LuckyBastard: A Cocky Hero World Novel

by Ryan, Kaylee

  “You’re being judgey.”

  “Like you didn’t judge Chance.”

  “Oh, I did. I admit that. You’re forgetting something,” she says, standing from her desk that faces mine.

  “Tell me, ole wise one. What could I possibly be forgetting?” I ask, amused. I can only imagine what she’s going to throw at me next.

  “What you’re forgetting, my dear Em, is that yes, I judged Chance, but I also married him.” She raises her left hand and wiggles her ring finger that houses her wedding band and engagement ring. Not that they’re easy to miss.

  “So you found your unicorn. Not all of us are that lucky. And you didn’t change him. He changed because of you. To be better. There’s a difference.”

  “I agree with you. But how do you know that Landon won’t be the same way? How do you know he’s not already a commitment guy? Because of a few tabloids? Come on, Emma, you know better than to believe everything you read in those things or online. Hell, talk to Chance. He can give you his firsthand experiences.”

  I admit she has a point, but it’s all too much. He’s too much. He’s this gorgeous, professional athlete, and I’m the girl next door who helps run an animal shelter. He might not be bored now because of the chase, but he would be. Eventually. I’m saving us both the drama and potential heartache that’s surely inevitable.

  “I don’t,” I say when I realize she’s watching me still, waiting for an answer. “I have to go with my gut on this one, and my gut tells me that Landon Barker has heartbreak written all over him.”

  Aubrey shakes her head. “Girl, I’ve been where you are. Sometimes you just have to take the risk.”

  “I’ve never been much of a risk-taker.”

  “Just promise you’ll keep an open mind.”

  “Sure, whatever, but it’s a moot point. I made it clear that day at the field, and both times he called yesterday that I wasn’t interested. I’m sure he’s tucked his tail between his legs and moved on to the next willing and able woman. Lord knows there are plenty in line to volley for his attention.”

  No sooner than the words leave my mouth, the chime over the door alerts us to a visitor. Standing from my chair, I walk down the hall to the reception area. There I find a woman holding a planter of flowers. “Hi, I have a delivery for an Emma Deaton.”

  No, he didn’t. “I’m Emma.” I step closer and accept the planter, placing it on the reception desk.

  “Sign here, please.” She hands me a clipboard and I scrawl my signature across the page. “Thank you. Have a nice one,” she says, and is gone as fast as she arrived.

  “Flowers?” Aubrey asks, wearing a grin. “I wonder who they’re from?” She’s being coy; we both know damn well who they’re from. No one sends me flowers. Ever. As in, I’ve never received flowers before in my entire life. Sure, a corsage for prom when I was in high school, but never like this. It’s amazing what it does to brighten your mood. The quarterback is persistent, I’ll give him that. He’s good at the game, and although the flowers are a pleasant surprise, I’m not playing. Nope, my ass will remain on the bench. At least when it comes to him.

  “They’re for you.” I make it a point to grin widely, exaggerating the look, which makes her laugh.

  “Oh, really?” She reaches out for the card, but I’m faster, snatching it before she has a chance to.

  I grip the small card in my hand as I lean in to smell the roses, literally. Not just roses but calla lilies, which are my favorite. The bouquet is gorgeous with the white roses and the pink lilies intertwined. Without even knowing, he chose the perfect arrangement. Then again, I’m sure he just called the flower shop and told them to pick. On second thought, he probably had an assistant order them. Guys like him, all rich and professional, they can’t be bothered with mundane acts such as ordering flowers. Suddenly, my happy feeling is deflated. I’m sure that’s it. He wouldn’t take time out of his day to send them himself.

  “Are you going to read it? Or would you rather stand there staring at this stunning arrangement with a dopey look on your face the entire day?” Aubrey grins, proud of herself for calling me out.

  I stick my tongue out at her like the adult that I am. Turning the small envelope over in my hands, I slide my index finger under the seal and pull out the tiny card. It simply says Call me, with a phone number. It’s signed, with an L, and that’s it. His cocky ass just assumed he’s the only man vying for my attention. Sure, he’s right, but still. He can’t even include his full name?

  “Well?” Aubrey asks, impatient as ever.

  “From an L.B.” I shrug, handing her the card.

  She reads over it and laughs. “Looks like we’ve got another cocky bastard on our hands. Are we supposed to read his mind that he’s the L.B. that sent these?” She stares at the card, then grins. “Did I ever tell you how I met Chance?”

  “Yeah, something about an Obama bobblehead?” I try to pull up the memory.

  “Yeah, and his bike… it had the initials C.B. engraved, and I couldn’t help but think they stood for cocky bastard.”

  I nod. “I remember you telling me that.”

  “Yeah, well, looks like you got your own initials man.”

  “What? You’re talking crazy.”

  “No, really. We need to give him a name for it.”

  “He has one. Landon Barker.”

  “No, no, not his real name. Where’s the fun in that?” She thinks for a minute. “I’ve got it. Lucky Bastard.” She nods, proud of herself.

  “And why is he so lucky?” I ask, knowing I’m going to regret it.

  “He’s got your attention. What more luck does he need?”

  I shake my head at her. “And what’s with this we stuff? We have another cocky bastard on our hands? What’s up with that? You trading Chance in?” I tease, knowing damn well that’s not even a possibility.

  “We’re a package deal,” she says, not missing a beat. “He wants my bestie, he gets me, my man, and my son. He has to pass our approval.”

  “Too bad he’s never going to get the chance to be under your microscope.”

  “We’ll see,” she says, waving the small card in the air at me.

  “Give me that, crazy girl.” I take the card from her and shove it into my back pocket. I’ll toss it later.

  * * *

  I don’t think there has ever been a day longer than this one. It was a quiet day at the shelter. Aubrey had to leave at lunch to take CJ to his annual checkup, which left me and the animals. We had two volunteers on the schedule for today, but they were gone by one. The entire afternoon was just me, the animals, and my thoughts. Oh, and that pesky small white envelope that still resides in my back pocket.

  Aubrey lectured me before she left that it was the right thing to do to text him and tell him thank you. Sure, it was a nice gesture, but he knows I’m not interested. Still, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that it’s in my back pocket. Once I’ve pulled into my driveway, I grab my things and head inside. As I walk up the front steps, I take in my home. It’s not much, just a small two-bedroom house, one bathroom, with a little patch of grass that is supposed to be my yard. With the California sun, it’s more of an ugly brown patch. It’s not much, but it’s all mine. Well, mine and the bank’s, but one day it will be mine. Regardless of the brown yard, and the close neighbors, it still beats apartment living.

  Placing my bag on the kitchen counter, I set my keys and phone beside it. The first thing I do every day after getting home is strip down and shower. I love the animals, obviously, but they don’t always smell the greatest, and after cleaning out kennels, I always feel gross when I get home. Kicking off my shoes, I head down the small hallway to my bedroom. I make quick work of stripping out of my clothes and tossing them in a clothes basket, then grab some shorts, a T-shirt, panties, and decide to forego a bra. It’s just me after all, and I’m not expecting company. I turn from my dresser and spot the small white envelope on the floor.

  Landon.

 
It must have fallen out of my pocket. Bending, I pick it up and toss it in the small trash can in my room. There. Done. I don’t have to worry about its existence any longer. Pretending that the card no longer exists, I proceed out of my room and to the bathroom to take a long hot shower.

  Showered, with my wet hair piled on top of my head, sans bra, I head to the kitchen to decide what to have for dinner. I love to cook, but cooking for one not so much. Reaching into the freezer, I grab one of the many Healthy Choice microwave dinners. Not exactly what I would call a feast, but it’s dinner tonight all the same. While the microwave does its thing, I grab a fork, rip a paper towel off the roll, and retrieve a bottle of water from the refrigerator. The microwave beeps. Careful not to burn myself, I remove the thin plastic covering, and dump my meal into a bowl. It’s some kind of chicken and rice meal. I toss the trash away and voila, dinner is served. With my hands full, I manage to grab my phone and make it to the living room without spilling everything. I settle in on the couch for a night of mindless TV. At least that’s the plan until my phone rings. I can’t help but release a heavy sigh when I see it’s Aubrey. I know why she’s calling.

  “Hey,” I greet, setting my now empty bowl on the coffee table.

  “Did you text him? Wait, no, please tell me you called him?”

  “Nope,” I say, popping the p.

  “Emmmmaaaa.” She drags out my name. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Not badger me to call him?” I offer up the suggestion, knowing damn well she’s not going to take it.

  “Aubreeeeyyy,” I mock her.

  “Stop it.” She laughs. “I’m being serious. You could be missing out on something amazing.”

  “I want more than just amazing sex, Aubs.”

  “Who said anything about sex?” I can hear the amusement in her voice.

  Damn it. “You know what I mean?”

  “Actually, I do. I have my own cocky bastard, and let me tell you—” She starts, but I stop her.

  “No. Just no. I love you, but the last time you told me about you and Chance, I couldn’t look at him for a week. Keep that shit locked up, Bateman,” I tease.

  “Oh, whatever.” She giggles. “Just text him. Tell him thank you.”

  “No. Then he’ll have my number, and he obviously doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no. Why would I give him full access to me all the time? Not happening.”

  “Chicken,” she goads.

  “Cluck cluck,” I reply, barely able to contain my own laughter. “Look, he’s going to get the hint eventually. If I text him, that opens up for a conversation that doesn’t need to happen. We’ve said what needs to be said. He asked. I said no. End of story.”

  “Chance is still at the field. When he gets home, I’m going to get the dirt on Mr. Quarterback. I’ll have a full report for you tomorrow.”

  “You don’t have to do that. It’s not going to change my mind.” I refuse to admit learning more about him, straight from the source, or at least from someone who actually knows him is appealing.

  “Hey, what happened to keeping an open mind?”

  “Did I agree to that?” I ask, pretending to be confused.

  “What’s that? You want to know all the things? Done. I’ll get Chance on the job.”

  I don’t argue with her. I know she’s going to ask Chance regardless. “Goodnight, Aubrey,” I sing into the phone.

  “Not so fast, missy.”

  “Ugh,” I groan.

  “Send me a picture of the flowers. Where did you put them? In the living room?”

  “No. I left them at the shelter.”

  “What? Why on earth would you do that? They’re beautiful.”

  “We can enjoy them at the office.”

  “Emma, they’re yours. You should be enjoying them at your place.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow, when we can both enjoy the flowers.”

  She sighs heavily, as if I’m her greatest disappointment. “Bye, Em.” She hangs up, and I can imagine her rushing Chance as soon as he walks through the door, ambushing him for details about Landon. I should be worried because she can talk that man into anything. Case and point, their pet goat, Pixy. Some of the stories she’s told me about how Pixy came about are hilarious. I’ve never known anyone to have a pet goat, especially one that stays in the house, but somehow, he fits them.

  Cleaning up my mess, I wash the few dishes and lock up. I’m just ready for this very long day to be over. Climbing into bed, I stare up at the shadows on the ceiling. The house is quiet, except for the whirl of the small fan I keep on the nightstand. There’s nothing else to distract me from my thoughts. Thoughts that are consumed with a little white envelope sitting in the bottom of my small trash can. I can’t help but wonder what his motivation is. It has to be the chase. I can’t for the life of me figure out what else it could be. Glancing at the clock, over an hour has passed. I need to get some sleep. Slinging the covers off, I stomp to the trash can and under the glow of the moonlight, retrieve the small envelope. Opening the top dresser drawer, I toss it in and quickly close it back. There. Now, if by chance I change my mind at any time, I’ll have no regrets that I tossed his number. I climb back into bed, and can finally feel myself relax. As I drift off to sleep, I can’t help but think that Aubrey is going to have a field day with this new information.

  Chapter 4

  Landon

  It’s been three days since I sent her flowers. Three days of checking my phone obsessively. She’s not going to call, I know that, but I had hoped.

  I should wash my hands of the situation and just move on, but something tells me not to give up. Something deep in my gut, and I always trust my gut. Sure, it’s probably just the nagging feeling that she’s the first to turn me down, but it feels like something… more. Whatever it is, it’s driving me crazy.

  “Barker.”

  I turn to see Chance Bateman standing next to me. “Hey, Coach. Bourgeois is looking good.” I nod to the field where Thomas is kicking field goals.

  “He is.” He nods. “He’s got talent.”

  “Big praise from the soccer star.”

  He laughs. “We all have room to grow. Trust me. I know that all too well. Anyway, I thought you should know you’ve been a hot topic at my house this week.”

  Interesting. “Really?”

  “Like you didn’t already know.” He shakes his head, an amused smile tilting his lips.

  “She’s a tough nut to crack,” I say. I don’t bother telling him I’m talking about Emma. He already knows.

  “Not so much.”

  “Are we talking about the same person? Emma Deaton?” I counter.

  “That’s her.” His grin grows wider. “You’ve somehow managed to get my wife on your side.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means the flowers were a good move, and now Aubrey wants to know everything about you.”

  “Aubrey, right.” Is that disappointment I feel?

  “Yep. I’ve been instructed to gather all the dirty details and report back.”

  “And what would your wife think about you telling me that?”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “My wife, Aubrey, she’s an attorney. She’s not currently practicing, but she still has the… shall we say, ‘special talent.’ You’re lucky it’s me asking and not her.”

  “Maybe she can work on Emma,” I mutter under my breath.

  “I need to bring some nugget of information home to my wife. So, tell me this, Barker. Why Emma? From what I know of you, this isn’t your MO.”

  I can appreciate his forwardness. “It’s not. I’ve dated for mostly charity events, or team events things like that. Nothing… like this,” I confess.

  “Again, why Emma?”

  I shrug. “She turned me down.”

  He tilts his head to the side and studies me. “That’s it? She turned you down, so you’re sending flowers and obsessing over your phone, moping around here like you�
�ve lost your best friend because she turned you down?”

  “Who’s moping?” I ask, because the other two are facts.

  “You are. You’ve been distracted all week, and your game shows it.”

  “Wait just a minute. My game is fine. Kaden and I are connecting, making the plays,” I say, referring to me and our starting running back, Kaden Hahn.

  “You’re making plays, but your head’s not in it. You’re on autopilot. Your arm is lax and your throw’s timid compared to what you're capable of.” He pauses, letting this new revelation sink in. “Look, for some reason my wife is rooting for you. She thinks you’d be good for Em. But she’s family to us. She’s not a game.” With that, he turns and walks away.

  I should yell out to him. Stop him from walking away, but I’m frozen, my feet unable to lift from the turf as if I’m standing in quicksand. The last three days float through my mind, and although I hate to admit it, he’s right. I’ve been going through the motions. I’ve got to get this girl out of my head. I’m too far in to turn back now. I need to at least take her to dinner, to drinks. Fuck me, something to get her out of my head. I’d like to think dinner, and some time in my bed would be the perfect ending to this little… whatever this is, but if I can’t get her to call me after sending her flowers, I know damn sure my dick isn’t getting anywhere near her. No matter how bad we both want it. And she does want it. I can see it in her eyes every time she looks at me. I see it as her breathing changes anytime I’m near her. She’s fighting this pull between us and I don’t know why.

  Pushing Emma out of my mind, I get back on the field. I finish practice, being more present than I have been all week. In the locker room, I’m quiet as I rush through a shower and head out with nothing but a couple of waves and nods to the guys.

  Twenty minutes later, I remove the keys from the ignition and stare at the shelter in front of me. I didn’t plan to come here, but this is where I ended up. I don’t rush to get out as I try to form what I’m going to say. More than that, I try to work out what the hell I’m doing and why this woman is getting to me.