Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Big hands clasp my shoulders, the warm fingers digging in through the thin, gauzy fabric, and Lennox’s red, angry face appears in my field of vision a second later. “Holy shit, Cassadina. You almost got run over! Have you ever considered it’s not bad luck that plagues you but a lack of common sense?”
I grind my molars unhappily. I’m embarrassed about not looking both ways—because even a kid can do that—but to be fair, I was preoccupied. With thoughts of someone’s bottom line, and it wasn’t that weird squiggly thing on Lennox’s shirt.
“I…”
“Come here.”
Lennox propels my back, back, and I wonder why we’re going backward at all, but then we hit the alley that runs past his shop, and he backs me up against the red concrete brick. His face is all serious, and god, I’d really like to see him smile. For the life of me, I can’t think of a single thing to say to get us there. My heart is leaping like a jumping jalapeno in my chest. It’s hot and just as spicy because Lennox’s beautiful face is only an inch from mine. His beard blows in a gust of wind, and I swear the russet golden goodness actually brushes my chin.
No, I’m not wondering about luck right now and if the beard touching me just did it for me.
I’m enthralled. Watching his beard flutter a little in the breeze, jostling just slightly at the bottom but not higher up, is kind of amusing. I can feel my cheeks heating up, and frickle dickle do, I know they’re a bright shade of pink.
Lennox sighs hard enough to sway his own beard, and my eyes rocket back up to meet his deep green stare. “Look, Cass. You’re Ayana’s best friend, and Ayana is my brother’s girl. I care about them both, and I’d do anything for Maya. For that reason alone, I agreed to this lunch, but this has to stop. The luck thing? It’s all in your head. It’s not real. It doesn’t exist.”
I cross my arms, and he takes a step back. “How do you know that? Are you the expert on all laws of the universe and science?”
“No. But I know that luck is just a stupid thing people believe in to make themselves feel better about all the things they can’t control. There is no good luck or bad luck. Shit just happens. And sometimes it happens disproportionately, good or bad.”
His lips purse, and my god, just seeing them do that, kind of defy gravity and put themselves out there, makes my own lips respond with the strangest tingle.
“That’s not true! I mean, you don’t know that!”
“Well, maybe not, but I do know that kidnapping you didn’t make you win a hundred bucks on a scratch ticket and that brushing my shoulder didn’t…I don’t even know. If there were luck, I wouldn’t be here right now, and people would stop bringing in excrement in sealers into the shop.”
“You’re wrong because that sounds like bad luck.”
He huffs. “So, what should I do? Meditate? Clear my chakras? Set my intentions?”
“Yeah, that and a healthy dose of yoga would probably do wonders to alleviate the obvious stress you feel.” I flush further after putting that out there because now I’m thinking about Lennox wearing one of those strange male skin-tight exercise leotards in one of those old-school yoga DVD’s that I used to do at home, bending all wild and wonderful, his buns outlined in beautiful spandex sexual glory.
Sweet peach pie, I need a fan over here. Specifically pointed at my overheating ovaries.
“Yoga. Right. Uh, what I’m trying to say is that you don’t need lunch. You just need to believe in yourself, be more aware of your surroundings, and let the rest go. So what if a piano nearly crushed your ex-boyfriend to death? That happens to the best of us.”
“No, it doesn’t!” I wail. “It does not! No one I know has ever had a run-in with a piano or wrecked their gym teacher’s face with a golf club. No one has ever stood on stage at their prom, slipped on their dress, and then grabbed a string of balloons that brought down the big number sign, which brought down the Class Of sign that crashed onto the stage and nearly toppled the entire thing.”
Lennox’s lips twitch, and now I think he’s trying not to laugh, which for some reason, amuses me instead of making me feel totally and utterly humiliated. It gives me another hot yoga flash, and oh my, now I’m having mental visions of stripping Lennox out of his pawnshop shirt and discovering the bottom line hidden beneath in the form of pecks and abs and shoulder muscles that are hot as sin.
Oh boy, we’re getting ourselves into a bit of a pickle here.