One Lucky Girl

by Natasha L. Black

  “You don’t have to tell him. ”

  “I hate keeping secrets from him, but he’s already worried enough about me being in the city alone.”

  “Doesn’t he know that you’re living with two cops?” Derek asked.

  “Yes and no. Yes, he knows I’m living with two cops named Derek and Brett.”

  “Okay, and?”

  “I may not have corrected him when he assumed you were a couple.”

  Derek nearly choked. “Wait. You let your dad think we’re gay? Do you really think he doesn’t trust you to live with who you think is appropriate?”

  “I know he doesn’t. He’s overprotective, but he’s led a hard life, a narrow life. He doesn’t get that men and women can be friends, or that it’s possible to make my own decisions without inviting a lifetime of misery and regret.”

  “That’s a lot of pressure. But you should tell him the truth. And you are free to do whatever you want, without his approval.”

  “But I’m not really. I love him, and I don’t want to worry him. If he finds out I’m living with two hot guys who aren’t gay, then I’ll automatically be in danger as far as he’s concerned. Like the two of you will take advantage of me or you’ll convince me join some kind of kinky sex club.”

  “We don’t belong to one of those...”

  “Well I know that and you know that, but my dad will freak out all the same.”

  “I wish you didn’t feel like you have to lie to him about who you are and how you live your life,” Derek said.

  “Me, too. Maybe in time I’ll trust myself enough and trust him enough to tell the truth. But for now, I just don’t think he’d understand.”

  “Then I’ll have to trust your judgment even though I disagree.”

  “Thanks. Probably the first time anyone has ever really done that,” I admitted.

  8

  I didn’t take the day off after all. I slept better than I’d expected to, probably because I had two burly, overprotective cops in the house with me. I woke up to find my hand bruised but not useless. A shower made me feel like it was possible to face the world. I put on makeup, flat ironed my hair, and went to Envy. I did my work, skipped lunch to get ahead on some copying, and didn’t tell anyone that I’d been mugged. When I got to my bartending job, I tried to carry on like nothing happened.

  “How’d you do in tips last night? I didn’t count mine till I got home, but it was a big take for a weeknight,” Cammie said conversationally.

  I shrugged.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “I didn’t get a chance to count mine.”

  “Did you have a hot date after hours?”

  I sighed. “No, I lost it all. I missed the bus, I was messing with my phone and I got mugged,” I said, sounding really grouchy.

  She engulfed me in a hug, scented with some floral Victoria’s Secret body spray, “Oh, honey, are you okay?” she said.

  “I’m fine,” I said, “I just feel stupid.”

  “I should’ve asked if you needed a ride when we left!” she said.

  “No, this is not your fault!” I said.

  “God, I just wish I’d taken you with us,” she said.

  “No, you live in the opposite direction. I just should’ve asked for a ride to the bus stop or else called one of my roommates.”

  “The hot cops? Honey, you live in a Magic Mike fantasy, not an apartment. I bet those two can dance.”

  “I don’t think so. They’re actual cops, not strippers in uniform.”

  “But they could be. The point is they’re good looking enough to be. Most of the cops I know, they look like they eat two-dozen doughnuts for breakfast. Not these two though.”

  “Nope, I’ve made them breakfast,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t mind making them breakfast and letting them eat it off me naked,” Cammie said. I laughed.

  “Hey, I can hear you,” Jason said sarcastically. She tossed a grin over her shoulder at him, and he smiled back.

  They were happy together and had obvious chemistry. He was always touching her hair, or she was brushing against him as they worked. It made me feel lonely. And horny. Because I lived with the two hottest guys anyone ever met, and I wasn’t even getting laid.

  The worst part was how confusing it was for me. Because when I first met them, I liked them, the ease of their friendship, how comfortable we all were together. I was attracted to Derek, unsure that Brett even did more than just tolerate me. Then I kissed Brett. Then Derek put his arm around me at the bar, which turned me on so much I went and masturbated in a bathroom stall. After I was mugged, Derek kissed me until I probably couldn’t have remembered my name.

  There was no way it would turn out well to get involved with them. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship and our living arrangements. If I pursued anything romantic with one of them it would mean we couldn’t all live together. It would be too awkward. And it could ruin their friendship as well. They were both protective of me, and loyal to each other. They were best friends. I respected that too much to endanger it. In theory. In reality, I was rubbing one out in a public bathroom because I was so hot for them both. Just thinking of them, either or both, made me remember I needed to stop by the store to get more batteries for my rabbit tomorrow. Because those guys had me putting serious miles on my vibrator.

  It wasn’t just the way they looked. True, they both could pass for a fantasy brought to life, all lean muscle and work-roughened hands. But they were protective, caring, funny, sensual. Either one was enough to bring a woman to her knees, but the combination of both men in close proximity was practically a sexual powder keg waiting to explode. Or at least I was a sexual powder keg in their presence.

  It was baffling that I could be so strongly attracted to two men at once. I’d always been faithful even when it was just a crush. The summer I liked Ron Winslow, when I was seventeen, I wouldn’t even go out on a date when a guy I worked with asked me out, because even though Ron didn’t seem to know I was alive, in my heart I was ‘with’ him and wouldn’t ‘cheat’ with someone else. Who had I become around these two men?

  The rare times I was honest with myself, I’d admit that Brett and Derek were sexy enough to make even the most virtuous woman bite her pearls and think filthy things. They were extraordinary, and I was in a unique situation of being close enough to touch, but not letting myself. It was like staring through the window at the yummiest, most tempting cakes and cookies in the world, but being separated by that cold pane of glass from everything you wanted, everything that you knew was bad for you in the long run.

  After a few weeks of trying not to ogle them openly, I was ready to break that imaginary window in frustration and start licking things indiscriminately. It didn’t help, in fact it made it worse, that they started checking in on me every night at the bar. If I was working till closing time, you could bet that one or both of them, usually both, were seated at one end of the bar by the time things were winding down. I wasn’t by myself even to walk to the bus stop.

  At first, I was both flattered and annoyed. I even suggested that they didn’t trust me to walk two blocks without doing something stupid. But the truth was, they worried about me. Not because women weren’t smart enough to walk alone at night or because my push up bra meant I was asking for the wrong kind of attention. But because it was demonstrably unsafe for me. I’d been mugged, twice. I would walk alone again, and I’d get comfortable doing so. But I wasn’t ready, and neither were they. So I was grateful, and I gave them space to talk about their cases and they didn’t hover around me if a patron flirted with me or anything. They didn’t act like bodyguards or bouncers or those guys at strip clubs who make sure you don’t grope the dancers. I would catch their eye once or twice on my shift, and when I was ready to go, I’d get my jacket, and they would rise as if by mutual consent and follow me out the staff exit.

  We’d pile into the pickup, the three of us crowded together on the bench seat waiting for the heater to warm
the cab. Some nights I could see my breath in the cold, and those were the nights I was happy to be squished between the two hunky heartthrobs.

  “I can take the bus,” I’d say, but even as I said it, I yawned and let my head tip against Derek’s shoulder, “You two are being so silly picking me up like I’m a kid at school.”

  “Oh well,” said Derek affably, “we don’t want you hurt or robbed or any of the other things that happen to people in this city. It’s better than worrying.”

  “You two worry about me, it’s so cute,” I teased.

  “Do you wanna walk?” Brett joked, “Because a simple thank you is good enough. You don’t have to act all weird about it.”

  “Okay, fine, stick a pin in my balloon there, man. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” they both said together, and we laughed.

  “If you’re not careful, you’re gonna spoil me,” I said.

  “So let us spoil you,” Derek said.

  He elbowed me playfully, like a friend. So I couldn’t explain the way my cheeks heated or the shiver of desire that rippled through me. I blinked fast to dispel the image that bloomed before my eyes, the pair of them spoiling me in bed. I bit down on my lip. I felt foolish, ungrateful. They were caring friends and I was using them as fantasy material. Granted, I’d kissed them both, but at very emotional times when none of us was acting like ourselves. It was to be expected that I’d get attached to them. But ‘attached’ didn’t begin to describe how confusing and wonderful and scary it was to be attracted to both of them, to have feelings for them both.

  I didn’t say anything else. I just sat, sandwiched between them on the bench seat, warm and safe, breathing in the spicy aftershave Derek always wore and tipping my head back onto his shoulder. I closed my eyes. It felt so good to be right where I was.

  9

  I was back from another coffee run at Envy. My phone beeped with someone’s early lunch order. I sighed. I loved the magazine and the people I worked with, but the downside of being an intern was that more often than not, I was a copy girl and errand girl. I wanted so much to be invited to join the staff, and I wanted to prove myself, so it didn’t make sense to whine about picking up lattes and wraps for bona fide writers and designers. I didn’t want a reputation for being anything but brilliant and easy to get along with.

  I balanced the coffees in the elevator and delivered them to the right desks in the open floor-plan office. I was going to grab a water before the lunch rush started and see if I could squeeze in some copying, but my phone rang. It was Celia, one of my friends and secretary to editor Liz Markham, my absolute idol.

  “Babe, I have to pee. I’ll grab your lunch in a minute,” I said.

  “I beg your pardon,” said a voice on the phone.

  “Oh my God. Ms. Markham. I’m sorry. I thought it was Celia. Her number came up on my phone. I’m so sorry,” I babbled. I shut my eyes in embarrassment.

  “Lynette, when you’re finished with your rather urgent trip to the facilities, please join us in my office.”

  “I will. I’m sorry. Again.”

  I ran to the bathroom, muttering to myself the whole time about what an idiot I was. I washed my hands, touched up my lipstick; because a swipe of that Benefit sample was going to totally make up for my immature gaffe on the phone. I made myself take deep breaths and try to look composed, professional, not like someone who announced bodily functions on the phone.

  Celia waited for me at the door of the office, and as I went in, she squeezed my arm.

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  “I want to die,” I whispered. She smiled and shook her head.

  I took a seat, perched on the edge of it, facing the massive shiny black desk with floor to ceiling windows behind it, the killer city view of a woman who’d worked her way to the top of the industry. Awe and covetousness pushed my embarrassment aside a little bit.

  “I have a task for you if you’d care to undertake it. Sylvia Winchester, one of our relationship writers, has two stories on the docket for the next issue and a handful of online articles to complete. She’s in the hospital with an ovarian cyst just now. Should be on her feet in a couple of days, but she could use a bit of help.”

  “I’ll run right over. Which hospital is she in? Does she like tea or coffee?” I said.

  Liz, laughed, “Not that sort of help. We were hoping you had time to complete some research on an upcoming article for her.”

  “Absolutely! I’d love to help. What am I researching?”

  “IUD’s. The myths, the recalls, the lawsuits. I want actual peer reviewed medical studies, not someone’s cousin Ashley whose IUD fell out at a frat party. Something more in-depth than what’s already been done. I don’t want cautionary tales, I want scientific fact,” she said.

  “I’ll get started right away.”

  “Very good. I need sources and summaries in my email by Friday at 9AM.”

  “I’ll be ready,” I said.

  I couldn’t wait to start. It was a meatier story than I’d expected to get to tackle the research for—I had expected a softball topic like which brand of lip gloss was the least sticky. This, this was exactly what I wanted. A chance to prove I was smart, motivated, and a hard worker.

  It was Wednesday afternoon and I had Thursday night off. I could get started before heading to my bartending shift, but the bulk of the work would have to be done on Thursday no matter how late I had to stay. Celia hugged me as I left the office, walking on air.

  “You nail your first assignment, and she’ll let you do more. I know this woman,” Celia said.

  I texted the guys to let them know about my big chance and found an open computer station I could use. I logged on to the system and started by looking at recent articles in competing publications. Then I hit the major women’s interest web sites for their take and made notes. I wanted to know how much deeper to delve into the topic and what kind of research would set an article apart from the pack. Too soon, I had to take off for my paying job. As I mixed drinks and drew mugs of beer, I smiled automatically, all the while turning over the topic in my head, thinking about different angles and sources.

  I was quiet on the way home and the guys picked up on it.

  “This is my chance to prove I’m capable of more than just running errands and putting more paper in the copy machine.”

  “IUDs though?” Brett said, “All I know is there’s always some commercial on TV about if you got an infection or injury from this thing, call this number. That sounds bad,” he said with a grimace.

  “It’s bad publicity, for sure, and it’s not like other medical devices and prescriptions haven’t had lawsuits in the past.”

  “Hey, nobody ever had to have their balls cut off from taking Viagra is all I’m saying,” Derek said with a laugh.

  “If they did, it sure didn’t end up on the news.”

  “Anyway, I’d like to work on it more, but I’m beat. I’m going to sleep. It’s gonna be a late night tomorrow for sure. You guys just figure on me taking an Uber home, don’t worry about guard duty,” I said.

  “How late are we talking?” Derek said, “I need my beauty sleep.”

  “As long as it takes to finish. The research needs to be summarized, cited and emailed by nine on Friday morning,” I said.

  “Makes me tired just thinking about it,” Brett said as he unlocked the door and let me in.

  I crashed without even taking a shower. The next morning, I had coffee for breakfast, lots of it, and a powdered donut because I needed energy more than I needed to be smart that day. I was at the office early and deep into reading abstracts of studies published in medical journals. I managed my usual email tasks and errands, knowing I’d have time that evening with fewer interruptions. I could have made the excuse that I was ‘working on something for Liz’ when given a menial job to do, but I didn’t want to be stuck up or try to skip out on my regular intern responsibilities.

  I settled in at the computer station aft
er most of the staff left for the night. I kept a file open where I jotted down information from each relevant article with its citation. When I was satisfied with the rigor of my research, when I was sure I had enough information and then some, I tackled what I’d written. I revised and rephrased, put the article summaries in chronological order and starred the ones I thought were most relevant for debunking misconceptions. Then I opened a new document and wrote an overview in case Liz didn’t have time to disseminate eleven pages of medical study summaries. I proofread it and sent both files with the email. I did a happy twirl around the office when I was finished.

  I texted the guys to let them know I was done and going to get an Uber.

  We r downstairs, Derek replied.

  Ok, stalkers, I’m coming, I sent back.

  Secretly, I was so grateful for them, and couldn’t help but feel tingly all over at how protective they were of me. When I got downstairs, the truck was idling by the entrance. Brett got out and held the door open. I ran to him and hugged him.

  “Thank you. You guys are the best. I don’t know how I got so lucky,” I said into the soapy smell of him, his arm around me. He kissed the top of my head, then picked me up as if I weighed no more than a sheet of paper and swung me into the truck. I giggled.

  “I’m so excited about this project. I feel really good about the research summary I turned in.”

  “You are too young to be all work and no play,” said Derek.

  “This is an intervention,” Brett added.

  I laughed, “You two are hilarious.”

  “No. We’re serious. You’ve been working too hard for over a month now. The internship and the bar. You don’t go out and have fun.”

  “Why would I go out? I spend eight hours a night in a bar.”

  “Exactly. You’ll turn into an cat lady and start shouting “get off my lawn” at people who walk by if we don’t get this turned around. You need to have some fun, girl,” Derek said.