Luck on the Line Read Online Free

matter what, I feel the need to take care of her.
    Then she smiles, really smiles. She pinches my cheek and says, “See? I told you you’d rub off.”
    “Let’s not get carried away.”
    “I mean it, Lucky,” she says, pressing her hair back with a shaking hand. “Hey, I have a nutty idea. Why don’t you stay on and see this through?”
    I shake my head, holding onto my camera for support. “I can’t, Mom. I’m only in town for—” I don’t finish it. I’m only in town for Dad.
    She breathes in, and then Stella, of “Evenings in Stella’s Kitchen,” is back. “I see. Well, in the mean time, there’s work to do. You need a paycheck, don’t you?”
    She sidesteps me and goes back to her team. She calls for Carlos, and the mustached man steps forward and starts taking measurements on the broken wall. Mom is giving people jobs. Felicity is talking so fast on the phone I tune her out for fear I’ll become dizzy.
    So this is my mom’s life in the past year—building a restaurant while I was trying to become a photographer in New York and getting doors slammed in my face. Technically, after I leave Boston, I don’t have a next step. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to have a nice place to stay and a job while I try to figure things out. And my mom really could use the help…
    I feel the warmth of someone standing directly behind me. The scent of beach and leather. Hands clap slowly.
    Clap.
    Clap.
    Clap.
    “Impressive.”
    I whip around at the sound of his voice. My stomach drops like an elevator that’s been snapped from its harness, plummeting down, down, down. My heart races at the sight of his sea-green eyes. Done clapping, he crosses his arms over his chest and somehow seems taller than this morning at the coffee shop. He cocks an eyebrow and stares down at me. Mr. Tall Latte. Sprinkle-some-cinnamon-on-top Jay. How did he find me?
    “Way to save the day, Lucy .”

Chapter 4
    “You.”
    Out of all the things I can possibly say, I go with “you.”
    Jay circles me. His name is clear in my head, black letters drawn beside a heart and a number that’s blurry. His eyes, so bright in the whiteness of the restaurant, trace the lines of my face, my dirty hair, my zombie shirt. I smell—I must, after a sleepless, drunken night and then walking all around the city. But he still stares. The green of his eyes is so luminous, impossible, and totally unfair. Why do mean people get to be so—breathtaking?
    His presence, his face, his smell, it’s like a punch in the gut. I tell myself to breathe. I’m sure if I did I’d need a mint, but I can’t think of anything to say other than, “You?” Again. Question mark.
    His lips curl into a smile that makes the broken elevator of my stomach plummet some more.
    “Me.” His arms are still crossed over his broad chest. I think of his tattoo again. I wonder where it leads, what the rest looks like. Wonder if his stomach is a tight as his arms. Wonder if he has a happy trail. Clearly, it’s been a while since I’ve had sex. Wonder—“What the hell are you doing here?”
    Jay takes a step closer and I take a step back.
    “I came for my latte,” he murmurs in his baritone voice.
    “Hate to break it to you,” I say. “I chucked it. It tasted like ass.”
    Whatever he thought I was going to say, it wasn’t that. His face scrunches up, like he’s gathering his thoughts. Then he says, “Have much experience in that area, do you?”
    I grind my teeth. I walked into that one, fine.
    “You didn’t answer my question,” I say.
    “What the hell are you doing here?” He returns.
    What am I doing here?
    My mother’s voice rings out in a sing-song way, “ Jaaa-mes —”
    She clip-clops to where we’re standing. “James, there you are.” She places a hand on his shoulder. “Can you believe this mess?”
    “I was back in the office,” he says, “when I heard the noise.”
    Her hand moves across his back, like she’s presenting a showpiece. Please,