Sexy In NYC: How To Get Lucky Part 3

He just shrugged. "I went for a walk. I found myself here." Then he shifted around her, and addressed the women. "Ladies, I hope you have a good night. I'm going to join my friends. It was a pleasure meeting you."

It was a dismissal, but a polite one. Way more polite than her attempt to rescue him had been. Which meant there was no reason he couldn't have just done that himself, of course. He had been poking her via text and it was flattering even when she didn't want it to be. He was interested in her. She just wasn't sure why, exactly. He followed her to the table her friends were at. She introduced him, feeling like she was having an out-of-body experience.

"Everyone, this is Marco Lucky. Everyone, meet Marco." She threw out their names one by one, marveling at the turn of the last twenty-four hours. What the h.e.l.l was happening to her life? The night before she'd been lamenting the lameness that was her reality, now she had won the lottery and was hanging out with a rock star. These things didn't happen to real people. Not to her. She was notorious for stepping in every puddle, losing every hotel card she'd ever been issued, overestimating her federal tax refund (and pre-spending it), and tearing through plastic grocery bags and watching her grapefruit roll down Fifth Avenue.

None of this seemed like it could be actually happening. Yet given that if she were dreaming, she never would have allowed Beckwith to be wearing the very Prada pumps she had been l.u.s.ting after for six months, she was pretty sure it was happening. It just boggled the mind severely.

"It's great to meet all of you," Marco said, shaking the hands of the men and smiling with a boyish charm that didn't suit him. Allison didn't think so, anyway. "Thanks for letting me interrupt your night. I was getting bored in the corner by myself."

"Well, we will certainly try to entertain you," Beckwith said. "But first, let's talk about why a hottie like you is all alone in the first place."

"Sometimes a man needs to be alone," Marco said. He glanced at Allison, his gaze penetrating, s.e.xual. "And sometimes he needs the company of a beautiful woman."

That would be her panties going up in flames. For once, she was actually speechless. Where was her claim to pithy fame now? She was normally the queen of quick comebacks. But she had nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero.

Mandy saved her from awkward silence. "I hate to be the party p.o.o.per, but we're heading out," she said. "I feel sloshy and crampy and I think I need to put my swollen feet up."

"Ew," Beckwith said. "That sounds like multiple things I never want to have happen to me."

"I think you're safe on that score," Jack told him, looking amused.

"Do you have to go?" Allison asked, disappointed. "It's only eight."

"Allison, I love you, but seriously, think about what you're saying. I'm due to push an eight-pound infant out of my v.a.g.i.n.a in ten days. I want to take my shoes off and never put them on again. We're going home."

Damien took her hand to help her out of the high-top stool. "Goodnight, Allison. Congrats again."

It started a domino effect. Jamie, whose cheeks were flushed from drinking, kept giggling every time Jonathon reached over and kissed her, until suddenly they were defecting, clearly going home to keep the party rolling in private. Caroline, who looked exhausted, bailed right along with them. Beckwith hung in last, looking like he wanted to stay all night, but finally reluctantly standing up. He cheek-kissed her, then whispered in her ear, "Get lucky, honey, and if that isn't a double entendre, I don't know what the f.u.c.k is."

Just like that, she and Marco wound up alone in the bar.

With no one else.

Just her and him and a winning lottery ticket.

She knew that everyone had jobs and craved sleep and they were no longer twenty-one, but for h.e.l.l's sake, she'd hit the jackpot and it wasn't even in double digits on the clock. She wanted to be crazy, go all night, or at least a portion of the night. To midnight, anyway. Midnight in college had been when they went out for the night, and now look at them. They weren't ancient, d.a.m.n it. She wanted to celebrate, to cut loose, to savor the moment when everything had changed in her life.

She blinked at Marco Lucky. She was sitting across from him, and he was it. Her only option. If anyone knew how to party, and blow a wad of cash, surely he did. "I didn't expect everyone to leave so early," she told him. "I mean, I get it, they have lives and jobs and babies about to be born, but it seems deflating to go home alone after winning the lottery."

His eyebrows rose. "Are you hitting on me?"

c.r.a.p. That was exactly what her words had sounded like. That had come out way more forlorn than she had intended. "No! I just don't want to go home yet, that's what I meant." She drained the last of the champagne into her gla.s.s. "Want to hang out a little longer?"

He nodded. "If I wanted to leave, I would have an hour ago."

Well then. All righty. She eyed him. It was so bizarre to be staring at a man she'd only seen on electronic screens. She remembered with crystal clarity when Jamie had been in her White Rabbit phase, Marco's band's second alb.u.m, the one that had catapulted them to stardom. Personally she'd never been a fangirl of him, or the band, Personal Jesus, but she didn't dislike their music either. She was just more of a folksy indie girl than rock.

"Okay," she said. "So what's your story? And I don't mean is Lucky your real last name and did you really sleep in a van or whatever. I mean what are you doing in New York and why are you alone in a bar not touching a drop of alcohol?" She was buzzed, but she had noticed he wasn't drinking.

For a second, she thought he wasn't going to answer. But he settled back on the stool, his legs spread and posture casual. He fingered the c.o.c.ktail napkin on the table in front of him. "I'm here recording our new alb.u.m. I have an apartment in Chelsea. And I'm not drinking by choice."

That was the look of a man who didn't want her to probe any further. He looked casual, but his eyes were intense, guarded. "Good, then there's more for me," she said lightly. "Should we get out of here, do something crazy? Film a short video of me quitting my job?"

"Absolutely. Where should we go? What have you always wanted to do?"

She wanted to kiss him again, that was what she wanted to do. But that was a Poor Choice. She was figuring this lottery win was fate's way of telling her she needed to get her s.h.i.t together and be a better human being, who positively contributed to society, not another woman who contributed to the Get Marco Lucky Off fund.

"Where to start? Like I said, I guess quitting the job would be number one. But I also want to be a tourist. I've never done that, you know. Been a tourist in my own city. I've never done the Hudson River cruise to the Statue of Liberty, posed with the Wall Street bull, or been to the top of the Empire State Building. It seems like there was never time or money or anyone who wanted to go with me." Plus she'd designated herself too cool to do any of that, which was ludicrous. Why had she been so concerned about her image at twenty-one? Like who exactly had she thought was going to give a s.h.i.t? The invisible audience had dictated far too many of her choices back in the day.

Now she was twenty-seven and well aware no one was watching what she did. She could walk topless through the park and not a single New Yorker would even blink. The only ones scandalized would be the very tourists who, let's face it, were having more fun anyway. Of course, now she was in the company of Marco Lucky, so she was being watched, but screw it. She was determined to have fun.

"The ferry isn't running, but we can still do the Empire State Building tonight."

"Really? You'd do that with me?" She hadn't expected him to say yes. Clearly the man had better things to do. Or maybe he didn't. Interesting.

"Why not? I've never gone up there either. If I'm going to do it, might as well make it with a beautiful lady."

She rolled her eyes. "Ew. Too much."

Marco laughed. "I can't say anything around you without you taking it wrong. Just take a freaking compliment. It's sincere, I promise." He gave her a teasing look. "Or do you have poor self-esteem and can't believe that a man would find you beautiful?"

"Uh uh. Don't turn this around on me." She made a face at him. "Okay, I'm going to go to the ladies' room, then let's go."

Allison knew that she was impulsive in the moments when she really shouldn't be, moments that weren't the time to be giving in to snap decisions. She wasn't adventurous or brave or a go-getter. No, she was someone who reacted emotionally at all the most totally inappropriate times. As she made her way to the restroom she wondered if she were going to regret this, but then decided, given the alternative of going home and sitting on her couch alone, she was willing to risk it. Even though she wasn't going to sleep with him, Beckwith was right-who got to win the lottery and spend the night with a rock star?

This girl did, that's who.

Marco watched Allison walk away, studying her long legs and trying not to visualize them wrapped around his waist. She was s.e.xy as h.e.l.l. Different. Exciting. A real ball buster. He'd never imagined that he needed or wanted a woman who chronically gave him s.h.i.t, but he had to admit he was enjoying it. It had been far too long since a woman had been honest with him. Which was why he pulled his phone out and made a call. He didn't want to share her with a million tourists vying for two inches of s.p.a.ce along the observation deck fence.

When she came back, he went to pay her bar tab, but she stopped him. "No! Please, don't do that. I have my own money." She dug in her purse. "Well, at least my credit card until I can cash my ticket tomorrow."

"I don't mind. Think of it as a congrats gift."

"I mind. I don't want you to pay for my drinks." She had a stubborn, mulish look on her face. "Especially since you're not drinking."

"Fine. But I'm paying for the cab."

"Deal." She paid her bill then headed toward the door. "Can I trust you not to be a creeper, by the way?" she asked. "You're not going to molest me in the cab, right?"

Marco rolled his eyes. She wasn't the only one who could display disdain. "It crossed my mind. But if you're not okay with it, I can respect that."

"Haha."

They went out onto the sidewalk and she blinked. "It's brisk out here." She buried her hands in the tiny front pockets of her super-tight jeans.

That accomplished nothing beyond making him even more aware of her tight a.s.s and lean legs. If she was trying to taunt him, mission accomplished. Because it certainly couldn't be warming her up. Marco flagged down a cab. He opened the door for Allison.

She gave him a look that he couldn't interpret. "What?" he asked, when he got in with her. He told the driver where they were going. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I don't know. I just can't figure out what you're doing."

"I don't have a grand plan. I'm not scheming. I'm just wandering tonight, is that so hard to believe?"

She clicked her seat belt on, which struck him as odd. He wouldn't have pegged her for a safety first kind of girl. "I guess not. I don't know. I'm just a cynic, I guess."

"Who isn't after the age of seven?"

"My friend Jamie," she said, pulling her phone out of her purse. "She gets knocked down, and never stops believing that people are inherently good. I'm envious of that quality, to be honest with you."

"Me too. I'd love to be nave again for a day. Being three years old was awesome." That was probably the last time he'd believed with the simple trust of a child that adults spoke the truth and that Santa was real. By four, his father had been gone and his mother swept up in a life of drugs and worthless men. It was the usual story. No different than thousands of others. Only it was his story, and as a result he was just as jaded as Allison claimed to be.

"I don't remember much about being three other than I had a love of tutus, though I was far too lazy to actually go to ballet cla.s.ses. I went once, excited to be in the outfit, and then realized they wanted me to pay attention and learn something. I was over it at that point."

"You have issues with authority?"

"I have issues with busting my a.s.s for someone else. Ironic, given that I work retail." She slid lipstick over her lips and made a pout at herself in her hand mirror. "Or I did, until today."

There was always something underlying Allison's words that Marco couldn't quite figure out. She wanted everyone to think she was indifferent, that was clear. That she was a jaded, cynical, modern debutante, not a particularly nice person. Maybe that was the whole story. But somehow he didn't think so.

"I think it's safe to say that most of us are not fully okay with taking orders from tyrannical bosses."

"Which is why I'm quitting right now. Hold my phone." She thrust her phone at him after pushing a b.u.t.ton. "Record this."

Obediently, he took her phone and watched her on the screen.

"Chantel, please consider this my twelve-hour notice. I won't be in to work tomorrow, the day after that, or any day in the future, and I'm sorry if that leaves you temporarily short-staffed, but I have to say I won't miss working holidays, weekends, nights, and the h.e.l.l that is Black Friday. I won't even miss the discount on clothes, because I find myself suddenly able to pay full price and it's awesome." A grin split Allison's face before she schooled her features again. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to rub it in. I promise to come into the store and increase your units per transaction ratio and I won't ever return anything on slow days. In fact, I won't return anything at all. Best of luck to everyone, and I'll stop in later this week, 'kay, thanks, bye." She looked around the phone at him. "Too flippant? I really don't want to sound greedy, but I'm also superbly excited to never have to work there ever again."

"You're fine. You didn't tell her to suck it." Marco turned the camera around on himself. "This is Marco Lucky reporting live from somewhere in the Village." He scooted closer to Allison and held the phone up so they would both be on it. "This is not an episode of Cab Cameras, but a new YouTube channel we're going to call How To Get Lucky."

"Stop," Allison said, looking at him in censure. "No one is getting lucky."

"No?" He looked at her and studied her mouth. "Not in the cab, anyway." He shifted closer to her.

"Turn that off if you're going to kiss me."

She definitely pulled no punches. And he felt intensely satisfied that she wasn't saying he couldn't kiss her again. "What makes you think I'm going to do that?"

"It's better if you don't, so then there won't be a record of me rejecting you."

Nice. There was no end to her smarta.s.s sa.s.s. He liked it at the same time he kind of wanted to put something in her mouth that would shut her up. Like his tongue. Or his c.o.c.k. But he was thinking his strategy should be to pull back now. Pretend to be her buddy for a little while. Let her get annoyed with the fact that he was no longer flirting with her. From what he had seen of her, he was pretty sure that would frustrate the h.e.l.l out of her. It wasn't his usual seduction technique, which involved whispered compliments, guitar playing, and cla.s.sic s.e.x moves, like putting a woman's hands over her head. But Allison required he work a little harder, think outside of the box. It was part of the appeal.

"A video is the only way anyone is ever going to believe it," he said smugly, knowing that would get a reaction from her.

"What?" she shrieked. "Okay, Mr. Rock Star, hot s.h.i.t, look at me with my s.e.xy hair and dirty beard, it's hard to believe, but there may actually be a woman on the planet who isn't interested in you."

He smirked. "I'll let you know when I find her." Because most woman wanted to flirt with fame, with danger. It didn't matter who the rock star was, just that he was a rock star. Marco had learned a long time ago never to take it personally. He also knew if it all went away tomorrow he'd be nothing to any of those women. Marco zoomed in on her face. "So what are you going to do now that you've won the lottery, Allison?"

"I'm going to buy an amus.e.m.e.nt park and hide under the coaster in the dark."

That took him aback. He felt kicked in the gut. Smarta.s.s and clever. It only served to make him even more interested, but d.a.m.ned if that wasn't one of his own lyrics she'd just trotted out. One that he'd written about how it had felt to see his mother alternate between nave hope and brutal, harsh reality, weighted down by her addiction. "I can arrange that."

She laughed. "Ew. No thanks." She looked out the window. "Hey, we're here."

Her finger came out and hit the red b.u.t.ton on her phone to stop recording.

"That we are." He wasn't even looking out the window. He was looking at her. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes off her. She was so beautiful. Not in an artificial way. Not in a natural, makeup-free way. Just in a very feminine, yet strong, way. She was almost exotic looking, with her straight nose and her sharp cheekbones. And those lips... he wanted to suck and bite them until she ground her body against his.

But he had a plan and he was sticking to it. This wasn't a quick lay, a b.u.mp and grind. He did in fact actually want to get to know her, then he wanted to have s.e.x with her. Honest s.e.x. Real s.e.x. Not anonymous f.u.c.king. It was going to take some convincing, but he thought they might find something... interesting in each other.

He paid for the cab and held the door so she could exit on his side by the sidewalk. The night was crisp and there were people all around, as usual. Marco had grown up outside of Jacksonville and he hadn't been used to the crowds when he made the trek to LA when he was fifteen. Then at nineteen he'd come to New York for the first time and had stood in the middle of Times Square feeling like a total redneck, the lights and sounds crowding in around him. He'd fallen in love with the city, though, the rush and bustle, the stunning views of the river and the bridges, and now that he had his place in Chelsea, he liked visiting. He wasn't sure he could ever live there one hundred percent of the time, though. California had the weather and the chill vibe he needed sometimes.

"Did you grow up here?" he asked her.

"Connecticut. We came to the city all the time, but I didn't move here until I was eighteen and I started at NYU. I had big dreams then," she said wryly, glancing up the length of the Empire State Building. "It doesn't look like much up close, does it?" There was disappointment heavy in her voice. "But then that always happens to me. It's probably my biggest personality flaw-I want something until I get it."

"Are you going to feel that way about the lottery?"

That shook the disappointment from her expression. She snorted. "That, I highly doubt. Where did you grow up?"

"Florida. Swamp kid."

"Really?" Her eyebrows shot up.

"Really. I went to LA at fifteen." He opened the door to the building for her. "I bet if we had met at fourteen you would have looked at me like I was a c.o.c.kroach you needed to put your boot heel in."

"I'm ashamed to admit it, but it's probably true. I was raised with privilege and I was a little a.s.shole. I'm still a complainer, but at least working for the man has taken me down a notch or two, because I can fully admit I needed it. My parents never did. Then again, my parents never paid me any attention at all." Then she made a face. "Boo hoo, upper-middle-cla.s.s girl, right? I just know I have no business judging anyone else, that's for d.a.m.n sure."

"You know, you spend a lot of time pointing out all your flaws. Why do you think that is?" She seemed determined to make sure he knew she was awful. Yet call him crazy, but he saw a little insecurity and vulnerability behind the bravado.

"Maybe I'm just a pessimist."

"You're doing it again." He glanced around, looking for someone who might be in charge. He had called ahead to secure their tickets. "I call bulls.h.i.t."

"You can't call bulls.h.i.t. You don't know me." But then she grabbed his arm. "OMG, it's a giant Uncle Sam. Please take my picture with him."

Exactly. The jaded girl from Connecticut wanted her picture taken with a kitschy tourist exhibit. Marco had a feeling that Allison spent so much time trying to be nonchalant and above it all that she had forgotten who she really was. He suspected there were layers there. He'd like to peel back that snark, but see her not lose that strength of conviction, that unwillingness to play the bulls.h.i.t fame game.

He used his phone to take a picture. She saluted him in one shot, then in another she leaned back and smiled up at Uncle Sam. Finally, she rested her head on his arm.

"I've always wanted to find a man taller than me."

Marco laughed. "You're not six foot five. Plenty of men are taller than you."

"True. Send that to me, please." She came back over to him, adjusting her purse on her arm. "Let's do this thing."

Marco went up to the window and showed his ID and waited while the clerk got his supervisor.

"Is there a problem?" she asked, suddenly right behind him.