The Good Luck Charm

by Helena Hunting

  “Carmen and I are going for dinner.”

  “And after that?”

  “I don’t know. Probably reading a book and going to bed.” The butterflies in my stomach are a problem.

  “I could come over and you could read to me. Remember when you used to read chemistry textbooks to me in your phone-sex operator voice? I used to love that—not sure it helped me retain much information, though.”

  “Ethan.” It’s a warning.

  He sighs. “Okay. When you have a chance, let me know what your schedule is. I missed you while I was in Chicago this weekend.”

  I close my eyes and bite back a smile. “You’re too much. I’ll talk to you later.”

  We seem to be bypassing friends and heading down a road I’m not sure I’m prepared to travel yet, not with so many loose ends and unsaid things hanging between us. I’m terrified that if I let him back into my life, I’m going to fall for him again and he’s going to break my heart a second time.

  I pack up the rest of my things, stop at home to take my dog, Merk, for a quick run, and then walk over to meet my sister at our favorite boardwalk restaurant. Mondays we typically have a standing date unless Carmen has to show a house—which happens on occasion since she’s a real estate agent. Although we’ll have to rearrange it once my course starts.

  Of my five older siblings, Carmen is the one I’m closest to, in part because she’s only a few years older than I am, and also because our brothers are scattered across the country. One by one they found someone to love and disappeared. The age gap was significant, so I was never close to any of them. They were more like pseudo–absentee fathers, too busy with college and girlfriends to really be bothered with me.

  Ever since I was young, I think it was when my father left, I’d been the one to make sure everything was taken care of, that Mom never had to worry about anything. I was always tidying up, making sure there was milk in the fridge and cereal in the cupboard since my brothers were already all but out of the house by then. My memories of them are vague, limited to requests for a ride to the store if we ran out of something important. They didn’t have a lot of time for me, and Ethan’s family became my refuge.

  So when I moved into Avery’s condo and she knew I wouldn’t see her as often, my mother decided to go to one of my brothers’, where she could be a grandmother to their children. In some ways it felt like I lost another parent, but I understood why she moved. Besides, I had Avery, and he needed me in much the same way.

  “Can you stop looking at your phone for five minutes? You’re worse than a teenager. Who is that, anyway? Wait—” Carmen holds up a finger. “Let me guess. It’s Ethan.”

  “He just got home. He’s updating me on Martin.”

  She scoffs. “Uh, yeah, that’s, like, the biggest load of bullshit ever in the history of bullshit. You were at the Kases’ this morning, and you talk to Jeannie pretty much every day and have since you were six.”

  “He’s been gone a few days. He might see progress we don’t.”

  “Still not buying it. So what’s going on there, anyway? Is this a trip down memory lane for you two? Are you going to compare his previous skill set in bed to his skill set now? Do you think he can still go forever? I mean, he’s a professional athlete. That has to translate into a superior bedroom experience.”

  “Carm!” I glance around the patio, but the music is loud and the tables closest to us are more concerned with their menus than my sister’s inappropriate, but potentially accurate, hypothesis.

  “What? You two used to screw like bunnies.”

  “How the hell would you know that?”

  “Oh, come on. We were forever getting phone calls from the school that you’d missed second period, which I intercepted—you’re welcome very much. I’m sure you and Ethan used that time to study human biology. Besides, all teenagers screw like bunnies.”

  “We’re just friends, and I’m not going to sleep with him.”

  Carmen raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Just friends? So all those text messages are about his dad?”

  “I’ve just finalized my divorce and I’m about to start a course that’s going to eat up all my spare time. I don’t need to add another complication to my life, especially not with Ethan.”

  “That’s a pretty convenient excuse, and don’t think I didn’t notice how you sidestepped my question.”

  “He already broke my heart once. I’m not all that interested in letting him do it again.”

  She takes a sip of her margarita and motions me to go on.

  I sigh. Carmen is persistent. “He wants to go for coffee, or drinks, or whatever. Just spend time together as friends.”

  “As friends, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “With benefits?”

  “No.”

  Her eyebrows lift when my phone buzzes again. “If you say so.”

  I put my phone on airplane mode and shove it in my purse without checking it this time.

  * * *

  The following evening Carmen’s number appears on my phone minutes after I arrive home from work. We don’t have plans tonight, and usually she sticks to texting instead of phone calls, so it must be important.

  “Hey, Sis, everything okay?”

  “Hey, hi. How’s it going?” The honk of a horn tells me she’s in traffic.

  “Did you call me while you’re driving?”

  “It’s hands-free. Don’t worry—I’m obeying the rules of the road.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Are you still at work?”

  “I just got home. What’s up?”

  “You have yoga tonight, right?”

  “Usually, but the instructor is on vacation.”

  “Thanks for using your signal, dickhole!” she yells. “Sorry. Asswipe in a BMW just cut across three lanes of traffic and nearly caused a goddamn fucking pileup.”

  “Maybe you should pull over to have this conversation.” Carmen’s road rage is unparalleled.

  “It’s fine. He took the exit. Anyway, I need a favor.”

  “Do you need me to check on Barkley?” He’s her Boxer dog. Sometimes her hours get messed up, so I stop by her place to feed him or take him for a walk. When I’m there, I’ll do a little tidying or make sure she has something other than junk food in her cabinets and enough dog food for Barkley to make it through the week. She keeps telling me I don’t need to do this stuff, but I can’t help it.

  “Please? I’ll owe you big-time. Last time I was this late, he pooped on the throw rug in my bedroom.”

  “Yuck. I’ll pick him up on the way to the dog park. Merk will love the company and we can avoid poop carpet bombs.” Avery was allergic to dogs. Once I moved into my own place, I finally decided to get one, partly to feel protected and also to feel less alone. Merk isn’t much of a guard dog, but he’s a great companion.

  “You’re a lifesaver. Pineapple flavored.”

  “I prefer the green-apple ones.”

  “You always did.” She laughs. “I have another favor, though, apart from walking Barkley.”

  “Do not ask me to pick up your dry cleaning.” She’s done it before. And I picked it up, of course, but there was some guilting afterward. I’m happy to help, but picking up her dry-cleaned lingerie is where I draw the line.

  “That was only one time and I didn’t have time to pick it up before my date! I’m stuck in the city and there’s wicked traffic. Even if I take all the back roads, my GPS is still putting me in Forest Lake after seven thirty, and I have a showing at seven.”

  “I’m not following.” I have no idea what a showing has to do with me.

  “It’s for Ethan. It’s the Hoffmans’ house on Crescent Street. You know the one I’m talking about?”

  “Carmen,” I warn.

  “Oh, come on, Lilah.”

  “Isn’t it illegal or something for me to show a house when I’m not even a licensed agent?”

  “I’ve cleared it with the owners. I’ve even emailed you the lock code and every
thing. Can you help me out on this? I could really use the commission, and it’s a private showing. I don’t want to miss out, and I don’t know when, or if, I’ll be able to reschedule.” She’s rambling now. It’s how she guilts me into things. “Please? You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I know your history with Ethan hasn’t always been easy, but he seems to want to mend his broken fences or whatever the saying is.”

  I’m annoyed at the way my stomach dips over this information. “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing, really; it’s just the sense I get.”

  “When did you even talk to him about me?”

  “When I was setting up the showing earlier today.”

  “I want specifics or I’m not doing this for you.”

  She huffs, realizing she’s not getting out of this that easily. “He mentioned how grateful he is that you’ve been so helpful with his dad and that he’s glad you’re friends again.”

  “Friends?”

  “Ha! Listen to how disappointed you sound.” Her glee irritates me.

  This feels like purposeful meddling, but I relent. “Fine. But only this one time. Don’t ask again.”

  “Thank you!” Her voice is singsongy. “I’ll take you out for drinks later this week.”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  “I love you. I’ll call when I’m back in town, and I’ll meet you at the house around seven thirtyish.” She ends the call before I can say anything else.

  “Dammit.”

  I pull up the email with the listing. It’s a big house, over four thousand square feet, retailing at three-quarters of a million dollars. I can see why Carmen would like the commission. If she gets it, she’s taking me for more than a drink. I want a five-star meal for dealing with Ethan in a setting that doesn’t have the buffer of his family before I’m ready. Not that I feel like I’ll ever be ready.

  It’s already five thirty. I need to take the dogs for a quick run and get my ass in gear if I’m going to be at the house by seven. I change out of my scrubs and into running shorts and a tank. It’s hot and humid as I run the short distance to my sister’s house with Merk, pick up Barkley, and make the circuit around the block a couple of times. We don’t have time to stop at the dog park, but I promise to take them tomorrow.

  After I feed Barkley, I run Merk home and jump in the shower. My phone lights up as I’m sifting through the contents of my closet for something to wear. I check my messages—there are two from Carmen, one requesting that I not show up in my scrubs. The second is a series of emojis depicting a range of begging. I send her a middle finger back, throw on a sundress, then rush to do my makeup—which is two swipes of mascara and some lip gloss—and leave my house. I drive with the windows down so my hair will be mostly dry by the time I get there.

  Ethan’s truck is parked out front when I arrive. My stomach is doing that annoying flip thing already. I wish I felt less like the teenage version of myself when I’m near him. I park behind his truck, take a deep breath, glance at my face in the rearview mirror, peeved that I care what I look like, and cut the engine.

  Ethan steps out of his truck as I exit my car. He’s wearing dress pants and a polo that pulls tight across his broad chest and hugs his thick biceps. His wavy dark hair is styled neatly, he’s freshly shaven, and he looks disgustingly delicious. Or just delicious. All my sensitive spots perk up in agreement. Stupid body, having stupid hormonal reactions. It’s probably because I haven’t had sex in more months than I’d like to admit. And because Ethan is even hotter than he was eight years ago. It would be great if I could stop noticing these things about him.

  He tilts his head fractionally, a half smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. I know that smile well. It’s his surprise face. The one he used to wear when I’d buy new clothes he liked, or when I’d suggest we skip second period and go back to one of our houses for an early lunch. We did that a lot. And now there are tingles between my legs. I knew this was a bad idea. My heart knows to keep some distance, but my hormones don’t seem to be able to adhere to logic in the same way.

  “Hi.” His gaze drifts down, pausing briefly at the V-neck, skimming the tie at the waist and then lower, to where the hem grazes my knees, all the way to my shoes. I’m wearing wedge sandals since they work with this dress. And they might make my legs look good. Not that I care. Much. He repeats the circuit in reverse.

  “You, uh”—he blows out a breath and rubs at his full bottom lip—“you look amazing in that dress.”

  “Oh. Uh, thanks.” I don’t expect the compliment. I run my hands nervously over my hips.

  He jams his hands in his pockets and clears his throat. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but uh, where’s Carmen? Are you meeting her here, too?”

  I sigh. “You mean she didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” He appears genuinely confused.

  “That bitch.” I’m going to kill my sister. The least she could’ve done was warn him that she would be late. “She’s stuck in traffic and didn’t want you to miss out on seeing the house, so she asked me to meet you.”

  “Oh.” His smile widens. “Well, that’s good news for me.”

  “I guess we should go in?”

  “Sure. Lead the way.” He motions toward the house and we walk up the driveway together.

  I have to check my messages for the code Carmen left, and I’m suddenly nervous. I swear I can feel the heat of Ethan’s body behind me. It takes me back to when we were halfway to becoming adults and the innocence of our youth was replaced with unexplored desire.

  I remember very vividly the first time Ethan kissed me. The way his touch changed from soft and familiar to heat fueled and needy. How the peck on my cheek lingered and his lips brushed close to the corner of my mouth, the gentle caress of his fingertips on my skin, followed by his soft lips on mine.

  We’d stayed like that for long seconds until the warm, wet press of his tongue shocked me. I’d gasped and clutched his shoulders and then he’d really kissed me. Tongue sweeping my mouth, fingers tangled in my hair, his moan vibrating through my entire body.

  All of this flashes through my mind as I key in the lock code, and heat licks through me in a fiery wave. I need to get a handle on myself when I’m in Ethan’s presence. Memories that I’ve worked to push down all these years keep breaking the surface, like the little bubbles in a glass of soda.

  I push the door open and Ethan motions me forward, following me inside. The foyer is a grand, open space, with a curving staircase that leads to the second floor. An ornate chandelier hangs at least twenty feet above our heads, catching the sunlight as it streams through the windows, creating rainbows on the floor.

  “So this is what an NHL salary gets you in the housing market, huh?” I cringe at my inappropriateness.

  Ethan gives me a wry grin. “This is the top of my budget, and the house I have in Chicago has appreciated thirty percent in the past year thanks to the crazy market out there, but yeah, I guess this is what playing with sticks gets you.”

  I snort at the thinly veiled innuendo. “I can wait here while you look around.”

  “You don’t want to come with me? See what kind of weird art the Hoffmans have hanging in their living room?”

  The Hoffmans are eccentric. If anything, I’m curious about the decor. I suppose it doesn’t hurt to have a look around. “I can tag along.”

  Ethan’s smile grows a little wider, and he picks up the listing papers, flipping through them. The house has five bedrooms, a separate pool house to complement the Olympic-size pool, and access to the lake—because why not have a pool and the lake if you’re going to live in a three-quarters-of-a-million-dollar home—all on one acre of property.

  The kitchen is spectacular, and I’m immediately glad I didn’t wait in the foyer. I grew up in an older four-bedroom house. Carmen and I shared a bedroom growing up, but with my mom working late shifts as I got older and Carmen’s involvement in after-school sports I often ended up goin
g to the Kases’ after school and staying there. No one ever questioned my sleeping on an inflatable mattress on the floor in Ethan’s bedroom, which was twice the size of the one I shared with my sister. When I was too old to stay in there with him, he’d sleep in the living room on the pullout sofa. I never considered the sacrifice in that until I had to spend a night on the uncomfortable, lumpy, thin mattress myself.

  Our kitchen was small and felt crowded with more than two bodies in it. Dinner was always a race, especially with four older brothers and an older sister. If you weren’t quick enough, you’d miss out on all the good things.

  This kitchen is the opposite of that. The appliances are state-of-the-art, stainless steel without a single fingerprint marring the shiny metal and endless granite counters.

  I spin around and motion to the wall of windows and the French doors leading to the backyard, which is hardly a “yard.” Beyond the natural-stone patio is a huge swimming pool, and a path of stones marks the way to the lake, where a boathouse and a massive dock sprawl out into the water. “Look at this view.”

  “Let’s save the backyard for last.” Ethan nods toward the foyer and I follow him through a formal dining room with a table that seats twelve comfortably, and a living room that seems to be designed to hold the same. This is definitely a house meant for entertaining. Maybe that’s why he wants it, so he can throw hockey parties here with his new teammates. I wonder if puck bunnies get invites to those kinds of parties. The possibility irks me.

  The second floor has its own private sitting room and deck that boasts the same view of the lake as the kitchen, except from a higher vantage point.

  Each bedroom has a private bathroom. They’re a little outdated, as if the owners cared most about the kitchen and the dining room, which are the only parts of the house that seem to have been updated in the last twenty years. My skin grows hot when we step into the master suite, and the back of Ethan’s hand skims my hip. The space is huge and lavish. I laugh at the painting on the wall opposite the bed.

  Ethan’s eyebrows lift along with the curve of his lips. “That’s a little cliché, isn’t it?”