Count Your Lucky Stars: A Novel

Olivia stretched an arm out toward the nightstand, rolling onto her side when her fingers skimmed nothing but smooth wood, her phone too far to reach.

“Mm, where do you think you’re going?”

One of Margot’s arms wrapped around Olivia’s waist, dragging her further into the bed, snuggling up close behind her.

“I was trying to check the time. We don’t want to be late to dinner.”

Margot burrowed even closer, like merely close wasn’t close enough, like any amount of space between them was unacceptable. Olivia could relate.

This was all so new.

Not just lying here, wrapped up in Margot’s arms, but actually having what she wanted.

For so long, everything she’d wanted had been unattainable, either by some huge, insurmountable margin, pie-in-the-sky dreams, or by a smaller gap, fingertips skimming, just shy of grasping. Almost was always worse, the hope it stirred leading to a harder letdown when it, inevitably, didn’t pan out. A scholarship to the school of her dreams. A relationship with Margot. All the little desires she’d given up here and there, incidents explained away as coincidences until the pattern became clear, irrefutable evidence stacking up against the small measure of hope to which she’d held fast. Sacrifices she’d made thinking they were worth her happily ever after with Brad, bargains she’d made in the name of love that became lies she told herself because the truth was too grim. Only to discover that happily ever after, in and of itself, was a sham.

After a certain point, wanting became pointless when having remained hopeless. Why bother? Why continue to put herself through constant disappointment? Maybe some people just weren’t meant to have what they wanted, to be happy. So she’d settled on the next best thing, little crumbs of contentment where she could find them. Never wholly satisfying, but enough to get by on, to subsist.

But now . . .

All in. Warmth flooded her chest. Margot wanted her.

Maybe disappointment wasn’t an inevitability. Maybe everything in her life so far had happened for a reason, the way it was supposed to. All those little disappointments not the dead ends she’d thought, but turns she had to make, all leading her to something bigger, something better, something lasting, something real. Hers. A perfect convergence of being in the right place at the right time.

Margot pressed one chilly foot to the back of Olivia’s calf, her other foot still elevated, the pillows beneath it slightly askew, one hanging off the edge of the bed, in danger of falling.

“I don’t want to get up,” Margot complained. One hand swept the hair away from the back of Olivia’s neck, icy fingers sending shivers down her spine. Warm lips brushed against her nape, featherlight, and her skin prickled all over, Margot’s touch giving her goose bumps. “I’m cold and you’re warm and this bed is too comfortable.”

It was, but she had a feeling she could’ve been lying on a cinder block and she’d have been equally as reluctant to move, her desire to stay in bed having less to do with the comfort of the mattress and warmth of the duvet and everything to do with having Margot wrapped around her.

“We skipped lunch.”

Margot’s mouth curved against her skin. “Debatable,” her voice lilted, sounding coy. “I ate.”

Laughter burst from between her lips. “Margot.”

“What?” Margot shifted, rising up onto an elbow, peering down at Olivia with wide eyes, a placid little smile on her lips, the picture of innocence, if Olivia didn’t know better. The left corner of her mouth twitched, eyes creasing in amusement, cracks appearing in her composure. “I did.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Olivia bit her lip, shaking her head slowly.

Margot smiled impishly and rested a hand on Olivia’s waist. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

Before she could answer, Margot leaned in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that curled her toes and sent a flood of warmth through her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she sank into the kiss, surrendering to the feeling of Margot’s tongue tracing the seam of her mouth, her lips still tender from Margot’s teeth.

“Reservations,” she gasped out. “We can’t—”

Lips trailing kisses from her mouth to her chin and down along her jaw, Margot shushed her. “Brendon said reservations aren’t until seven thirty. We have time.”

The hand resting on her waist slid down her belly, cupping her between her thighs, Margot’s thumb strumming her still-tender clit. Her breath caught in her throat, her pulse jumping as her hips jerked softly, thighs falling open.

“That’s it,” Margot murmured against Olivia’s skin, forehead pressed to her cheek, staring down her body as she ran her fingers along Olivia’s slit.

Two fingers sank inside her, crooking upward, giving her something to clench down on, and—God, this was going to be over impossibly fast.

Margot pressed an achingly sweet kiss to the hinge of Olivia’s jaw.

“Close, aren’t you?” Margot nuzzled the side of her face, lips brushing the space beneath Olivia’s ear, teeth nipping at her earlobe. That subtle sting sent a bolt of pleasure straight to her core and made her clench. Margot smiled against her skin, fingers crooking harder. “Come on, Liv. Come for me.”

Her breath hitched and her chest burned as she tipped over the edge, thighs quaking and hips jerking as Margot’s fingers curled, drawing out the pleasure. When it became too much, Olivia shoved weakly at Margot’s hand, knees closing. Margot pressed another one of those sweet kisses to Olivia’s cheek and slipped her fingers free. Olivia bit down hard on her lip, swallowing a whine at how empty she felt.

Margot flopped back against the bed with a contented sigh. “Still think I’m ridiculous?”

Olivia snorted. “The fact that you’re still thinking about that proves how utterly ridiculous you are.”

“Utterly?” Margot laughed, bright and sharp and the sound did something funny to Olivia’s heart, not quite a clench, closer to a flutter. Like there were butterflies trapped inside her chest. “I’m been upgraded to utterly ridiculous as opposed to regular ridiculous?”

She pressed her lips together so they wouldn’t twitch or curve. “Upgrade?”

With a scoff, Margot rolled over, fingers digging into the soft side of Olivia’s stomach. She thrashed, squirming, feet tangling in the sheets as she tried to escape.

“Stop, no!” Olivia laughed, shoving at Margot’s arm.

Margot quit, fingers falling still, palm resting high on Olivia’s waist, just beneath her breasts.

“You’re in luck.” Olivia rolled over, careful to avoid Margot’s injured foot as she crawled between her thighs. “I happen to like ridiculous.”

Margot beamed at her and reached up, tangling a hand in the back of Olivia’s hair. Margot dragged her down, her neck arching to meet Olivia’s mouth halfway. Her knees fell open, allowing Olivia to settle between her thighs. Olivia’s lips skimmed over the black lace encasing Margot’s breasts, then lower, over the flat plain of her stomach, her tongue darting out against her belly button just to see what would happen. Margot made a high-pitched keening sound, her hands scrambling against the sheet and her hips rocking upward as she bit down on the swell of her bottom lip.

Olivia brushed her mouth against the skin between Margot’s hip bones, the waist of her bikini-cut panties riding low, lower still when Olivia tucked her fingers beneath the elastic and tugged.

Fingers stroked the side of Olivia’s face, skimming the bottom of her jaw. She lifted her head, resting her chin lightly on Margot’s lower abdomen, careful not to dig in. Margot stared down at her from beneath low lids and pressed the pad of her thumb to the center of Olivia’s bottom lip. “You look unbelievably hot like this.”

Her face heated, warmth blooming in her chest at the compliment, as she licked the crease of Margot’s hip where the black lace of her underwear scalloped in. She sucked a kiss into Margot’s skin, drawing back when Margot hissed and her hips rocked upward. The skin faded from red to pink. If Olivia wanted to leave a mark, which she most definitely did, she’d have to try harder.

Atop the nightstand, something buzzed, rattling against the lamp. Either her phone or Margot’s.

Margot huffed. “Ignore it.”

Good plan. Olivia hooked her fingers around the band of Margot’s underwear. The phone quit buzzing as she dragged Margot’s underwear down her thighs and—

The buzzing started up again and Margot punched the bed in frustration, whining softly. “Damn it. I swear to God, if this is Brendon calling, I’m going to lose it. There’s no way it’s even after six.” She huffed loudly and sat up, twisting at the waist to reach the nightstand. She frowned. “It’s not me.” Margot stretched further, fingers wiggling in a bid to reach Olivia’s phone on the far end of the nightstand, and she managed to drag it close enough so that she could read the screen.

Margot’s brows drew together, a quick flicker of irritation sharpening her gaze before her expression smoothed, too neutral, too blank to be natural. A muscle in her jaw just beneath her ear jumped, as if she’d clenched her back teeth together and Olivia’s stomach twisted into a knot.

“Here.” Margot swiped the phone off the nightstand and held it out. She cleared her throat softly, eyes darting around the room, looking everywhere but at Olivia. “It’s Brad.”

Olivia traced the back of her teeth with her tongue, staring hard at Brad’s name on the screen until the letters blurred together and the backs of her eyes burned, forcing her to blink. A reverse image of his name floated behind her lids, white on black. She’d answer and take care of it, whatever it was this time, tell Brad what he needed to hear, and—then what? She’d do it all over again the next time he called? The next? How long was this supposed to go on for?

In those minutes, no matter how brief, it was like she’d never left, still giving even from miles away. She dreaded seeing his name appear on the caller ID, hated knowing there was a ninety-nine percent chance he was calling for something innocuous, using her. But there was that one percent chance, that small part of her, that little voice in the back of her mind that couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but worry, what if? What if this time he was calling for something actually important? What if the one time she sent him to voicemail Dad needed her and—

Margot’s eyes dropped to the phone still vibrating in the palm of her hand. “Are you going to answer it?”

Maybe it was because she asked, giving Olivia the chance to make the decision rather than telling Olivia what she should do, that her heart swelled.

She took the phone from Margot, their fingers brushing. Margot averted her eyes and scratched her neck, fingers lingering in the hollow of her throat.

Olivia swallowed hard and swiped at the screen, sending Brad to voicemail. “If he has something important to say, he can leave me a message.”

Sending Brad to voicemail wasn’t merely satisfying, the absence of his name on her screen a relief. It was necessary, something she should’ve done a long time ago. She was doing it now, not to wipe the subtle frown from Margot’s face, but for herself. Because Margot was right. This pattern of being at Brad’s beck and call wasn’t healthy and it wasn’t fair.

Olivia deserved better.

Margot surged forward, pressing her mouth to Olivia’s. Her lips curved, and maybe Olivia hadn’t sent Brad to voicemail for Margot or because of her, but the way she smiled was an added benefit.

Margot drew back, fingers sliding against the shell of Olivia’s ear after she tucked a strand of hair behind it. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I’m—” Olivia’s phone vibrated, still in her hand. One brief buzz, a text. Olivia shut her eyes. “Damn it,” she muttered.

She swiped against her screen, entering her passcode with her thumb, tapping on the text notification at the top of her screen.

Enough was enough. The time for point-blank was now.

She stared at the message, chewing on the inside of her lip, reading and rereading until she had the whole thing memorized. She held her thumb down on the backspace key, deleting the last line before pressing send. Margot’s hands rested lightly on her shoulders, her touch reassuring. Her thumbs swept gently against Olivia’s collarbones in a soothing circuit. When Olivia lifted her head, one side of Margot’s mouth tipped up. “Okay?”

“I told him to stop calling unless it’s an emergency.” She lifted her brows and offered up a wry smile. “I’m not holding my breath.”

Her phone vibrated with another incoming text.

Right. Because asking for a boundary made her a bitch. She rolled her eyes and flipped her phone around to show Margot the text. Margot squinted and brought the screen closer, tongue poking against the inside of her cheek.

“What a fucking ass goblin,” Margot muttered, sneering at the screen.

“A what?” Olivia snickered.

Her phone buzzed, sending another spike of irritation through her. Before she could turn her screen around, Margot leaned in, reading what he wrote.

“I don’t even . . . I think he sent you a link.” Margot wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t open it.”

As Olivia turned her phone back around, it buzzed with another incoming text. God, was he persistent.

What did he mean Dad was moving? Moving what? The URL had been shortened, a Bitly link that provided zero contextual clues, no help. Without clicking, she wouldn’t know what he’d sent her or what it had to do with moving.

Fingers crossed that Brad hadn’t sent her porn—she wouldn’t put it past him—she tapped the link. A new browser opened, the site loading, loading, slow as molasses. The bar at the top of the page inched along, her screen white until suddenly it wasn’t.

Zillow? Brad had sent her a link to a Zillow real estate listing. A Zillow listing for Dad’s house.

Dad’s house, which was on the market, not only listed for sale, but had been on the market for two weeks.

A lump formed in her throat, making it nearly impossible to swallow. She pressed a hand to her stomach, able to feel her pulse against her palm. Her heart was beating too fast, and—she sat back, bouncing against the bed, drawing her knees to her chest, suddenly dizzy.

“Liv?” Margot rested her hands on Olivia’s knees. “What’s wrong?”

Without speaking, she passed Margot the phone. Margot frowned and shifted back, swiping her glasses off the nightstand. She scrolled back up to the top of the page, brows rising as she scanned the screen. “Brad sent you this?”

She nodded.

Margot pursed her lips. “Are you sure this is legit? Are you sure Brad didn’t send you a doctored web page or something?”

“I don’t think fabricating a real estate listing is really in Brad’s wheelhouse. Why would he even do that?”

“I don’t know.” Margot shrugged. “It’s Brad we’re talking about. Why would he bother sending you this? What’s in it for him?”

Olivia pressed her thumb beneath the ridge of her brow bone. A subtle throbbing had started behind her eyes. “I asked him to let me know if he heard anything about Dad, remember? I guess this is him letting me know? Either that, or . . . I don’t know, Margot. Maybe he’s being nosy? I don’t know.”

She knew nothing.

Margot glanced back at the screen. “It’s been on the market for two weeks?”

Apparently. In that time, Dad hadn’t mentioned anything about selling the house. Not once, not even a passing mention, or that he was considering putting it up for sale. Nothing.

Olivia reached for her phone. “I need to call my dad. I don’t—I don’t understand why he wouldn’t tell me if he was moving.”

It didn’t make sense.

Margot passed her the phone without a word, only a grim smile.

Olivia navigated to her recent calls, bypassed Brad’s number, and tapped on the icon beside Dad—Cell. It rang once, and Olivia sucked in a stuttered breath. Twice. She exhaled harshly. Pick up. Three times. She held her breath.

Hey, you’ve reached Gary Grant. Sorry, I’m not available to take your call at the moment. Leave your name and number and I’ll return your call as soon as I can. Thanks!

“No answer?” Margot asked when Olivia lowered her phone, ending the call before the line could start recording.

She shook her head and stared at Dad’s contact page. “I’m going to call one more time.”

Margot leaned over the edge of the bed and plucked her shirt off the floor. She slipped it on, flipping the ends of her hair over her shoulders, and leaned back against the headboard. She snagged her phone off the nightstand, fingers swiping against the screen.

Olivia hit call and held her breath.

One ring.

Two rings.

Her stomach sank.

Three rings.

Hey, you’ve . . .

She shut her eyes and huffed. Damn it, Dad. Of all times for him not to answer, when she needed to talk to him.

She waited for Dad’s voicemail message to finish and stayed on the line this time, waiting to leave a message. Even though she was expecting it, the shrill beep made her pulse leap. “Hey, Dad. Call me when you get this.” She wet her lips, weighing out whether to give her reason for calling. “Just—call me. Please. Love you.”

Margot’s hand wrapped around Olivia’s thigh, thumb sweeping against the inside of her knee. When Olivia opened her eyes, Margot offered a smile that didn’t reach the corners of her eyes. “I’m sure he’ll call you back when he has the chance.”

Maybe he would, but . . . “I still don’t understand why he’s selling the house. And why he didn’t tell me. He loves that house. I grew up in that house. He and Mom—” She swallowed hard over the lump in her throat that wouldn’t go away, if anything swelling further. “He and Mom bought that house when they first got married. I don’t—I don’t understand. He’s never mentioned selling the house before.”

Dad loved his house. He—God, even the parts of it he didn’t love, like the yellow toile wallpaper in the downstairs half bath, he’d kept unchanged because Mom had picked it out. It didn’t make sense.

“I bet there’s a logical explanation for this, okay?”

“The house has been on the market for two weeks. Do you know how many times we’ve spoken, how many chances he had to mention it? We just spoke yesterday.”

“Hey.” Margot reached out, cradling the side of Olivia’s face gently. Olivia closed her eyes and leaned into Margot’s palm, pressing her lips to the inside of her wrist. “Why is this freaking you out so badly?”

She opened her eyes and sucked in a rasping breath, throat raw. “What else hasn’t he told me?”

How many times had he told her he was fine? That his blood work was good, that his doctors were happy with his progress, that he was taking care of himself, eating better, and working less? Was any of that true or was he placating her, brushing her concerns aside so she wouldn’t worry?

“He’ll call you back,” Margot repeated herself, thumb sweeping against Olivia’s cheek.

When? “He’s going out of town tomorrow, remember?”

Even if he did call, who was to say he wouldn’t do what he always did, blow off her concerns and tell her not to worry before changing the subject?

She wouldn’t be able to sleep until she figured out what was going on. If Dad was truly okay or if . . . if . . .

What if Dad was selling the house because he was sick? What if he wasn’t answering the phone because he couldn’t? What if there was no fishing trip—what if he was back in the hospital and he didn’t want her to know?

Even if she didn’t have his health to worry about, this still would’ve struck her as odd. Unsettling. They talked, often.

But she did have his health to worry about.

God, what she wouldn’t give to press rewind, go back to ten minutes ago when she and Margot had been tangled together in the sheets, the only fluttering in her gut from butterflies, a pleasant sort of squirminess. Not this awful anxious churning, her mind suddenly flitting to all sorts of worst-case scenarios.

Until she got to the bottom of this, her brain would try to fill in the blank that came after if with one terrible option after another. Not only would she not be able to sleep, but tomorrow was Annie and Brendon’s rehearsal. Their wedding was the next day. She couldn’t afford to be distracted, wondering, worrying.