Luck on the Line (13 page)

But he doesn’t have time to finish. A handful of cops have made their way to us. They grab the four bloody guys and take them away.

“You,” a security guard points at me with a pale, demanding finger. My body turns to fire with panic. This isn’t what was supposed to happen today. We were supposed to watch a nice, family friendly baseball game. He bends down in front of me and picks up my keys. For a moment I think he’s going to take them away. His blue eyes stare me down. “You know what the fight was about?”

I stare at the keys hanging from his index finger. “They were throwing beer at me. James was just trying to defend me.”

The cop nods. I don’t have much experience with police. The only time I can remember dealing with them is the day of the accident. When they pulled me from the wreck, I was screaming and screaming. My mom wasn’t with us. My dad was getting carted into the ambulance. I can’t remember the officer’s face. I just remember him holding my arms down against my sides in a forced hug. He placed his hand on my head and let me cry and cry until I didn’t have any tears left.

I take my keys back and shove them in my pocket.

“Come with me,” he says.

Felicity and the boys follow at my heels. Day one of my job, and I can cross off three things: fabric, flood, and a Fenway brawl.

I bite my nail to a stump while James talks to one of the security officers. He holds a hand out to one of the emergency staff members. James nods his head, but looks at me. I try to give him my most reassuring smile, but the truth is I don’t know what kind of trouble we’re in.

I tell the guys to go back and enjoy the game, but instead they choose to wait by their chef.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Felicity says.

I nod, but I can’t take my eyes away from James and he doesn’t look away either.

Only one of the Frat Boys gets arrested for underage drinking and for pushing a Chowder Guy down the steps in the heat of the moment. The other two are escorted out the stadium as the 6
^th
inning crowds watch from concession stand lines.

“It’s a good thing that James’s nose was just as bloody,” Felicity says, “or it’d be worse for him.”

Frat Boy #1 walks past me and gives me a nasty glare. In the yellow light of the stadium halls his features are gaunt, and a bruise blooms across the right side of his face where James brought down his fist over and over. He’s got butterfly stitches all over his right cheek. Blood is crusted on his upper lip.

When he’s gone, I turn my attention back to James. He shakes a bandaged hand with the security guard. The guard is older, but still formidable. He wags a finger and shouts something to James that I can’t hear. A warning, maybe? My mind reels when I watch them embrace like friends, minus any semblance of a smile on their stern faces. Something isn’t adding up here.

James stands still for a moment. He looks down at the ground, like he’s breathing in and counting. I count, too. One, two, three… He looks up and hesitates before walking back to us. To me.

The closer he gets the better I can see his face. There’s a cut on his forehead where a butterfly stitch covers the skin. A green bruise on his cheekbone matches his eyes. He bites his bottom lip, then regrets it where a cut is swollen and red.

Before I can say anything, the guys descend on him. “I’m sorry, man, I didn’t see you until it was too late.” “What the fuck, dude!” “You look like shit bro.”

James shakes it off like it’s just another day. “You should see the other guy.”

“I did.” My words take his smile away. I shove my thumbnail back between my teeth and gnaw at the stump.

“Are you okay?” James looks at me with an intensity that sends a current down to my toes.

“I’m good just a little…”

“Yo, Lucky, you got that guy good,” Sully tells me, mimicking my kick and punch on the air.

It gets a good laugh, but then it’s followed by an awkward silence.

“Felicity, can you take us home?”

She nods, smiling at us like we’re the most pathetic people on the planet. “Sure thing.”

After we drop off the guys, two in Somerville and one in Allston, it’s just Felicity, James, and me in the car.

At the red light it starts to rain. Felicity flicks on the windshield wipers. The rubber against glass and water squeaks. We’re driving back to The Star so James can pick up his bike.

“You can just drop me off here,” James says. “I can take the T back to my place. I can’t drive in the rain.”

I’m still going to town on my nail when I look back at James. I hate the bruises spreading across his beautiful face. I hate even more that I’m the reason they’re there. What the hell was he thinking?

“Just stay at our place?” It’s a suggestion, but it comes out as a question.

Felicity looks at me wide-eyed. I guess she’s lived there longer than I have, so if anyone should be inviting anyone over, it should be her. Still, I feel terrible for the way everything ended up today.

“There’s definitely room!” she says.

“It’s fine.”

I unbuckle my seatbelt and turn around in my seat. “It’s not
fine.
You’re not
fine.
You’re staying at our place and that’s it.”

It’s like my mouth is faster than my social filters. A car behind us honks and Felicity steps on the gas. I turn back around in my seat and I’m keenly aware of my heart racing in my chest. I wish my body didn’t react this way to James. I wish I could think of him like any other guy, but for some reason, I just can’t.

We drive in silence, and I take that as James’s resignation to being sequestered by his colleagues and taken to his boss’s house.

The elevator ride is filled with the same silence, the ding when I press the penthouse button, and the metallic rattle as we go up. Felicity gives James a towel when I realize I don’t know where they are. She also shows him to the room beside mine, where he can sleep.

When James is in the shower, I have to stop myself from picturing him undressing. Stop myself from imagining his hard muscles flexing as he rinses himself off in soapy foam.

“What a day,” Felicity says, sighing hard and sitting beside me in the living room. I turn on the TV and put it on mute just to have something to distract me. Felicity chuckles lightly. “At least I’ll never forget this game. Beats little league, I guess.”

“How old is your brother?” I realize I don’t know a lot about her other than the fact that she works for my mother and lives down the hall.

“Twenty. He’s in Florida studying oceanography. He doesn’t play anymore though.”

“I always wanted a brother,” I say, and the honesty in that surprises me. Felicity gives me a sympathetic smile.

I pour myself a drink from a tall, skinny bottle of bourbon. When I offer some to her she cringes and declines. I smell it, taking warm comfort in the boozy liquid. Because of the unseasonable cold, I turn on the fireplace.

Felicity yawns. “I can’t believe how long today had been. Tomorrow we have interviews for the front of house staff. Then there’s—”

I take a sip from my drink and hold my hand up to stop her. “Mm. Please. Stop. We’ll deal with that tomorrow.”

She smiles. “My brother says I’m a workaholic.”

I snort. “Well, you are. You literally live with your boss.”

She shakes her head, giving me a chummy pat on my back. “Goodnight, Lucky.”

When Felicity locks herself in her room, I realize I don’t hear the shower running anymore so I walk down the hall to the bathroom. I lean against the wall, a deep ache filling my chest. I don’t think I was completely altruistic when I invited James to sleep over. I turn on my heel and start sliding back down to where my room is when the door opens behind me.

Steam and fresh soap fill the space between us. His towel is wrapped around his waist. Moisture clings to his creamy skin. His hair is wet and thick and raked back, a tiny curl falling out of place. I take a deep swallow of my bourbon to stop myself from saying what I’m actually thinking. And that’s
damn. Damn
James Hughes and his beautiful, perfect pecs. Damn his shoulders that need my nails digging into them. Damn the smoothness of his neck. Damn the bruises that mar his skin around his ribs. The red slash on his perfect bow shaped lips. The shame in his eyes. Just—
damn
.

“Uh, there wouldn’t be any clothes about my size lying around the place?’

I frown. “Not unless you’ve left them here.”

James sucks his teeth. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I’m
kidding,
” I say. “I think I have a ratty gym t-shirt, but unless you want to sleep in one of my thongs, I can’t help you out in that department.”

A wicked, wicked smile brightens his features and in that moment I take a step back to stop myself from reaching out and untucking the top of his towel. I run into my room and find the oversized shirt in my duffel bag. James waits outside my door and takes it.

“Can I also get one of those?” He points to my drink after he pulls on the shirt. It says STEEL GYM across the chest, a snug fit. It was free when I joined. He unwraps his towel. I jump back, my eyes not ready but not able to look away.

Only, he’s wearing his boxers. Dirty, dirty boy. The wicked smile is still there and it catches like wildfire to my face.

“Come, I’ll fix you a drink.” I graze his hand and lead him to the living room. I use the remote to turn on the fireplace, then pour him the same bourbon I’m drinking.

He takes in the bookcases, the antlers, and the white carpet. He sits on the ground in front of the fireplace, legs spread out towards the flames. He props himself up on his arms so I have a good view of his thick leg muscles. I nearly choke on my bourbon.

I sit beside him on the floor. Slowly, I reach out to touch the cut on his forehead. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” He places a hand on my knee.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested.”

“You’re Lucky,” he says. His face is flushed and his green eyes are bright and glossy.

“Did you know that security guard?”

James nods. “Someone from my past. I—I can’t get like that again. I’m not—”

When he stops talking I urge him. “You can tell me.”

He brushes hair away from my face, letting fingers linger along my neck. “I can’t.”

I feel a very strong urge to touch more of him. I stretch my legs on top of his. He looks down at where his hand rubs circles on my knee. We’re a mess of limbs warming by the fireplace and it’s the safest, most comfortable I’ve ever been.

I set my drink to the side and he does the same. I know that James Hughes should be off-limits. One, he’s my mom’s executive chef. Two, I have to work with him until the restaurant opens. Three, I haven’t been as scared as I was when I saw him punch that guy in the face in a long time. Four, if I let myself do what I’m intending to do and he rejects me, it’ll hurt, despite all the walls that I’m trying to bring up. I want to say that it’s just his beautiful face, the bright shining green of his eyes, the way they soften in the firelight as his body relaxes against mine. But despite all of my attempts at rationalizing how I shouldn’t feel for James, and how I do feel for James, I know that something in the tightness of my chest is overriding all of that.

“Lucky,” he whispers. There’s that hesitation again. His hand moves through the air slowly until it reaches my cheek. My skin tingles as his fingers trail down my neck and across my collarbone. My tank top feels too tight. My nipples might just rip right through it. I lean close to James so he can feel how much I want him.

I catch his lips with mine. He winces. I forgot about his cut. That cut shakes me into reality a little. I want to know about his past. I want him to tell me everything about him. It kills me that I know he won’t, not tonight.

Still, he leans forward and pushes the kiss back, his body climbing on top of mine and pinning me on the soft white carpet. With his hands on either side of me, I grab hold of his face. He gasps when my fingers touch the bruise on his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

A deep rumble vibrates from his chest to mine. I move my leg to the side. I can feel how hard and thick he is through his boxer shorts. I can feel it through the thin material of my own pajama shorts. He bites my lower lip and kisses the sting of it over and over. I run my fingers through the thick mass of his dark hair, using my legs to press him harder against me. I wiggle my hips up to grind our bodies together. James takes my hand, pins it against the carpet, crossing his fingers with mine and squeezing.

I moan into his ear. A spark builds in my belly and spreads through my center. He presses his erection against my panties and I can feel his whole body shake on top of mine. I run my free hand across his chest. He takes that one, too and holds it down.

“Lucky,” he whispers.

I wrap my legs around his waist. Turn my face to nibble on his ear.

My skin is so hot I think I might go up in flames. I realize that’s what passion is supposed to feel like, and the startling wonder of that leaves me stunned that I haven’t been able to pinpoint it before this. I wriggle my body against him to feel his thick hardness against me. I want to rip off the layers of our clothes. I want to know what James feels like inside me.

Then as fast as I jumped on top of James, he jumps off. He lets go of my wrists and the pressure of his delicious body is gone. His weight is replaced with an unbearable ache.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

He stands in the study in his boxers, his erection saluting the room.

Then I hear what he hears. Felicity’s door jostling open.

I point to the bookcase. He presses himself in the nook between the bookcase and the wall. I cover my mouth to stop from laughing. The soft shuffle of Felicity’s sleepy feet finds its way into the den. She rubs her eyes. Her hair is tied back with a hairband.

I sit upright and take a pillow to my chest.

“I didn’t realize you were still up,” Felicity says.

“Can’t sleep.”

She stretches. “Thirsty.”

My eyes go to where James is shirtless and pressed between a wall and a hard place. If she takes a couple of steps towards me, she’ll see him and his erection. Granted it’s a glorious erection.