Sexy In NYC: How To Get Lucky Part 15

And if she would pick up his call. That was a different issue altogether.

Standing in his kitchen, he hit call before he changed his mind.

"h.e.l.lo?" she answered almost immediately, sounding surprised.

"Hey. It's Marco." What, like she didn't know that? He rolled his eyes at himself.

"Hi. Is everything okay?"

"Um, yes, I think so. Is everything okay with you? You're not... pregnant, are you?" He a.s.sumed she would call him if she was, but he wanted rea.s.surance that she wasn't, and h.e.l.l, he had needed an excuse to call her. He had meant it-he wanted a friendship if that was all he could have.

Allison gave a startled laugh. "No. I'm not pregnant-thank you for asking, though. I seriously hope you haven't spend two weeks worrying about that. I told you I have an IUD. It's pretty foolproof."

"Good. I'm glad everything is okay." He rubbed his forehead and decided the h.e.l.l with it. He'd been honest with her so far, he was going to keep going with it. "I also called just because I wanted to hear your voice."

Not only did he value that she gave him no breaks just because he was a famous musician, he also appreciated that she hadn't recoiled in disgust when he had confessed to her about Robert's wife. She was the only person he'd told about that, and it had been hard to admit his shame and self-loathing.

"Oh." She cleared her throat. "What are you doing?"

"Standing in the kitchen. What are you doing?"

"Standing in the kitchen."

He laughed. "Always on the same page, aren't we? How is the job hunt going, or shouldn't I ask?"

"It could be better. It could be worse. I had a second interview today for an a.s.sistant manager position. But I also decided that I need to do something I enjoy more, so I signed up for cooking lessons. I figure that I really, really like to eat, so presumably I like to cook. I just never learned how."

Marco found himself smiling for no particular reason. He was just happy to talk to her. Leaning against the counter, he told her, "The idea of you with a chef's knife scares me, but I'm glad you're exploring different hobbies."

She laughed. "Me holding a knife scares me too, to be honest. But no fear. It's my new life philosophy. So what happened with Robert and the DUI?"

They settled into an easy conversation, and by the time they hung up, Marco realized an hour had gone by. He also realized that he'd told Allison he'd call her again in a day or two, and she had said she was looking forward to it.

He stared at his phone. "Are we seriously just going to try to be friends? This is crazy. I love you, Allison. I want to be more."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," his phone said back.

s.h.i.t. For a second he thought he'd never actually hung up, but then he realized he had pushed the inquiry b.u.t.ton when he'd tossed the phone down and his phone was trying to a.s.sist him. "Never mind," he told it, even though it didn't matter in the slightest. Then he rethought it.

"Hey, Siri, can men and women be just friends?"

"I don't know. But I'll be your friend."

Small consolation. "Thanks. Right back at ya."

"I have a confession to make," Beckwith said, between sips of his white wine spritzer. "Promise you won't get mad at me."

Oh, Lord. Allison eyed him with suspicion. "Why? What did you do? And what does that have to do with me?"

"Okay, two things. I sort of saw you on TMZ as Marco Lucky's new plaything, like, two weeks ago, and I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want you to be upset by the fact that they called you his 'latest conquest, a waitress from Brooklyn,' but then I feel like I'm just keeping this terrible secret from you and it's giving me constipation, so I had to tell you."

Allison blinked at him before taking a long swallow of her Chianti. "That was a mouthful. And you're not even on two yet, but far be it for me to contribute to your digestive issues. Though why does TMZ think I'm a waitress from Brooklyn? I mean, if you're going to print stuff about me, get it right. Are there pictures? Do I look good?" She had avoided looking at any of those sites, because she was sure one of them would have something, and she didn't want to pick apart a picture of herself or be called "the unknown brunette" or whatever. But this was just dumb.

"You're gazing into his eyes in line at the Empire State Building. You look chic and thin and in love." Beckwith eyed her. "Maybe because you're in love."

"Stop saying that. I told you I wouldn't have dinner with you if you're going to keep insisting I'm in love with Marco."

"Girl, wake up and smell the engagement ring. You are so in love you make Romeo and Juliet look like they're just playing."

"I'm pretty sure they were." Allison tried to hold her body frame loosely and not stiffen up the way she really wanted to. She was not going to admit to Beckwith that he might actually be right, because that would make her a loser. She was determined to leave her loser days behind her. "They were in middle school." Which is when she should have stopped falling for rock stars.

"That's not the point. Can you please just stop pretending that you don't care about him?" Beckwith set his gla.s.s down and gave her a long look. "Just admit that the highlight of your day is when he calls you."

Guilty. "I like talking to him, so what?" she said defensively. "Just because we talk on the phone every other day doesn't make us anything more than friends." It was the delusion she and Marco were both clearly willing to stick to, even if she found herself more frequently than not a.s.signing his name to her vibrator late at night.

"I never thought of you as chicken s.h.i.t." He eyed her. "Nor do I see pumpkin as your color. G.o.d, why are wearing that sweater?"

"I haven't done laundry in a month. This was all that was left clean."

"You have plenty of time on your hands."

She stuck her tongue out at him, then laughed when the man at the bar behind Beckwith thought it was meant for him. The bar was crowded, as usual. "Beck, I'm applying for jobs, all day, every day, and going on interviews. I'm super busy. By the way, what was the other part of your confession? You seem to have gotten distracted by your obsession with my nonexistent feelings for Marco."

The fact that she managed to say that with a straight face made her wonder if her future should be in acting, not retail.

She was completely full of c.r.a.p, and she and Beckwith both knew it. Her feelings weren't dissipating the further she was out from seeing Marco, they were actually deepening each and every time they talked. When they weren't talking they were texting all day. Every single day. So much for goodbye. And so much for being just friends, because she was pretty sure friends didn't talk for an hour every day after the age of twenty-two, or more to the point, fantasize about the other person naked, and picture having his baby. But she was perfectly willing to ignore that fact right now, because she was still in phase one of Get My s.h.i.t Together. Besides, nothing had changed. She was broke, he was not. She lived in New York, he did not.

"OMG, I almost forgot!" Beckwith dug in his handbag. "I found your lottery ticket." He held up a slip of paper triumphantly.

"Excuse me?" She stared blankly at him. Beckwith certainly had a flare for the dramatic, because there was no way in h.e.l.l she could have ever predicted he was going to say that. "The lottery ticket? That's impossible." Her heart started to hammer hard in her chest. "I lost that on the carriage ride with Marco."

"Nope. You were getting drunk and waving it all over the place, so I told you I'd put it in my purse. But then I got drunk and forgot, and I hardly ever use that clutch because it goes with literally nothing, so I just found it today." He shrugged. "Oops."

"Oops? That's a big oops." She grabbed the ticket out of his hand, making sure it was the right ticket. She had the numbers memorized. It was the right ticket. Holy effing s.h.i.t, it was the ticket. Allison jumped up off her stool. It shot backward and fell over with a loud crash. "I can't believe this! I won the lottery. Again! And you're just telling me now?"

"I just found it today because I was thinking about selling this bag, since I never use it. So you're not p.i.s.sed at me?"

"No, of course not! I mean, it would have been nice if I'd known a month ago, but whatever. I had to do some soul searching, and that was a good thing, you know?" It had been. She kissed Beckwith loudly on the cheek. "I'm actually glad you got drunk."

"Does this mean that you can finally admit that you love Marco now that you're rich too?"

"Of course I love Marco." Allison was too giddy not to admit that. She had no barriers now that yet again, her whole world had shifted, and she was older and wiser. Guaranteed. "That was never in question." She did. It had been there almost from the minute he had sat on the floor of her apartment with her and comforted her. Definitely by the time she'd landed in LA she'd already been halfway in love, and by the time she'd left, she'd been even willing to admit it to herself if not to him. "But that was also never the point. I couldn't be with him when I was broke."

"But now you can?"

"Now I totally can." Allison put her hand on her chest. "Oh my G.o.d, this is insane. What do I do? First off, I don't think I'm going to move out of Jamie and Jonathon's just yet. I need to think, not be impulsive. Also, h.e.l.lo, I think I should do something useful with my money. I'm going to give a whole big pile of it to Jamie's foundation. I need to not be selfish and go on a whirlwind handbag buying spree this time." She was going to be smart this go round. "First I need to put this ticket somewhere safe."

"Bra. Works every time."

"Won't the numbers smudge?"

"How sweaty are you?" Beckwith asked, his lip curling up.

Allison laughed. "Be quiet. I need to think. And take a selfie." She did just that, checking to make sure she looked cute, then she sent it to Marco.

She added a caption.

I've had one night with a rock star and I've won the lottery. But all I really want is you, Marco de Luca.

So much for not being impulsive. She'd waited three seconds to tell him how she really felt. What if he took a million years to respond? He was busy, after all. He was also due back in New York in three days, so that could either be a great thing or a very bad thing. Suddenly nervous, she put her phone on the table. Everything had changed, and yet nothing had. She was a.s.suming too much. Presuming he shared her feelings.

"Do you think I can make a go of this thing with Marco?" she asked Beckwith.

"Considering he's walking into this bar right this minute looking like he wants to f.u.c.k you on the table, I think there is very high probability it has legs."

"What? He's here?" Allison swiveled around, and for a minute, time stood still. She was in a movie and the music swelled and the hot, s.e.xy hero paused in the doorway while the heroine metaphorically creamed her jeans.

Resisting that urge, along with the one where she ran across the room and jumped into his arms, knocking him to the ground, she settled for raising her hand and waving it frantically. Way to stay cool.

Marco came over to her, one s.e.xy step at a time, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the cell phone cameras going off around him. He reached the table and just stood there for a second, hands in fists, expression fierce. He didn't speak.

"Hey," she said, trying to sound normal. Her voice betrayed her, rising in pitch. "Fancy seeing you here." She meant to be cute, sa.s.sy. But the sentence faltered at the end, because he was breathing heavy, nostrils flaring, and she suddenly wondered if something were wrong. "Marco?"

"I love you," he said. "I know I'm supposed to respect your decision and I'm supposed to be happy with friendship but I can't do this without at least telling you how I feel. I f.u.c.king love you and for the first time in my entire adulthood I don't feel like my career is enough. I want to share everything I have- heart, house, happiness- with you and I don't really think you should tell me no."

Even as she listened in wonder and awe and joy, she couldn't help but want to laugh at his final words. "Oh, really? Am I stupid if I tell you no?"

Beckwith answered before Marco could. "Yes. Yes, you are."

She turned and glared at him. "Privacy, please."

"We're in a bar! Get over it."

Allison was at a total loss for words, for once in her life. Marco loved her just as much as she loved him. That was rather astonishing, she had to say. "I want to be with you, Marco. I love you, too. I tried to not love you, I really did. I told myself friendship could be enough, but I do in fact, love you. Very much." Her giddiness faded into something quieter, more emotional. Her throat tightened. Her eyes filled.

His expression instantly softened, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks. "Hi," he said, softly. "Maybe we shouldn't fight it so hard. Maybe we should just let it be. Accept that we're lucky to have found each other."

"That's what I was trying to tell you in my text I just sent."

"I didn't get any text. I was storming into the bar, determined to make you love me." He kissed her softly.

It was the kiss that Allison had waited her whole life for without even knowing it. It was the kiss that said there was nothing to hide, nothing to fake, no reason to feel inadequate ever. That here, together, they were perfect, and loved each other for who they were in actuality.

"I love you, too." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Does this make us more than friends with benefits?"

"We were never friends with benefits," he murmured. "We were always the next big thing."

Allison shivered. That sounded very romantic. "Oh, yeah? c.o.c.ky, were you?"

"Not as much as I'd like to be. I can split my time between New York and California. Are you willing to make that work?"

"I'm willing to make anything work."

"The new alb.u.m is t.i.tled One Night Is Never Enough. Just so you know."

"I found my lottery ticket. Just so you know."

Marco laughed. "For real?"

"For real." She grinned back.

"Mandy's in labor," Beckwith yelled. "Just so you know."

Allison was too happy to be upset with her friend's nosiness. Though if she wanted even an ounce of privacy with Marco, she was going to have to take him to a dark corner. "Can we go to your place?" she asked.

"I appreciate the way you think."

Marco held Allison in his arms, liking his apartment in Chelsea way more now that she was in it. The room had grown dark as they explored each other thoroughly, differently. Everything was different now. They were together, and every touch felt important, permanent. The last few weeks of torment disappeared as he stroked her arm, the curve of her a.s.s. Her flesh was warm from s.e.x, from their tangled limbs and enthusiastic exertion.

He realized what should have been obvious all along. With Allison he didn't need to perform. He just was. It was a powerful and yet totally peaceful feeling.

"You awake?" he asked her, trying to gauge by her breathing.

"I'm not asleep."

"Once you're asleep, I'm going to go in the other room with my guitar. I just don't wake you to wake up and wonder where I am." He needed to write. To use his music to capture this moment forever.

"That's pretty hot, I have to admit." Her voice was sleepy, and the sentence ended with a yawn. "I won't object to you writing a love song about me. You know, like where I'm in love with you and you're in love with me."

"That's usually how love songs work," he said, amused.

"Unless they're stalker songs."

"I wasn't going to write a stalker song." He kissed the top of her head. Only Allison would say that. "Definitely I was planning to write a love song. Where the guy is stupid in love."

Because he was.

And he did.

He did not t.i.tle it "The Money Shot," as Beckwith suggested.

But instead gave it the name "How To Get Lucky."

It was the best song he'd ever written.

What Now?.

I hope you enjoyed How To Get Lucky! For the latest on new releases and to be entered in a monthly drawing, sign up for my newsletter e-mail list at http://www.erinmccarthy.net/newsletter-2/ How To Get Lucky is book three in the s.e.xY IN NYC series. Series is as follows:.