by Max Monroe
Just stay calm, Lucky. You can do this.
I force a deep, cleansing breath in and out of my lungs and jump into the security line. I dance like a manic woman with an overfull bladder, but the front of the line comes fairly quickly, and before I know it, I’m through without much hassle and on to customs. Ten or so people stand between me and wide-open airport, and a crease forms in my hand from clenching my passport.
Unfortunately, as I’m standing there waiting, I spot my reflection in one of the shiny line separators and spaz out like Kramer on Seinfeld.
Apt, I think. You look just like him.
Shit. I’ve been so focused and fixated on getting to Ollie, I never thought about how hideous I might look.
Between the shitty attire I started with, the several hours’ worth of interrogation in Zurich, and the goddamn flat tire in the rain, I look like I’ve been to hell and back.
My hair is matted to the sides of my face.
What little bit of mascara I had on is now a clumpy mess beneath my eyes.
And my yoga pants and sweatshirt sport dirt and grease stains from that fucking tire-change on the side of the road.
But I don’t have time to think about it.
I don’t have time to run to the bathroom to fix myself up.
Hell, I don’t even have a fresh change of clothes at this point. All of my luggage is currently in Bordeaux.
All I can do is grin and bear it.
The guy behind the customs desk gives me an odd look as he takes in my appearance, but after a few quick questions and a glance at my passport, he stamps the fucker and sends me on my way with a curt nod.
If it weren’t to my benefit, I might have paused to worry about the psychopaths this airport was so easily letting through its gates.
But I don’t have time to question my change in luck, and I’m off to the races. Barreling through the small crowd of people that mill about the airport, I briefly stop in front of one of the big flight update signs to check Ollie’s flight status.
His flight is starting to board.
Shit.
I run as fast as my stupid, still soggy flip-flops will take me.
They slip and slap against the bottoms of my feet, and the sounds echo off the tile of the walkway and bounce off the large walls.
My carry-on flops behind me like a dead fish, and my purse slaps me in the face with each stride.
His gate is crowded with people, flushed full to the gills, and I scan each and every face as quickly as I can.
Down each row. Across each aisle. I examine each person for his familiar face.
But he’s nowhere to be found.
What the fuck? Do not tell me this asshole changed his plans. I will lose my mind.
Finally, there at the front of the line, two people away from boarding the plane, I spot his glorious back.
Shoulder muscles pronounced, a crisp white, collared shirt covers his upper half, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. And sleek black dress slacks cover his legs, while the matching jacket hangs off his carry-on.
He looks so good. So dapper and handsome.
Then again, if I’m really honest, Ollie always looks good to me. Even in cargo shorts and flip-flops.
“Ollie!” I shout, forcing the word from my lungs.
He turns, and our eyes meet.
And the pain and pressure of every moment we’ve ever had together comes crashing down around us.
* * *
Podcast Series: Lucky in Love
Episode One: Jerkily Ever After
Ollie: Well, guys. [laughs] Hi.
Lucky: Hi? Is that seriously the best you can do after leaving them on that cliffhanger? For the love of God, even my balls are blue.
Ollie: [laughs] Well, along with that lovely visual, I reckon I could leave them with how you left me under the Eiffel Tower, and the lot of you would really know the meaning of suffering. Heart bloody beaten to a pulp with a crowd looking on.
Lucky: I got there as fast as I could! I was strip-searched, dog-sniffed, detained for hours, and had to drive cross-country in a clown car, for God’s sake! Not to mention, the whole freaking thing wouldn’t have gone so dramatically had you had your damn phone on.
Ollie: [laughs] All right, then. I guess I’ll give you at least a bit of a pass. I mean, you did look like a fucking mess when you met me at the gate. Yoga pants. Thongs. A stained sweatshirt.
Lucky: [sighs] How about we introduce them to what the fuck is going on and why they’re listening to the two of us together before we get into the details of how bad I looked?
Ollie: [laughs] All right. Whatever suits you, little fire.
Lucky: [sighs] You are so annoying.
Ollie: That much, they know. Tell them what they don’t know. Like why we’re doing a bloody podcast together and how we got from your harrowing run through the airport in Paris to here.
Lucky: You always laugh at me when I tell it.
Ollie: [laughs] That’s because you always try to dress it up. Fancy visions and fluffy descriptions of a cotton blouse.
Lucky: A cotton blouse is a thing.
Ollie: You’re right. It is. It’s just not what you were wearing. You were wearing a sweatshirt, and it was stained from near collar to navel. You were sweaty and frizzy, and your hair was an absolute disaster.
Lucky: [sighs]
Ollie: And you were the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Lucky: Ollie…
Ollie: You were, Lucky. You were messy and tired and ragged…and you were there.
[clears throat]
After waiting for you at the Eiffel Tower and not having you show up, I wasn’t in a good place. To be frank, I was as far off the rails as I’ve ever been in my life. I mean, I’d love to tell you I was a gracious loser and that I understood how, even after everything I’d shared, you wouldn’t want to be with me, but fuck, that’s a big bloody lie.
I had all my eggs in the basket where you showed up, and I didn’t know what to make of myself when you didn’t.
[sighs]
As you figured out, I went right to the airport and booked the earliest flight right then. I considered going somewhere other than Bordeaux, but I guess at some point, somewhere, I’d picked up a responsible business bone. And I knew I couldn’t blow off the tour as much as I wanted to.
I spent most of the time in the bathroom, hiding out from the people I might see in the lounge, and I headed for the plane as soon as they called the flight to board.
I was fourth in line with the pathetic people—the ones like you, love—
Lucky: Hey, now! Excuse me, but I’m not pathetic.
Ollie: [chuckles] You know what I mean. Not pathetic in life, but pathetic in terms of boarding your plane way earlier than you need to.
Lucky: [huffs] Fine. I’ll let that one slide, but you’re on thin ice, sir.
Ollie: Sir? Fuck, Lucky. You’re making me ha—
Lucky: Ollie! [giggles] Get back to the story, please.
Ollie: Right. Right. [laughs] So, I was in the airport, yeah?
Standing in line to board. Head down and desolate, I awaited my turn.
And then you showed up.
“Ollie!” you yelled to get my attention.
I turned instantly, but I have to tell you, love, I was half convinced I was hallucinating.
I’d partaken in a…drink or two…between the tower and that moment at the gate, and I really had myself convinced I was undergoing a mental breakdown.
[laughs]
Lucky: Well…that’s kind of awful.
Ollie: [laughs] Isn’t it? I sure thought so.
Anyway, it took the entire distance between us, you dragging your ruffled carcass through it one bloody step at a time, for me to accept that you were real. Real and there.
But you were, and everyone in the surrounding five bloody provinces was looking on.
[laughs]
At least, it seemed like it.
“Wait!” you yelled
toward me, even though I’d already stepped from the line in anticipation of your arrival. “Don’t get on that flight!”
Lucky: You’d already stepped out of line? Why don’t I remember that?
Ollie: Because you were manic, little fire. A regular ticking time bomb.
Lucky: I’m sure I wasn’t that bad.
Ollie: There was a Skittle lodged in your hair.
Lucky: [snorts] There was not!
Ollie: [laughs] There was! When you finally closed the distance between us, it was all I could do not to smile at it.
“W-why were you in line a-already?” you asked through panting breaths.
I, of course, was having a bit of trouble following your line of thought—you were referring to memories of my podcast, I know now—and responded with utter confusion.
“Huh?”
“Y-you never board your flights this early,” you said, gulping on air like wine.
Lucky: [sighs] I don’t drink that much wine.
Ollie: Right, love. And I’m not a sarcastic arsehole.
Lucky: Whatever. Just continue.
Ollie: [laughs] All right. After a brief pause, you seemed to remember the real reason you were there, and finally, we were into the real meat and potatoes.
The blunt truth.
“I tried to get to you,” you said, a breathless desperation pleading for me to understand. “I tried to get to the Eiffel Tower, but I was too late.”
“You tried to meet me at the Eiffel Tower?” I asked simply, having to repeat the words back to you, just to prove them to myself as true.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it. I’m sorry I was late,” you apologized. You were so clearly focused on getting me to understand—to forgive you. And I was already there.
Lucky: Weren’t you wondering why? Didn’t you have doubts at that point?
Ollie: [laughs] Doubts? About you and the reason you were there?
Lucky: Yeah. I mean, I stood you up. You had to be wondering what I was doing there.
Ollie: [laughs] Nope. Not for a bloody moment.
Lucky: [scoffs] Really? I don’t believe you.
Ollie: If you’d been able to see yourself, love, you would. God, Luck. Your eyes, they said it all. [laughs] Well, your eyes and the absolute mess you’d made of yourself. I knew there was only one thing that could get you looking like that, and it wasn’t a careful deliberation over whether you loved me or not, followed by standing me up on purpose.
It was obvious. You’d been on your way to me, and you’d been determined to get there, come hell or high water.
You were just running a bit late.
Lucky: [laughs] Now who’s dressing things up?
Ollie: You’ve got me there. But you know what?
Lucky: [sighs] What, Ollie?
Ollie: You’ve got me forever. Just as I told you that day, we’re a team now. In it to win it, and in it to the end.
Lucky: To the end of time?
Ollie: Yeah, baby. This is our jerkily ever after. [pauses] And because of that…
Luckily: [gasps] Ollie, what are you doing?
Ollie: [chuckles] Getting down on one knee, love. What’s it bloody look like?
Lucky: Ollie…
Ollie: I love you, Lucky. I’ve loved you for a lot longer than you’ve loved me, but no worries, I’m planning on giving you a lifetime to catch up.
Lucky: Ollie!
Ollie: Marry me, Lucky. Marry the biggest jerk you’ve ever met, and don’t ever look back. Because, baby, I promise you I never will.
Lucky: [soft crying] Good God, this is embarrassing.
Ollie: [sighs] Say bloody yes, would you? Christ, you can be dramatic.
Lucky: Fine, you big jerk! Yes, okay? Are you happy?
Ollie: [laughs] Baby…you have no fucking idea.
Bonus Scene:
Two annoying podcasters, one mad momma, and a baby
* * *
Lucky
Today is the big day.
The day my best friend is going to have her baby.
After a panicked call from Sam at around eight this morning, Ollie and I are headed to the hospital, ready to meet Allie’s little bundle of joy.
The cab pulls into the hospital parking lot, and I brace myself for the cold-as-balls weather that is late January in New York.
Ollie grabs the door handle, and I wrap my infinity scarf tighter around my face.
“You ready to meet your future nephew?” he asks with a little smirk, and I roll my eyes.
“Future niece, you mean.”
“Ah, c’mon, little fire, you know the Arsens only create strapping young men.”
I snort. “I think you’re wrong, sir.”
“Sir?” The word rolls off his tongue with a salacious hint of sex, and I reach across the car to playfully slap him on the arm.
“Stop being so horny. We need to get inside!”
He laughs at my outburst and nods toward my door. “I’m actually waiting on you to make the first move, doll.”
“Ugh,” I whine. “But it’s so cold outside, I swear to God my lungs freeze every time I take a breath!”
“Get out of the car, Luck. We’ve got a podcast to record and a baby to meet.”
I grin at that. “You think Allie is going to be pissed at us?”
He shrugs. “Probably, but do you think that’s going to stop us?”
“Probably not.”
We both grin at each other, and with a grit of my teeth, I finally make the first move and hop out of the car while Ollie does the same, bending briefly to the cabbie’s window to give him some money. The cold wind whips across my face, and I squeal. “Shit! It’s colder than I thought!”
Ollie is already out of the car and running toward the entrance of the hospital. You’d think being a warm-weather lover and all-around transplant to New York when he isn’t touring—that’s right, he moved here for me—would make him the drama queen in this situation. But no. I am the drama. Always.
“You bastard! Wait for me!” I shout toward him, and instantly, he turns on his heel and jogs back toward me.
I’m over his shoulder and being carried fireman-style toward the hospital lobby doors before I can say “Put me down, you Aussie idiot!”
Of course, I do shout those words, but with how quickly Ollie moves, we’re nearly halfway across the parking lot before they leave my lips.
I slap at his shoulders and back once he steps inside, and eventually, he sets me to my feet.
“Just because I’m pint-sized doesn’t mean you need to carry me around everywhere.” I elbow him in the stomach, but it’s no use. His washboard abs might as well be Captain America’s shield.
Completely unfazed, he grins. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, love.”
I roll my eyes and push the elevator call button.
Once we’re inside, all by ourselves, he pulls me into his arms and presses his cold lips to mine for a heated fucking kiss. Initially, I attempt to pull away out of shock more than anything else, but the longer his lips and tongue dance with mine, the more I start to forget where in the hell we even are.
The man can kiss.
He could always kiss.
And when it comes to him kissing me, I still damn near lose brain function from it.
The elevator dings its arrival on the ninth floor, and it takes Ollie breaking the kiss for me to even remember what in the hell we’re doing at the hospital in the first place.
I blink a few times, and my brain function returns.
Ollie smacks me playfully on the ass as I step out of the elevator, and I giggle. But then I school my face into a glare and toss it his way over my shoulder.
“Put your game face on, Oliver. This is serious business.”
He matches my stride and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Baby, your arse is serious business,” he whispers in my ear with a little grin etched on his lips. “Speaking of which, I’m starting to regret not joining you in the shower this morning…�
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I laugh at that. “Joining me in the shower was not an option,” I refute. “Pretty sure you tried, but I refused because I know where that always leads us.”
“Straight to fucking heaven.”
“Fucking heaven?” I ask quietly with a smile on my lips. “As in it’s a heaven just filled with fucking?”
“You’re making me hard, Luck.” He smirks, and I slap him across the chest.
“Stop it, you randy bastard. We need to focus!” I whisper-yell, and he just keeps on smirking as we head straight for Allie’s delivery room.
Room 9023. The sign on the door stops me in my tracks, and I almost can’t contain my joy that the big day is finally here.
I bounce around on the heels of my favorite brown boots, and Ollie chuckles.
“Little excited, yeah?”
“Is it obvious?” I squeal and giggle and grip his shoulders like a giddy lunatic. “We finally get to the meet the baby today!”
A wry grin turns up his lips. “While I adore seeing you bounce around like a crazy ball of energy, you’re going to need to calm down a bit if you want to pull off this podcast.”
“Right,” I mutter and inhale a deep, calming breath. “Okay. Game face. I can do this. Are we recording this on your phone or mine?”