The Lucky Ones Read online

  She pokes her head out of the closet. “Should we pack a dress, or should you get one there?”

  “Uh…neither? Like I said, we’re shooting footage and then going to dinner. What would I need a dress for?”

  She looks at me like I’m a complete imbecile. “For dinner, obviously.”

  I return the look. “You know we’re probably going to wind up getting room service so we can work on editing the footage, right? At most, we’d head to a buffet.”

  “Oh honey, no. You’re not working on this trip. This trip is fun only.” She thinks on that for a second and obviously spots the flaw in her logic. “After the work part is done, I mean. You, Kendall Moore, are in desperate need of some fun.”

  “I have fun,” I tell her.

  “I’m not talking about movie nights that I have to pry you away from your computer to enjoy. I’m talking about away from home, late night, dressed-to-the-nines, anything can happen kinda fun. And you, friend, are gonna be having that this weekend.”

  “You know I’m going with Jordan, right?”

  “Yes, well aware.”

  “Gorgeous Jordan, model and actress dating Jordan, Jordan I’m hopelessly and one-sidedly in love with Jordan? Late night, dressed-to-the-nines, anything can happen kind of fun will lead to a one-night stand for him and heartbreak for me, so…no thanks.”

  Skye exits the closet with a handful of stuff. “You really need to stop holding his serial dater phase against him,” she says.

  “I’m not holding anything against him.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Yes you are. Yeah, there was that period of time where he was…prolific,” she says, which is about the kindest way she can put it. “But he hasn’t dated in what, like a year? You probably wouldn’t have noticed because you’re glued to your computer, but I think we can conclude that time of his life is over.”

  I shake my head and let out this soft laugh. “It’s not like it matters.”

  “You’re in love with the guy,” Skye says. “Of course it matters.”

  When I say I’m in love with him, it sounds lighthearted, like a joke. When she says it, it sounds so serious, so…unattainable.

  “When’s the last time you got some use out of these?” she asks. It’s then that I realize that the armful of stuff that she came out with is from my lingerie drawer. The place I keep the good stuff, the top-tier, jaw dropping stuff that I buy in hopes that someone to wear them for will materialize.

  “It’s been too long, and that’s a really low blow.”

  “Well, you’re going away on a trip with the guy you’re in love with and I cannot think of a better time to make a move.”

  “Look at me,” I say, motioning toward my hair, then down toward my body. “My hair is perpetually in a bun, my wardrobe consists of sweats and jeans…”

  Skye does as I ask. “You’re beautiful, what’s your point?”

  I roll my eyes. “Have you seen the women that Jordan goes out with? Actresses, models. Not…this.”

  “I’m sorry, I won’t stand for this slander. Ken, you’re gorgeous. While, yes, you could do with some sprucing, you’re gorgeous inside and out. Jordan thinks so too. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

  “Like someone in desperate need of an intervention?”

  She laughs. “That too, sometimes. But mostly it’s just soft around the eyes and kinda gooey. Like you hung the moon. Like he’s in love with you.”

  It’s a nice thing to want to believe, but I can’t get myself to do it. “You’re my best friend, and one of your duties is to not set me up for colossal disappointment. He doesn’t feel the same way about me, he’s…he’s out of my league.”

  “There’s no one on this earth who’s out of your league,” she scoffs. “You’re too busy throwing yourself into work so you can ignore how you feel to be able to see it. If you’d get out of the sweats and into something that has an actual defined waistband and live a little, you might discover that you don’t want to work yourself to death for a distraction and that the guy who’s your business partner wants to be your partner in other things, too.”

  I sigh. “Did you not hear the thing about setting me up for colossal disappointment?”

  She ignores me, and puts a couple of thongs and two lacy bras into the bag. “So…we’re not packing a dress, you’re gonna get one at the hotel. No offense, but your selection leaves something to be desired.”

  “First, full offense. Second, I don’t need a dress. Third, if I did need a dress, I wouldn’t be getting one at the hotel, because I’m a new business owner and that is not an appropriate use of funds.”

  Her eyes light up. “It’s an appropriate use of my funds. Consider it an early birthday gift.”

  “Absolutely not. We cannot go out to the kind of dinner where I would need a dress.”

  Skye’s brows knit together in confusion. “Why not?”

  “Because dinners at places that have dress codes usually involve expensive wine and-slash-or champagne, and if alcohol is introduced into the mix, I will one-hundred percent wind up doing something stupid.”

  Skye doesn’t seem to be the slightest bit worried about this. “What’s the stupidest thing you can do in Vegas?”

  It doesn’t even take me five seconds to come up with an answer. “Get married?”

  “Would that be the worst thing?”

  Who is this woman who’s taken over my best friend’s body? “Considering I’m someone who hasn’t had a successful relationship in her life and Jordan is a hopefully recovering manwhore, I’d say yes. And that’s not even taking into account that we have a business together, Skye. That’s a lot to put on the line for a maybe.”

  “Jordan hasn’t had a successful relationship in his life, either.”

  “I get the sense you think this is a ringing endorsement,” I counter. “Let me tell you…it’s not.”

  “Maybe you could be each other’s firsts,” she says, ignoring me as she lets out this dreamy sigh. “Ah, that would be romantic.”

  “Yes, a spur-of-the-moment wedding in Vegas coincidentally working out is the stuff dreams are made of.”

  “You left out the best part of the story though.”

  “Which is?” I ask, impatient.

  “That you’re perfect for each other. It would work out, guaranteed.”

  I know she’s only saying this because she’s all loved up with her boyfriend River, who is, in fact, perfect for her. She’s seeing the world through unrealistic rose-colored glasses.

  “Did you forget the part where there’s a business at stake here? What if you’re right and he does feel the same way, and we come back here and he gets fed up with my workaholic ways?”

  “That’s the thing I’m trying to tell you. It would be a life-changing thing, and I think for the better. There’s a life outside of that laptop, Kendall Moore. You just have to let yourself live it.”

  Chapter Three

  Jordan picks me up at my apartment a couple of hours early so we’ll be sure to get to the airport on time regardless of how temperamental LA traffic is being. We, of course, encounter gridlock along the way, and somehow manage to get into a light disagreement about some show we both remember watching when we were younger.

  He remembers the main character being an alien, and I remember her being a robot. Because Jordan is a little too cocky and sure of himself, he bets me that he’s right. A venti coffee at the airport hangs in the balance: if I’m wrong, I treat him. If he’s wrong, he treats me.

  We shake on it, until a quick Google search informs me that we’re both kind of wrong and got the premise of two different shows mixed up and blended them together.

  At LAX, we agree to go dutch on the coffee, but Jordan buys mine anyway because that’s just the kind of guy he is.

  After we board the flight, I put Skye’s duffel down on the seat and reach for my laptop so I have something to do during the hour plus we’ll be in the air.

  Jordan gently removes my hand f
rom the zipper and closes the duffel back up before putting it in the overhead compartment.

  “No laptops,” he says as he gets settled in his seat. I’m still standing there, unsure of whether to get angry with him or kiss his stupid, handsome face off.

  I settle for sitting down next to him and putting on my seatbelt.

  “I want to work a little,” I argue, even though I’ve apparently already lost the argument.

  “You work an eighty hour week. You can take some time off to enjoy yourself.”

  “But there isn’t anything to do in the air, Jordan. What will getting some work done hurt?”

  He turns in my direction. “It’ll put you in that zone where you’re zombie Kendall, whose only goal is productivity at all costs. This weekend is for fun and relaxation. You need to have fun and relax.”

  “And you think that pissing me off will accomplish that?” I ask, wanting to be angry even though there’s no heat behind it.

  “No, I think that this might, though.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a really nice bluetooth headset. He unzips it from its case, then his warm, gentle fingers push my hair back behind my ears. Our eyes catch as he does it, and for the first time I think I might get a glimpse of the soft around the eyes, gooey look that Skye was talking about.

  This Jordan looks handsome as always, but also like the only thing he’s thinking about in the world is me.

  It’s…it’s probably best if I don’t think about that too much, or get too invested in it. Like I told Skye the other day, thinking that anything can come of this is only setting myself up for colossal disappointment. We have a business to think of, and that really needs to come first.

  If he notices the shiver that runs through me as his skin touches mine, he doesn’t say anything. Thank god.

  “Did you make a mixtape?” I tease.

  He settles the headset on my ears with a cute, playful smile. “Something kinda like that.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, flipping through a couple of playlists.

  I make grabby hands for the phone, because I’m a nosy control freak, but he pulls it away. “I don’t even get to skip tracks if I want?” I pull the headset away from my right ear so I can hear his answer, even though I’m positive I won’t like it.

  “First, you’re not gonna want to skip tracks. Second, I know you and if I give you control of this phone, you’re gonna disappear off into the bathroom with it, log in remotely, and then work mindlessly until we land. There’s only one bathroom on this plane and you can’t be hogging it like that, so really what I’m doing is keeping the peace with our fellow passengers.”

  Unfortunately, I can’t find fault in his logic. I would absolutely attempt to do that.

  “Okay,” I say, relaxing back into the seat, determined to get the full experience he’s aiming for. “Hit me.”

  A second later, smooth vocals accompanied by slow beats start playing. I close my eyes, letting myself really feel it. The songs are familiar, yet not. As we’re taxiing the runway, I make a mental note to ask Jordan to send this playlist to me.

  Before we hit cruising altitude, I’m fast asleep.

  I wake up in Vegas with warm, fading sunlight on my face and a very warm Jordan beside me. What actually gets me to open my eyes is the gentle caress of his rough hand against my cheek. Even the simplest touch from this man sets my body on fire.

  He takes the headset off, careful to not let my hair get tangled in it. “Hey,” he says softly, leaning his whole body on the armrest, right into my space. “We’re here.”

  I smile at him, still sleepy.

  “I take it the music was a hit?”

  I laugh, then cover up a yawn. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  “C’mon,” he says, taking my hand and helping me up. “Let’s get out of here.”

  * * *

  A car service picks us up at the airport, and we arrive at the helipad as the sun sets. I imagine that the later night flights are at a premium, so I’m not surprised that he was able to fit us in so early in the evening. We’re led out to the helipad by a nice guy who must be working here through college.

  He clumsily flirts with me. It’s innocent and kinda sweet, and really gets my night in this town off to the right start. It also seems to make Jordan angry in a way that he’s desperately trying to hide, which is a boost to my ego.

  When we get to the helicopter, it’s already on and ready to go. Jordan’s friend, Danny, is waiting for us in the whipping wind with a headset on. He and Jordan give each other a quick, back-clapping hug hello, and then Jordan introduces me.

  “Danny, this is my friend and business partner, Kendall.” It’s loud as hell out here so he has to yell, which adds a layer of awkwardness to an already awkward introduction.

  Danny’s unfazed though. He reaches out and shakes my hand. “Kendall, it’s good to meet you.”

  “It’s good to meet you,” I yell.

  “Have you ever been in a helicopter before?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Nervous?”

  “A little,” I admit, even though it’s probably not the best idea to let your pilot know that you don’t have complete, unwavering faith in him. I do, however, have complete, unwavering faith in Jordan, and I know he wouldn’t put me in a situation where he thought there was a chance of me getting hurt.

  “You’re safe with me,” he promises. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

  He motions to the helicopter, and we all climb in.

  While Danny’s getting adjusted in the pilot seat, Jordan and I get situated in the back while another employee helps us put on our headset and explains how to use them.

  I’m shaking despite desperately trying to stop myself from doing it.

  “I didn’t know you were scared of flying,” Jordan says, his voice filtering through my headset.

  “I’m not,” even though that’s a complete lie. I’m fine in a plane. I’m beginning to realize that I’m not quite as fine in a helicopter. But this isn’t about me, this is about Jordan getting some shots for the movie that he’s been dreaming of making for ages.

  He has a list of shots he wants to get written on an edge-worn paper in his chicken scratch handwriting. He’s not usually the type to write things down, but I suspect he did that so he’d make sure that he got everything if his nerves and/or excitement got to him.

  The plan is to circle the city twice and make one trip up the strip and another back down. He’s on a strict schedule with no foreseeable gaps in his schedule, so Jordan either gets the shots now or not at all.

  No pressure.

  Danny motions that it’s time to go up, and Jordan grips the gimbal that’s holding his camera in one hand, and wraps his fingers around mine with the other.

  My heart is in my throat, either from the nerves of the impending takeoff or having his hand wrapped around mine. Maybe both at this point, who knows.

  Once we get up in the air, Jordan gives my hand a squeeze and offers me a silent look to make sure I’m alright before he fires up the camera and starts shooting. Once the camera’s on, he’s all intensity and focus. It’s one of the things that I love most about him, how he zeroes in on whatever it is that has his attention. Filming, work…sometimes when we’re talking to each other he makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world.

  Everything is going pretty well until we circle around head back up the Strip and Jordan gets out of his seat to film out of the window on my side of the helicopter.

  “You should stay put,” I offer. “Get that side of the street, too. It has the observation wheel, Paris…it’s more visually interesting. You got great footage on our first pass; get something different so that you don’t regret not having it later.”

  He only thinks about it for a split second before he gets back in his seat.

  “That’s why I wanted to bring you with me,” he says with a warm smile, before getting back to filming.

  That smile make
s me forget about the nerves I had about flying so I can focus on the nerves that swirl in my belly because of him looking at me like that.

  Once we make it to the end of the strip, before we circle around the whole city, I offer up the suggestion that he should film the city on our northbound trip, and get the desert on the southbound trip, because I think the position of the moon and the way it’s lighting the sky would make a pretty transition.

  When we land, we say quick goodbyes to Danny, and Jordan leads me back to the waiting car.

  “Did you get what you wanted?” I ask.

  It’s a low-budget movie that he’s been filming bits and pieces of for the past year or so, paying some of his actor friends scale and sweetening the deal with pizza and beer. Jordan’s always been a realistic dreamer, so he’s not aiming to make an unexpected blockbuster, he’d just like to win a film festival too and see if it can get some traction. He doesn’t expect it to be a masterpiece, but I want him to succeed and more than anything I want people to be wowed by his talent behind the camera and with his ability to do so much with such a small budget.

  His eyes are bright, and he’s buzzing with the kind of creative energy that I get whenever I sink my teeth into a really challenging editing project.

  “I got exactly what I wanted,” he says. “I get so focused on the vision that I have of the final product in my head that I forget that we might want to have some other options in the editing bay.”

  I’d hoped he’d want me to work on this with him. I mean, I have already in bits and pieces, but my real role wouldn’t come in until he’s nearly finished filming. He’s never asked and I didn’t want to assume.

  “We?”

  “Yeah,” he replies, almost breathless with anticipation. “Do you think there’s anyone else I’d trust my dream with?”

  I smile out the window as we make our way back into town.

  * * *

  Jordan told me that we’d be spending the night at Caesar’s, so it definitely gets my attention when the driver just goes right on past it. I wonder for a second if he’s realized his mistake and plans on going around the block, and I’m just about to mention it when he pulls into the driveway of the Bellagio.