What the hell do I do now? Hug her? Kiss her goodbye? Shake hands? “I’ll talk to you soon?”
It comes out as a question, one neither of us can answer.
She shoots me a sad smile, then nods, spins on her heel, and walks away.
I groan in frustration, dragging a hand through my hair. I don’t know when I will talk to her, because I’m pretty sure we just broke up.
And surer still that we needed to.
My stomach churns, and my head pounds.
I sink low in my chair, rubbing my hand across the back of my neck, wishing I could go back in time. Redo things. Change things. I don’t even know.
Do something differently.
All along, I’ve been playing with fire, chasing a work high, a sex high, and then a falling-in-love high too.
But with all highs, there’s a low. The higher you soar, the farther you fall.
And this is a bumpy ride back down.
A minute later, the waiter brings two plates of eggs, but I don’t even have the stomach for one.
Especially when my phone buzzes and I check my email.
It’s from the bride who just hired me.
Turns out she’s postponing her wedding indefinitely.
Looks like in the span of ten minutes, I’ve lost a gig, the woman, and maybe even the job I already have.
In one damn morning, all my luck has drained away.
32
I do my best to focus on work after the world’s worst morning. I’m tweaking some new online ads for my website when the phone rings later that day. Mom’s picture lights up the display, and I answer immediately, grateful for a friendly voice.
Someone who’s on my side.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, setting my laptop on the coffee table.
“Have I ever told you what a charming and wonderful son your father and I think you are?”
“Mmm, flattery. Something must be broken.” I know this routine, have played it for years. Today, it’s weirdly comforting.
“The bathroom sink is completely clogged. I tried unscrewing a pipe—”
“Mom, what have I told you? Do not attempt handiwork.”
“Yes, it did seem to cause more problems. But you’re so clever and—”
“I’m on my way.”
* * *
Ninety minutes later, I toss my wrench back in the toolbox, the job done. At least I did something right today.
“Good as new, Mom,” I say, walking into the kitchen. “And I organized the towels under the bathroom sink.”
She arches a brow. “You don’t organize. Something must be off.”
Everything is off.
“Least I could do,” I say, grabbing my keys off the entryway table.
“Want to stay for some lemonade? Shame to come all this way just to turn around and drive home.”
Pretty sure I don’t deserve lemonade, but I can’t resist. She makes it from scratch with vanilla and honey. “Sure.”
“If all I get is a sure to the one thing that you’d beg, borrow, and steal anything to have, I’m guessing you’re having a bad day. What’s wrong, sweetie?”
I heave a sigh. The saddest one in the country. “Might be easier to tell you what’s right,” I say, taking a seat on a barstool by the island.
Mom pours me a glass of lemonade as I serve up the sad, sorry state of my heart. “London and I broke up today.”
Her brow knits. “I didn’t know you were dating anyone. You said the other day you weren’t.”
My shoulders sag. I suck, and lemonade won’t fix it. I lied to my parents. “Yeah, sorry, Mom. I didn’t want to say anything, because she’s kind of off-limits,” I say, then give her the details. The PG version. “So what started as a simple date turned into a complicated thing, because her brother is my boss and the lines were getting blurry.”
“That sounds familiar,” she says gently, leaning on the island opposite me.
“It feels familiar. But also not. The circumstances are definitely reminiscent of Tracy, but my feelings for London are decidedly different.” I take a drink of the lemonade. “This is delicious,” I say, enjoying the simplicity of the drink. The constancy. Then I soldier on, too much to get off my chest now that the floodgates have opened.
“I’d convinced myself that we could make it work because my event company was picking up steam since the last time we talked. Then one of my bookings canceled this morning, I don’t know where I stand with the job I already have, and now I’ve lost the woman too.”
Mom cuts right to the chase. “Do you love her?”
The answer flutters to life in my gut the second she asks. I try to think it through, to apply logic, but my body knows instantly—it longs for London. I met her two weeks ago, and she’s fantastic, open, fun, passionate, supportive, and the coolest person ever. But there’s even more than that.
We spark.
On pretty much everything.
From dogs, to tacos, to Instant Pots.
From kissing, to connecting, to spending time together.
Every moment with her is electric, in bed and out of bed.
And that’s awesome and terrible at the same damn time.
Because I really need to figure things out.
And fast.
I give my mom a helpless smile. “I think I’ve fallen in love with her.”
Mom smiles, but it doesn’t last long. “Sounds like you still have a lot to work out. Finding a career of value and substance is important. The same can be said of finding a partner. As long as you’re honest with yourself first, you’ll figure out what to do next.”
I hope I figure it out soon, since I’m going into work in a few more hours.
* * *
My mom’s advice clangs around in my head on the drive home. I want to do the right thing, one step at a time, but my life is a Jenga tower right now, teetering on a bunch of center blocks.
As I walk into my place, my normally boisterous door greeter doesn’t even look up. He keeps gnawing on his hedgie in his spot.
“Hey, buddy. Did you miss me?”
He jerks his head away and kills the toy even more dead.
I flop down on the couch. “Tell me what to do next.”
Bowie is usually a good listener, but he shakes the hedgie another time, focused only on the toy.
Great. My dog won’t even amateur psychoanalyze me now.
I take a shower to clear my head, but the heat and the steam don’t bring answers about what to do next.
I text Sam to see if I can stop by his place before work. He says yes.
Ten minutes later, Sam lets me into his living room, where a yoga mat and blocks dominate the space.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt your practice.”
“All good, brother. Your text came in the middle of my vinyasa. Normally I’m too centered to deal with my phone, but something told me you needed me. Almost like your reaching out was a part of the flow, know what I mean?”
My brow knits in confusion. Hell, my whole body is a pretzel, and not the yoga kind. “I don’t know what anything means right now, man.”
“Whoa, slow down, bro. What’s going on? Sit.”
I take a seat on his couch as he returns to the floor, holding court, listening attentively in half lotus. I catch him up on everything: London, running into the guys this morning, losing an All Night Entertainment gig. “And now I’m not even sure where I stand with Archer and the club—the one thing that’s been a constant for me this past year, and I’ve probably fucked that up too. All because, out of the four million people in LA, I happened to fall in love with the one woman related to my boss.”
“Ten million, actually.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Four million people in the city, but ten million in LA county. You found the one in a sea of ten million.”
“Oh. Sounds romantic and star-crossed when you say it like that.”
Sam takes a deep, even breath and slowly lets it out. “I
t kinda is, Teddy. Think about all the possible moments in your life that can set off sparks. All the interactions that could ignite something fierce. And after Tracy, you were actively trying not to let that fire happen at work again, but it did. What you and London have is undeniable, man. Unavoidable. You just told me you loved her. Didn’t even flinch.”
“Because I do,” I say, the gravity of my words more intense than before.
I love London.
I want to go to weddings with her, take her out for sushi, bring the dogs to the park, eat ice cream, talk about toasters.
Everything is better with London.
Trouble is, London’s gone. She needs space.
And truthfully, I need it too.
But I don’t know what to do now, so I hold my arms out wide. “What do I say to Archer tonight? Do I quit? Do I tell him I’m in love with his sister? I’ve been down this road before, and it didn’t end well.”
Sam adjusts his other leg on top of his half lotus. “London’s not Tracy, and Archer isn’t Tracy’s dad. None of this has ever happened before. Every moment is new. What does your gut tell you? What does your heart say? Ask those questions and listen to the answers. Then decide what you’re going to do with this moment.”
I mull over his advice, but not for long.
Because ideas begin to spark.
Plans take shape.
Real ones. True ones.
“I need to be honest.” I recall Mom’s advice about priorities, and as Sam’s wisdom also takes hold, so does my certainty. “I need to come clean.” The thoughts pour out as fast as they form. “Not just about the job. I need to be fully honest with my boss. I owe it to him. I owe it to London. Hell, I owe it to myself. Because that’s the man I want to be. A good guy.” I smile, remembering London’s initial challenge to me.
“That’s the Teddy I’ve always known, but life is a series of tests we must continually pass.”
Energy fills me, flooding my cells. My mind races to tonight.
I stand. Pace. Blueprint the evening ahead.
“I need to quit Edge, but not for the reasons I thought. I thought I could quit, then mention I was seeing London down the road, and it wouldn’t be a big deal. But she’s not a ‘down the road’ person. She’s right fucking now.” I pace in the other direction, ticking off points as I talk. “I need to quit because having my own company is my dream. I can’t be the man I need to be for London if I’m not the man I want to be for myself. And that starts by telling my boss the truth and taking a chance on myself.”
It’s time to give everything I have to a company that hasn’t even taken flight yet. But the risk will be worth it. I believe that.
I blow out a heavy sigh. “This won’t be easy.”
Sam nods sagely. “It’s like Bodhi tells Johnny in Point Break: ‘If you want the ultimate, you’ve got to be willing to pay the ultimate price.’”
I stare at him, noodling on that. He’s right. Like Bodhi was right. “I needed that. Thanks, man.”
I smile and give Sam a big hug before I leave, knowing what I need to do next.
It’s time to take control of my life. Even if it means losing a lot along the way.
33
On the one hand, this is a death march.
On the other, I’m walking into my future.
That’s what I tell myself as I administer an epic pep talk on the drive to work. Sam, riding with me in the car, backs me up.
“You’ve got this,” he says as I turn onto the block that houses Edge. “You’ve so got this, bro.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate all the help today. I couldn’t have figured this out without you.”
Sam shakes his head, having none of it. “Nope. It’s all you.”
At Edge, I park my car, cut the engine, and scan the lot.
My stomach leaps into my lungs when I spot Archer’s red Lexus here. That’s a good sign, but it’s also an omen that shit is about to get real.
It’s hard to leave a job you like, to say goodbye to a boss who’s been good to you. “I can do this,” I say as I head toward the club, Sam by my side.
“You can do it, just like I can do a hot AF dance to ‘You Shook Me All Night Long.’”
“True. You can definitely do that.”
“So if you need extra guts before you go into his office, just think about me shaking my hips to that rock anthem.”
“I probably won’t do that, but I do appreciate the offer,” I say dryly.
“Just trying to help a brother out.”
I open the door to the club, both nervous and resolute. I’m ready for my future.
For everything.
As Sam makes his way to the dressing rooms, I head around the corner to the manager’s office.
Archer’s voice drifts through the doorway, sounding like he’s finishing a phone call. My shoulders tense as he says, “Sounds great. Talk to you again soon.”
The tension spreads as reality kicks all the way in once I reach his office. I’m doing this. True, I’m stepping into my future, but it’s without a safety net.
I knock on the open door as Archer ends the call then flashes me a professional grin. “Hey, Teddy. How’s everything going?”
“Good,” I say, my pitch a little high. I draw a breath, trying to keep my voice even, but I don’t budge from the doorway. “Do you have a minute?”
His brow knits. “Sure. I was hoping to chat with you too.”
He wants to talk to me too? About what? My tongue feels heavy, my throat dry.
Archer waves me in. “Come in. You look like this is a take-a-seat conversation.”
I nod, relieved that he senses my awkwardness. “It is, sir.”
He blows out a long stream of air. “You’re breaking out the sir. Sounds more like it’s a shut-the-door conversation.”
“Yes, it is,” I say, turning around, doing just that, then grabbing a seat in the chair across from his desk. He waits, his expression patient.
Time for me to man up.
I draw a breath, letting it fuel me. “You said the other week that if I wanted to pursue other opportunities, you would just be grateful for a heads-up.”
He winces. His expression falters. “I did.” He leans back in his chair. “I had a feeling this was coming.”
I run my palms along my jeans. “I’d like to give you my two weeks’ notice. I didn’t think it would come so soon, but the thing is, I really want to run my own company,” I say, getting those words out finally, and once I do, I feel lighter, buoyant. “I want to do weddings. I want to do bar mitzvahs. I want to do celebrations. I want to be part of these great family rituals. Parties, birthdays, anniversaries—that’s what I really like doing.”
He nods a few times. “I can see that in you. That seems like your jam.”
“It is. The wedding I did last weekend reminded me of that. Honestly, even helping choreograph London’s routine reminded me how much I like putting music together for all sorts of opportunities. And I think I should devote all of my attention to that kind of work,” I say, taking a staggered breath after getting all those words out. All those true words that I should’ve said a few days ago. But it took me that time to figure out what I needed for my own happiness.
Archer picks up a pen, spinning it between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll miss having you around here, but I appreciate you coming to me. I had a feeling that was what you wanted to talk about as soon as you showed up in my doorway.”
I swallow, digging down deep to say the next thing. “But there’s something else I need to chat with you about too.”
He makes a rolling gesture with his hand that translates to go ahead. “You’ve got the floor.”
I rip off the Band-Aid. “I’ve been seeing London.”
His eyes widen to the size of pizza pies. But he says nothing.
That’s okay. I have more to say. More that I should say. “I didn’t expect anything to happen. But I met her here at the club two weeks ago, and then I ra
n into her at the dog park before I knew she was related to you. I took her out to dinner, and I know I’m not supposed to be involved with people who work at the club, and more than that, she’s your sister. I’m pretty sure it’s a violation of the bro code to date your boss’s sister,” I say in a six-car verbal pileup.
Archer blinks. “Bro code. That’s funny.”
Is it funny? No idea. I still can’t read him. I’m still not sure what he’s thinking.
“But I did it anyway because she’s fantastic, she’s brilliant, and I’m pretty much crazy about her,” I say, starting with the crazy about her sentiment because I don’t want to shock the guy further with the L word. “And I want to keep seeing her.”
He’s quiet. Too quiet. He doesn’t say anything for several long seconds that threaten to spill into a minute.
An interminable minute.
Say something. Please say something.
He takes a deep breath, then speaks at last. “Is that why you’re quitting?” he asks, like he’s trying to make sense of all these events.
Understandable.
“No, and yes. I do think this is the next step of my career. And I also care deeply for her.”
He runs a hand across his chin. “Well, that does make things a little more complicated with what I was going to talk to you about.”
“What were you going to talk to me about?”
He parts his lips to speak, when his phone rings. He glances at the caller ID. “This is the call I was waiting for. I need to take it. I’ll catch up with you at the end of the night though.”
I leave with absolutely no clue what happens next.
34
That evening
From the Woman Power Trio, aka the text messages of London and her two besties, Olive and Emery
London: Makeup is magic.
Olive: Girl, I tell that to my mascara every day.
Emery: I’m convinced lipstick has special powers. The power to make me actually look decent every single day. But does this mean you’re feeling better after this morning? You were pretty damn sad. Understandably.
How To Get Lucky Page 17