Luck on the Line by Zoraida Cordova Read Free Book Online

single drop of malice in this girl’s face. If she could radiate with good-glow, she would. I envy that.
    “I think I’m good. But, actually, do you happen to have a copy of the tasting menu?”
    She nods rapidly and pulls it out for me. “Here you go. Let me know if you need anything else.”
    “Thanks.” I hope my smile doesn’t look fake. “So, any hot plans on a Tuesday night?”
    Felicity looks surprised. Her shoulders shake in the kind of heaving laughter that’s a cross between a laugh and an asthma attack. “Me? No way.”
    In New York, the best nights to go out were weekdays—mostly because I worked weekends, but also because the weekend is for the office crowds who don’t normally venture out. Girls pretend they’re on an episode of Sex and the City and guys wear too much cologne. No one knows how to act, tip, or behave like anything other than Neanderthals.
    “Why not?”
    She shakes her head. I can picture Felicity following my glamorous mother around to events and parties. I bet all of her dresses are like this one, grey and tan and somber.
    Suddenly I hear James’s laugh booming from the office areas. He and my mother share in a private joke and their laughter burns inside me like acid. They’re coming this way.
    Bradley’s name pops up on my screen: Outside! This monster wants zee cookies.
    “I’ve got to go,” I say, and for a moment I think Felicity deflates with disappointment. I contemplate inviting her out, but then, what’s the point of making a friend when I’ll have to leave soon anyway? The fewer ties, the less complicated, I’ve learned. “See you later.”
    “See you at home.”
    Home? It’s so weird saying “home” to this girl I’ve known for less than two days.
    I grab my bag off the chair and hurry for the safety of Bradley’s car. I don’t want to look at Chef James’s face if I can avoid it at all. Who does he think he is? He’s got no idea what my life has been like.
    As Bradley revs the engine, I look back at The Star. James holds the door for my mother and our eyes catch. Embarrassment fills my stomach, like the thousand butterflies fluttering inside there suddenly catch on fire. I hold up my hand to the glass. A smirk plays on his lips and he shakes his head, my mother oblivious to our exchange. There’s something terribly satisfying about giving a guy the finger.

Chapter 7
    Bradley’s Mercedes is a silver bullet on the grey crowded street, twisting and turning on the downtown streets with an ease I never mastered. I have a license, but the thought of hitting that gas pedal makes my body freeze with memories of my dad’s accident. I go where the train, bus, or my legs can take me.
    We find a place to park, and then walk to Angie’s Bakery in Somerville, near Sky’s apartment. I’m shivering in the cool air of the AC. Bradley takes my chin in his finger and pulls it up so I meet his baby-blue eyes.
    “Where are you in there?”
    I point to my temple and say, “Trust me. You don’t want to get in here.”
    “I know. I’ve already tried.” He opens his door, leaving the statement hanging there. We grab a seat in the bakery. The counter smells like heaven, lined with glossy frosted donuts and candied apples, wild berry tarts, artfully piped cupcakes. He orders for us—bacon maple donuts, strawberries and cream, a lemon cupcake, and a slice of apple pie. I don’t like apple pie, but Bradley can put away more sugar than should be fair. He takes his coffee with half and half and a jar of sugar. I drink it black. His hand lingers on mine too long while we wait for the waitress to set down our treats. His hand banishes the cold of the air-conditioned shop, and I really wish it didn’t.
    “Earth to Lucky—”
    The desserts land in front of us in a delicate metal tier. I dive right in, biting into the comforting sugar and bacon treat.
    “I’m guessing your first day of work wasn’t a big lemon-vodka party?” He nudges me lightly.
    “You’re not