Running Into Love (Fluke My Life)(8)

By: Aurora Rose Reynolds


“You, too, ladies.” He looks at Mac again and asks, “Have you been saving your money for the next home game?”

“No, but I already know where I’m going to spend yours.” She smiles, making him chuckle.

“Wanna raise the odds?” he questions, and her face lights up. Mac loves a good bet, and it seems this guy knows it.

“Name your price.”

“Dinner. I win, you cook, you win, I’ll pay,” he states, and she tilts her head back toward the night sky, then looks back at him.

“I look forward to eating on your dime.” She grins, and suddenly I feel bad for Tex, because clearly my sister has no idea that he is into her.

“We’ll see, darlin’. Now, go on in—it’s cold out,” he tells her, opening the door to the bar.

“Thanks, Tex,” she replies, heading inside, followed by Libby.

Getting up on my tiptoes, I press my hand to the hard wall of Tex’s chest so I don’t tip over in my heels, and his startled gaze comes to me. “Keep at her. She never sees what’s right in front of her,” I tell him, and his eyes narrow in a way that looks almost dangerous.

“I’m married,” he growls.

Blinking, I fall back on my heels and ask, “You’re married?”

“Very fucking married. To her friend.” He lifts his chin toward the door.

Oh shit. Whelp, I totally read that wrong.

“Oh,” I mumble under my breath, then nod and smile through my embarrassment, because what else can I do. “Keep up the good work, and congrats.” I pat his chest, then scurry inside, only to stop dead when I clear the door.

There are a lot of men and women inside, so many that the entire room is packed, but absolutely none of them are dressed up.

Not one.

“Well, this is awkward,” I mutter to myself, watching Mac and Libby head toward the back of the bar. Catching up with them, I press my lips together as they set their coats in an empty booth. “I think I’m just gonna leave my coat on,” I say when Mac turns toward me and holds out her hand, wiggling her fingers.

“You’re not leaving the coat on.”

“Did either of you happen to look around? No one is dressed up—not one person,” I cry, batting Libby’s hands away when she tries to untie the belt of my coat.

“It’s still early,” Libby informs me.

I look at her, then back to Mac, and ask, “Are you sure this costume party was scheduled for tonight?”

“Tonight’s Halloween. When else would it be?” She looks around. Following her gaze around the room, I stop on a poster behind the bar announcing the pimps and hoes party has been rescheduled for tomorrow night.

“We’re a day early,” I point out, and she looks around again and bites her bottom lip.

“So we’ll make the best of it and have a good time tonight,” Libby says, and I hope she knows that if it were possible she would be dead by now, lit on fire with the lasers I’m trying to shoot from my eyes. Unfortunately, she doesn’t read the threat.

“Do you know how ridiculous we look right now?” I ask, looking between the two. Mac, at least, has the decency to look apprehensive, but apparently Libby has set her mind on doing this, because she just raises a brow and wiggles her fingers in a silent command for me to give up my coat. “Well, then, you both are in for it, because I’m now going to drink away my embarrassment, which means you will both be responsible for making sure I get home safely or you can face Mom and Dad and explain to them why their favorite daughter was found dead dressed like a prostitute.”

Mac’s eyes narrow, and she yell-whispers, “I’m Mom and Dad’s favorite.”

Snorting, I shake my head no, then give in and slip off the coat.

“You both know I’m their favorite. I’m the baby,” Libby chimes in, tossing my coat onto hers and Mac’s in the booth.

“You wish,” I mutter, and she glares at me.

“Come on, let’s just go get a drink, and next time we see Mom and Dad, they can tell us who their real favorite is,” Mac says, stepping between us.

“Fine,” I agree as Libby curls her lip up and repeats.

“Fine.”

“I see this is going to be a tequila kind of night.” Mac sighs, dragging us toward the bar.



“I can’t bewieve someone stole our jackets,” Libby slurs four hours later, stumbling into me and causing me to stumble into Mac as the three of us huddle together in an attempt to keep warm as we rush down the street toward the train station.

“At least we have a MetroCard.” Mac giggles, stumbling into my other side and making me bounce against Libby.

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