Count Your Lucky Stars: A Novel

Not a setup, her ass.

Margot picked at the peeling paper label of her beer as Luke stood and patted Brendon on the shoulder. “I’ve got it.” Luke turned to Olivia and grinned. “What’s your poison?”

Olivia tucked her hair behind her ear. “Oh, um, I’ll just have a beer.”

“Coming right up.” Luke winked and headed straight for the snack table. He tilted the case of beer on its side, reading the label, chuckling softly. He looked over his shoulder at the group, eyes narrowing. “Okay, who’s the hophead here?”

The what?

Brendon pointed at Margot with his marshmallow skewer. “Mar brought the beer.”

Luke leaned back against the railing beside the table and crossed his ankles. He wagged his finger at Margot, tutting softly. “Ah, you’re the hophead. Should’ve guessed.”

What was that supposed to mean? “It’s beer. Nothing to get all Reefer Madness about, Officer.”

Luke threw his head back and laughed. “No, you misunderstand. It’s IPA. Hops, therefore you’re a hophead.”

Short of being told she was wrong, there was little more that pissed her off than a line like that. You misunderstand. Maybe he wasn’t clear. Margot smiled through clenched teeth. “Huh. Clever.”

“Now, I’ve got to ask.” Luke lifted a bottle from the case, holding it up to the moonlight as if that would do jack all. “Do you actually like IPAs, or is it just the first craft beer you tried and it stuck?”

Wait, did he just call her boring? Holy shit. Margot opened her mouth—

“We’re partnering with that brewery,” Elle said with a smile. “Margot and I. We’re the voices behind Oh My Stars.”

“Astrology, right?” Luke snapped his fingers in recognition, nodding quickly. “You know, I’d be interested in seeing a demographic analysis studying the correlation between people who prefer popular varieties of craft beer and those who buy into modern-day Western astrology.”

Buy into. Margot’s blood boiled. What a crock of condescending horseshit.

Elle’s left eye twitched, and Brendon gave a preemptive wince. Margot took a deep breath. She would not rise to the bait, she would not rise to the bait, she would not rise to the bait no matter how much this dude was just asking to fuck around and find out.

“If only Elle and I weren’t so busy,” Margot said, and from the corner of her eye, Brendon’s shoulders dropped in obvious relief that Margot hadn’t snapped back.

Look at that. Margot smiled. Growth.

Luke frowned. “I don’t think it would be that difficult. Two sets of a data and a simple t-test would tell you everything you need to know.” He crossed his arms. “You know, the t-test—well, actually, it’s the Student’s t-test—was named after William Sealy Gosset, under the pseudonym Student. And interesting fact—Gosset worked for Guinness. He developed the t-test to prevent rival breweries from discovering the statistics Guinness used for brewing their beer. Ergo, it would be rather apt to use the t-test when analyzing your own data around beer.”

“Speaking of beer.” Olivia smiled pointedly at the bottle in Luke’s hand.

“Right.” He laughed and studied the bottle briefly before narrowing his eyes in obvious contemplation. “Are you partial to IPAs or would you be up for something a little different? A little less bitter, maybe?”

Margot frowned.

Olivia shifted slightly, then shrugged. “I—”

“Would probably like something to drink sometime this century,” Margot muttered under her breath so only Elle could hear.

Elle pressed her lips together and elbowed Margot softly in the side, turning and staring at her with wide, laughing eyes.

“—don’t really have a preference,” Olivia said, shaking her head.

Luke set the bottle down. “I picked up a case of gose at Safeway. It’s not as good as the stuff you actually get in Goslar, Germany, but it’s close. Kind of a fruity, sour beer. You interested?”

“Um.” Olivia laughed and threw her hands up. “Sure, I guess.”

“Awesome.” Luke grinned and headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

As soon as Luke was out of earshot, Brendon turned to the group and laughed, albeit stiltedly, raking his hand through his hair. “I think he’s nervous. Odd man out, you know?”

“We’ve all been there before,” Annie said, and Olivia nodded.

Conversations splintered off, Brendon drawing Olivia into a conversation with Katie and Jian, Annie and Darcy speaking quietly with their heads together, each holding a glass of wine.

Elle cleared her throat quietly and tucked her hair behind her ear, fingers lingering on the side of her face, the rock on her finger twinkling when the moon hit it just so.

“Oh, Jesus.” Margot slapped herself on the forehead. “Fuck, Elle, I’m sorry. Holy shit.” She grasped Elle’s hand, shifting it side to side and oohing when the light caught on the facets, reflecting a sparkling rainbow against Elle’s sweatshirt. “Damn, go Darcy.”

“Right?” Elle laughed and held her hand out, wiggling her fingers, and Margot kind of loved that Elle’s nail polish was chipped, that she hadn’t bothered fixing it just because she had a ring to show off. It was very Elle.

“I think you said something about a winter wedding?” Her eyes flitted to the patio door. Luke had a bottle of beer in each hand and was heading straight for Olivia. He handed her a bottle, leaned in and whispered something in her ear, then tapped the neck of his bottle against hers with a laugh that Olivia returned. “Did you and Darcy discuss . . . um . . .”

“Dates?” Elle supplied, eyes crinkled at the corners. “A little. Nothing set in stone. We’re kind of torn—December carries a lot of significance for us, but it’s also a hectic month, and do we really want to organize a wedding around the holidays?” Elle shrugged. “I don’t know. Ideally, I’d like to avoid the month of January. Not that I have anything against the month, but Venus is retrograde from the first to the twenty-ninth, so . . .”

“Yeah, probably not a bad plan to avoid that if you can help it.”

Luke took a seat on the empty cushion beside Olivia, close enough that their thighs touched. He snagged the bag of marshmallows off the patio deck and offered it to Olivia with a broad smile. “Marshmallow?”

“Thanks.” Olivia beamed.

“. . . definitely want to avoid the week of Christmas, you know?” Elle continued.

Margot nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

Luke passed Olivia a roasting stick, holding her beer for her while she skewered her marshmallow and set it over the fire.

“. . . not like Darcy or I have much family that would be flying in, but I do have my cousins over in New Jersey, and Mom would probably have a fit if I didn’t at least invite them, you know? And flights are going to be more expensive around the holidays, so that won’t work . . .”

Luke said something that made Olivia laugh, this time so hard she threw her head back, golden hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back, her beanie slipping and her eyes shutting. Luke bit his lip, staring unabashedly.

Margot narrowed her eyes. So far the guy had done very little to ingratiate himself to Margot.

Olivia, on the other hand, seemed to be eating it up.

Literally.

When a tendril of inky smoke curled from the crusted black shell of the marshmallow Olivia accidentally burned, Luke whistled. “Here.” He handed Liv a preassembled smore, golden-brown marshmallow oozing out from between the graham crackers. “You can have mine.”

“Oh.” Olivia accepted it from him with a smile. “Thanks.”

“Hold on, you’ve got a little something . . .”

Seriously? Luke reached out, thumbing away a smudge of chocolate at the edge of her bottom lip.

Olivia wasn’t a toddler. She could wipe her own mouth.

Luke smiled affably and popped his thumb into his mouth with a wink.

Olivia ducked her chin, cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink. “Um, thanks.”

“Happy to be of service.”

Margot rolled her eyes. Could this guy possibly be more textbook?

“Earth to Margot.” Elle snapped her fingers. She frowned. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Of course I was listening. You said the thing about the stuff, um . . .” Shit. Margot winced. “Sorry?”

Elle’s brows pinched. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” Margot scoffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Elle dropped her eyes and twisted the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. “I don’t know. You’ve been acting kind of . . . off lately.”

“Off,” she repeated.

“Off.” Elle chewed on her thumbnail. “Look, I know weddings aren’t really your thing, so if you don’t want to be my Maid of Honor I can always ask—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Margot held up her hands, cutting Elle off before she could finish that truly absurd statement. “You could always ask who?” There was a tightness in the back of her throat that made swallowing painful. The thought of being replaced, of some random cousin of Elle’s taking her place and standing up there beside Elle on her special day, was so far outside the realm of acceptable that Margot’s whole body rejected the idea, muscles stiffening. “You don’t need to ask anyone else, Elle. I’m—I’m game. I’m so game.”

She’d be the most enthusiastic Maid of Honor Elle had ever seen. Margot would be Pinterest-level enthusiastic, queen of DIY hacks and rustic elegance—whatever the fuck that meant—and Ball mason jars and inspirational quotes with unattributable sources. She’d tattoo live, laugh, love on her ass if it would make Elle happy.

“That’s good, because I don’t have anyone else to ask, and even if I did”—Elle’s smile wobbled—“there’s no one I’d rather have as my Maid of Honor than you.”

Aw, fuck. Margot’s vision swam, eyes flooding with tears. She ripped off her glasses and tossed them on the cushion, quickly pinching the bridge of her nose. “Shit, Elle. You’re going to make me fuck up my eyeliner. Do you know how hard I worked to get these wings even?”

“Hey.” Elle nudged Margot gently with her knee. “I haven’t wanted to push, but . . . what’s going on with you, Mar?”

She opened her mouth—

“And please don’t say nothing, because there’s obviously something.”

Margot puffed out her cheeks. Well, there went that plan.

Elle leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Does this have something to do with Olivia?”

Margot jerked back. “What?” In an attempt to cover the way her voice cracked, Margot laughed. “Why would this have anything to do with Liv?”

Elle stared at her, smile small and gaze knowing. The skin between Margot’s shoulder blades itched, and she rolled her arms back.

“I don’t know.” Elle’s lips tipped up in a wry smile. “Maybe because you keep looking at Luke like you’re imagining eviscerating with him your eyes or brainstorming new and inventive ways you might torture him.”

“There’s no need to reinvent the wheel,” Margot muttered under her breath. “Or rack.”

Elle stared.

“Joking.” Margot huffed. “One hundred percent not serious.”

Elle’s brows rose.

“Fine. Ninety-nine percent not serious, and that one percent only wishes he’d step on a Lego.”

Elle sighed. “Margot.”

“Ugh. Do we really have to do”—she gestured vaguely, tipping her beer bottle back and forth between them—“this? My feelings are—”

Margot’s heart seized, panic gripping her as she stared across the fire at Luke and Olivia. Their legs were angled toward one another, knees touching, and Olivia spoke with her hands, animated when she answered his questions, her flushed face lighting up each time she laughed.

Margot drew her bottom lip between her teeth.

Fuck.

Her feelings.

Feelings.

Margot wasn’t supposed to have any feelings, not of the chest variety. God, her chest was doing all sorts of ridiculous things right now, clenching and fluttering, her heart pounding against her sternum like a battering ram.

Damn it, it was supposed to be sex. Supposed to be casual. Feelings weren’t on the menu. Feelings were strictly prohibited; that was the whole point. Friends with benefits, satisfaction guaranteed, all gain no pain, reward with none of the risk, have her cake and eat it, too.

It wasn’t like the sex wasn’t great. Sex with Olivia was . . . Words couldn’t do it justice. Mind-blowing, toe-curling, amazing. But Margot wanted more.

She frowned sharply when Luke said something that made Olivia shove his arm playfully. She wanted that. To sit beside Olivia and let her hand linger on Olivia’s thigh, to be the person offering Olivia marshmallows off her stick, to be the person making Olivia laugh. To be the person. Olivia’s person.

Not Luke, not Brad, no one else. Her. She wanted it to be her by Olivia’s side.

She could picture it perfectly.

Waking up beside Olivia every morning. Falling asleep beside her every night.

How easy it would be to let these feelings grow, let herself fall in love with Olivia, fall in love with her again.

Too get in too deep.

How awful it would be, telling Olivia she wanted more, baring her brittle heart, offering up all her many messy feelings, only for Olivia to turn her down gently. For everything between them to become strained, sharing a seven-hundred-square-foot apartment, their lives entangled in new ways. To ache each time Olivia stepped through the front door, to hold her breath each time Olivia left, wondering when the time would come that Olivia would leave and never come back, Margot’s feelings too big, eating up all the oxygen in the room, making it so the two of them couldn’t coexist inside the same space.

How hard it would be to put herself back together.

History repeating itself and her the fool for letting it happen, believing that Olivia would ever choose her, ever want Margot as much as Margot wanted her.

Margot swigged her beer, bottle shaking slightly in her hand as she lowered it back to her side. “I just don’t . . . vibe with Luke, okay?”

Elle made a face, nose wrinkling. “You don’t vibe with him?”

“Yeah.” Margot crossed her arms and stared across the fire. “What do we really know about him? What if his real name isn’t even Luke?”

Elle laughed. “Okay, Margot. I’m pretty sure if Brendon—his college roommate and friend—thinks his name is Luke, it’s probably Luke.”

“It could be short for something,” Margot argued. “His name might actually be—I don’t know.” Her brain blanked. What the hell was Luke short for? “Luketh.”

Elle lost it, snorting so hard she dribbled wine on the deck. Darcy threw a napkin at her, lips twitching in fond exasperation.

Margot ached. She wanted that, someone to look at her with fond exasperation when she was being utterly ridiculous. Not someone. Olivia.

“You mean Lucas?” Elle pressed a hand to her stomach, trying and failing to rein in her laughter. Olivia’s eyes flickered across the patio, her lips tipping up in a smile when she met Margot’s eye.

Margot dropped her gaze to the deck, face burning in a way that had nothing to do with the heat from the fire pit. Her heart stuttered and her stomach swooped. How she hadn’t seen this coming was anyone’s guess. She hadn’t wanted to see it coming. If she’d have spared a moment to really think about it, she’d have known that this? This was an inevitability. From the moment Olivia kissed her—hell, from the moment Margot invited her to move in—this was always going to happen.

Casual was nothing but a weak safeguard against the inexorable; like waves beating against rock, it was only a matter of time before her feelings wore her down, weakened her resolve, until leaks started to spring and her feelings spilled out where they didn’t belong. She could plug the holes up, but a new one would always appear.

Margot didn’t know how to be anything but all in when it came to Olivia.

Elle’s brows rose. “Do I have to tell you you’re being ridiculous, or do you already know it and you’re just being difficult?”

She sniffed. The second one. “I’m just saying, Luke’s this . . . this Hallmark actor look-alike with perfect teeth and perfect hair and a job that literally involves saving people’s lives and—and his shoulders.”

Elle blinked. “You’re upset that he has shoulders?”

“Broad shoulders.”

“Ah. An important clarification.” Elle nibbled on her lip. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Margot looked at her askance. “I am talking. My lips are moving; sounds are coming out of my mouth.”

“But you’re not really saying anything,” Elle said.

With that, Margot couldn’t argue. Elle had a point.

“Okay.” Margot glanced quickly around the patio to make sure everyone was sufficiently occupied with their own conversations, that no one was listening. This confession was for Elle’s ears only. “Olivia’s and my friendship might be slightly more complicated than I previously led everyone to believe.”

“No, really?” Elle deadpanned.

Margot shoved her. “Hush. I’ll tell you more later, okay? I don’t—this trip is supposed to be about Annie and Brendon and, hello, your engagement. That’s huge. And here I am, making everything all about me and my feelings.”

“You never make anything about you, Mar.” Elle frowned. “I think I speak for all of us when I say—hey, Brendon.”

“Hey.” Brendon crouched down, resting his arms on the back of the sectional behind them. He jerked his chin toward Luke and Olivia and grinned. “Looks like they’re really hitting it off, huh?”

A pit formed in Margot’s stomach. “I don’t know.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

Margot lifted one shoulder, giving Brendon a tight shrug. “I’m not sensing it.”

“Hmm.” His frown deepened. “Really?”

Elle nodded quickly. “Totally. I’m getting super-platonic vibes.”

Across the patio, Luke leaned in, whispering in Olivia’s ear. Her face turned pink.

Margot felt like she was going to be sick, her stomach queasy, a sour knot forming in her throat.

Brendon, completely unaware of her inner turmoil, smiled smugly and stood. “I don’t know. Looks like some pretty stellar chemistry to me.”

He rapped his knuckles against the back of the couch and returned to his seat next to Annie, who curled into his side as soon as he sat down.

Stellar chemistry? Margot’s jaw ticked as she leaned forward, fishing her phone out of her pocket.

Maybe Luke had perfect hair and perfect teeth and a perfect job, all points in his favor, but he had questionable taste in beer, and Margot would be damned if she let some Ryan Gosling look-alike mess up what she did have with Olivia. It might not be everything Margot wanted, everything she craved, everything her greedy heart desired, but it was something.

And something with Olivia Grant would always be better than nothing.

Margot rested the mouth of her beer bottle against her bottom lip and swiped at her screen.

Margot pressed her phone against her thigh, screen side down, and feigned interest in the conversation happening around her. Jian was telling a story about something that had happened at work, lightly roasting Brendon, who took it like a champ, laughing along with everyone else. Margot laughed when everyone else laughed, nodded when everyone nodded, not really paying attention, instead glancing at Olivia surreptitiously from the corner of her eye.

Olivia wiggled her phone free from her pocket and looked at the screen, eyes briefly flitting up, glancing Margot’s way. Margot sipped her beer and pretended to be engrossed in the story. Her phone buzzed against her thigh.

Margot’s lips twitched.

Across the deck, Olivia fumbled her phone, dropping it against the couch. Margot bit her lip, swallowing a laugh as Luke reached for it, handing it to her without looking at the screen. Olivia’s face had turned a violent shade of red, her flush spreading down her jaw. Margot typed quickly.

Olivia must’ve swallowed funny because she started to cough.

“You should drink something, Liv,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek when Olivia leveled her with a heated stare. Firelight caught on Olivia’s blond lashes each time she blinked and turned the gold of her hazel eyes into a warm, cinnamon honey, only a thin ring of green hugging her blown pupils.

“I’m fine,” Olivia gasped, waving Luke off when he tried to offer her his beer, barely even looking at him. A flicker of satisfaction flared inside Margot’s chest.

A minute later Margot’s phone vibrated.

Even across the patio, several feet away, it was obvious how Olivia’s hands shook when she typed. How her throat jerked convulsively with each swallow. How her blush had yet to abate, how if anything, it had deepened into a scarlet flush. Olivia’s tongue swept out against her full bottom lip, wetting it, and Margot had never wanted to bite something so badly in her life that she ached.

All the noise around her—the conversations, the laughter, the popping and cracking of the wood in the firepit—faded into the background when Olivia’s eyes lifted and locked on Margot’s face across the deck, expression intense and inscrutable, a precursor to the text that vibrated against Margot’s thigh.

With great reluctance, Margot tore her eyes from Olivia’s and looked at her screen.

Staring directly at Olivia, unwilling to even blink and miss one of the micro-expressions that flitted across her pretty, flushed face, Margot tipped her beer back and drained what remained in one swallow. Neck of the bottle dangling from her fingers, she stood and addressed the group at large. “I hate to be a party poop, but I’m going to call it a night.”

Everyone wished her a good night’s sleep, the conversation winding down as others expressed their desire to hit the hay and wake up bright and early to hit the slopes.

She made it to the patio door before her phone buzzed.

Margot smiled.

Maybe she wasn’t Olivia’s perfect person, the one Olivia wanted with her whole heart and soul, the person Olivia ached for and dreamed about at night. But Margot could give her this.

Margot could be the best at this.