me. Either he had his hands full with his current conquests or, somewhat less flattering, he found me too repulsive to pursue.

“Sounds awful,” Hayden said dryly.

I continued, ignoring her. “I just feel like I can’t trust it, that I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. That one day Drew will suddenly announce that he’s really a woman living in a man’s body and has decided to have a sex-change operation.”

“Or that one day you’ll walk in to find him having sex with another woman on your bed?” Hayden asked.

I was silent for a minute, listening to the rhythmic roar of the water as it lapped toward the shore. “I guess. Elliott left me with some baggage.”

“Elliott was baggage,” Hayden said firmly. “And just because you fell for one guy who turned out to be an asshole doesn’t mean that every man you date from now on will be one.”

“But how do you tell the difference? I like Drew. He seems to like me. I want to think that he’s a good guy. But…” My voice trailed off, and I shrugged, remembering yet again Peter Graham’s warning to be careful whom I trusted. “I don’t know absolutely for sure that he is. I don’t know if I’m capable of judging that.”

“I have the opposite problem. I tend to delude myself into thinking that even the assholes are Prince Charmings. Look at Craig. I knew he was married and cheating on his wife with me. And yet I convinced myself that he was an amazing guy who’d just made the mistake of marrying the wrong woman.” Hayden rolled her eyes. “It’s hard to believe I was really that stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. You’re just…optimistic,” I said.

“Yeah. I really need to work on that,” Hayden said. “Being naturally pessimistic would save me so much trouble.” She picked up a piece of driftwood from the sand, shook it off, held it out to Harper Lee, who eagerly sniffed at it, and then threw it. “Go on, girl! Go get it!”

Harper Lee stared after the piece of driftwood and then looked up at Hayden. Perplexed, she sat down and panted.

“You’re confusing her,” I said.

“She doesn’t like to play fetch?”

“I think she finds it beneath her.”

“Good girl, Harper Lee,” Hayden praised, leaning over to pet the dog’s head. “Don’t ever take orders from anyone.”

“Please stop corrupting my dog. What’s up with you and Ian?” I asked, as we resumed our walk. “It seems like things are going well with you two.”

“Actually, I’m thinking about breaking it off,” Hayden said.

“Really? But you seem so happy together.”

Hayden turned to grin at me. “I thought you just said you didn’t believe in true love,” she said.

The sand was softer at this part of the beach, sinking beneath our feet and then making a sucking sound when we pulled our feet back up.

“I didn’t say I don’t believe in love,” I corrected her. “I just don’t believe in the Prince Charming myth.”

“Well, whichever way you phrase it, I don’t think Ian’s a good long-term prospect. He’s a great guy, and we’re having fun, but he’s just so…”

“Young?” I suggested.

“Poor,” Hayden corrected me.

“Hayden!”

“It’s true. And I don’t see bartending making him rich anytime soon.”

“But that shouldn’t matter,” I protested.

“So says the woman with thirty-four million dollars,” Hayden countered.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to this. I’d never known Hayden to be so mercenary. In fact, I’d assumed that coming from a wealthy family made it unnecessary.

“I’m not saying money doesn’t matter,” I said. “But if you love someone, isn’t that more important than a fat bank balance?”

“Jesus, Lucy, I didn’t know you were such a romantic. Especially with all of that fairy-tale bashing,” Hayden said with a laugh. “Look, all I’m saying is this: It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is to fall in love with a poor one. And think of how much easier the relationship will be if you don’t have to worry about where the next month’s rent is coming from. Did you know that money is the number-one issue married couples fight about?”

I decided to point out the obvious. “But you haven’t fallen in love with a rich man.”

Hayden smiled enigmatically. “I haven’t fallen in love with a poor one either. Ian and I are just having fun. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” I said. I nudged a clump of dried seaweed out of my way with one foot. “Nothing at all.”

When Drew called, I was curled up on one of the white linen sofas in the pool house, paging through a copy of
Vogue
that Hayden had left behind. I’d been trying to reread
Mrs. Dalloway
earlier, but I couldn’t seem to get into it. In fact, with all of the going out I’d been doing lately, I barely had time to read. The piles of books I’d bought at Barnes & Noble on the day I met Drew were stacked in a corner of the pool house, spines still uncracked. I’d resolved not to feel guilty about that. I’d spent most of my life with my nose stuck firmly in a book. It was about time I lived a little, even if that meant less time for reading.

“I have to go to a cocktail party for the Young Lawyers’ Association after work. Can you live without me for a night?” Drew asked.

“If I must.”

“What will you do?”

“The usual. Sex. Drugs. Rock ’n’ roll,” I said.

“Good, good. That all sounds very wholesome.”

“I think Hayden wants to go over to the Drum Roll,” I said. “Ian’s working tonight.”

“Is that Mal guy going to be there?” Drew asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, surprised. “Why?”

“I don’t like him.”

“You hardly know him.”

“I know of him,” Drew said, with a snort. “He has a reputation around the club.”

“What sort of reputation?” I asked, although I had a feeling that I already knew.

“Let’s just say that he entertains quite a few of the wives,” Drew said delicately.

“You mean he’s having affairs with them,” I said slowly.

“No. I mean he’s screwing them.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked, intrigued.

“Money,” Drew said, this time much more to the point. “Apparently it changes hands. At least, that’s the rumor.”

I’d already guessed this about Mal, but hearing it confirmed was unsettling. My mouth suddenly tasted bitter, as though I’d taken a bite from a rotten apple.

“Oh,” I said. And then, for some reason feeling as if I should rise to Mal’s defense, I continued, “But you don’t know that for sure?”

“No,” Drew admitted. “But even so, I still don’t like the guy. I’m not a big fan of adulterers.”

“Can you be an adulterer if you’re not married?” I asked. “Wouldn’t the cheating wife be the adulterer, and he’s just the accomplice?”

“I don’t know,” Drew said, suddenly impatient with the conversation. “Does it matter? Either way, it’s not cool.”

“No,” I agreed. “It’s not.”

“What are you up to for the rest of the day?” Drew asked.

“Well, speaking of Mal—I have a tennis lesson this afternoon,” I said. “It’s a makeup from yesterday’s lesson, which got rained out.”

Drew made a harrumphing noise.

“What?” I asked.

“Can’t you find another tennis instructor? Someone who doesn’t have a reputation of sleeping with his clients?” Drew asked.

I laughed. “Don’t worry. I think I’m safe. I’m not Mal’s type.”

“That’s true. You’re not old and rich,” Drew joked.

I swallowed. I still hadn’t told Drew about the lottery money. Or my real last name. Or why I had run away to Palm Beach. At first, I hadn’t known him well enough to trust him. But now that I did know him—and thought I could trust him—I still hesitated. I knew Drew wasn’t after me for my money—after all, he had no idea just how much money I had—and I doubted he’d believe Matt Forrester’s ridiculous fabricated allegations. Or, at least, I hoped he wouldn’t believe them. But he might mind—and mind very much—that I’d been lying to him all this time. That was the problem with lies: They were hard to keep up but even harder to come clean about.

Mal served the ball, and I returned it with a sharply angled cross-court shot that he had to run for—and missed! I was so delighted, I held my racquet up over my head in triumph, as though I’d just scored the winning shot in the finals of the Wimbledon championship.

“Did you see that?” I crowed.

“I did! It was a fantastic shot,” Mal called back.

“You gave me an easy serve,” I said graciously. I’d seen Mal play competitively a few days earlier and knew he was capable of a fast, spinning serve that I’d never have a prayer of touching, let alone returning. I had assumed Mal was a good player—he was a pro, after all—but even so, I’d been surprised by the grace and skill with which he played. He’d easily beat his opponent, who I later found out was twenty years old and played on his college’s tennis team.

“It was still an excellent return,” Mal praised me. “Your form was perfect. Did you feel the difference when you followed through on your swing?”

I nodded. “I really did!”

Mal glanced at his watch. “We’d better stop here. I have somewhere I have to be.”

“Really?” I frowned. “I was hoping we could hit for a little longer. I need to work on my backhand.”

“We’ll tackle it at your lesson on Friday.”

“Okay.” We walked over to the table that was off to the side of the court, shaded by a jasmine-covered pergola. I zipped my racquet into its padded bag, while Mal poured us each a paper cup of water from the cooler. Mal tipped his head back and closed his eyes while he drank. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, but otherwise he gave no sign that he’d been out in the sun for the past hour. I, on the other hand, was sweating like a pig. My white shirt stuck to my back, and beads of sweat trickled down my neck and cascaded into my cleavage.

“Where are you off to?” I asked.

“An appointment,” Mal said enigmatically.

It was pretty clear he didn’t want to go into any more detail. Which, of course, just inflamed my curiosity. Was this an assignation with one of the country-club wives? Maybe the gorgeous brunette I’d seen him out to dinner with?

“What sort of appointment?”

Mal looked at me, his face inscrutable. “The private sort,” he said.

“Ohhhh,” I said knowingly. “A hot date, huh?”