Happily Ever Never

10. Lucas

10

LUCAS

My first thought when I wake up is, Oh my God, I just slept with my secretary. I am every bad boss cliché in the world.

Granted, literally all we did was sleep. We were both exhausted and aching, and even though I was lying six inches away from the woman who has starred in all of my masturbatory fantasies for the last two years, I actually passed out and didn’t wake up until the sunlight streamed through the window and warmed my face.

And now, I’m lying next to Brooke Langley. She looks like an angel, with her rosy lips slightly parted, her creamy skin so smooth, her chest rising and falling slowly...

This would be a dream under any other circumstances. Or maybe a nightmare. A taste of paradise when I could never let myself devour the whole meal.

And it would also help if we weren’t sleeping in the bed of the late Mr. and Mrs. McGillicuddy in a bizarre world that’s holding us hostage.

I don’t feel too bad, physically, until I sit up, and then it hits me. My legs are columns of fire. I feel like I ran a marathon yesterday .

Carefully, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, trying not to move too much so I don’t wake Brooke up.

My legs are throbbing as I climb out of bed and hobble to the bathroom. Brooke is still asleep, thank God. I’m never going to hear the end of this. And it’s only partly my fault for being a stubborn jackass who refused to accept the incredibly obvious.

That's kind of a lifelong trait, though. When my mother left, I was so sure she’d come back for me that I made her Christmas cards and birthday cards and handmade presents for five years. The pile grew and grew in the back of my closet, hidden from my father, hidden from everyone, until I finally accepted the inevitable and snuck everything into the trash.

The thought of my father brings a lump to my throat.

Is he all right, back in the real world? How’s he going to function without having me to call up and berate for running our legacy into the ground? Yes, it always hurts, but I would never cut him off. It’s his way of staying connected to the business.

Finished in the bathroom, I stagger back into the bedroom to find Brooke sitting up in bed. Her hair is sleep-rumpled and unbearably sexy. She’s thrown off the covers and is rubbing her legs, face squinched up in a grimace of pain. As I painfully make my way over to her, she looks up and fixes me with a narrow-eyed glare. Even mad like that, she’s adorable. I should know. I’ve seen her mad a lot. I’m generally the cause of it.

I try for an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. This is partly my fault.”

“Partly? If I were able to stand up and stagger over to you, I’d throttle you.” She groans. “Lucas, I need to go to the bathroom and I literally don’t think I can walk. What am I going to do? Crawl? Roll?”

“I got you,” I say, and without even thinking, I lean over and scoop her up in my arms.

A wave of shock washes over me .

I am holding Brooke Langley in my arms.

Brooke, the woman who somehow became more important to me than my right hand. The woman I’ve held at arm’s length for two years, for my own sanity. She’s not at arm’s length anymore; she’s melting into me, fitting perfectly like she belongs there.

Her hair smells like her lilac-scented shampoo, and her body is lean and toned and she’s nestling up against my chest. I’m afraid that my heart is thundering so loudly she might hear it and get some idea of how I really feel.

She stares at me, her face inches away from mine, and does a slow blink of her big doe eyes. I feel like the hunter, and she’s Bambi.

“Um,” she says.

“Yeah... um. This is awkward.” I make my legs move. I think I’m going in the right direction, but alarm bells are ringing inside my head, disorienting me. My legs scream in protest with every step that I take.

“My boss carrying me to the bathroom? You think?” she winces.

I manage a half shrug. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

I carry her down the hall, deposit her in the bathroom, and shut the door, limping away a few steps to give her some privacy.

I slept with Brooke, I slept with Brooke, I slept with Brooke... I’m awake now and thinking about her slender body lying only inches from mine all night long. Arousal pulses through me and her light scent is still drifting in the air. I inhale deeply to draw it into my nostrils, to make her part of me.

A few minutes later, she calls my name, and I open the door to find her standing up and leaning on the sink.

“By the way, if I haven’t mentioned it in the last five minutes, you suck,” she says, as I scoop her up again. She pats my biceps. “Nice guns, though.”

“Thanks. I work out.”

That earns me a laugh and an eye roll. “You don’t say. I never would have guessed.” She’s only walked in on me doing deals from my office treadmill every day since she started working for me.

Well, at least she’s smiling now. Brooke has a smile that dazzles like the sun. “Where to, your royal highness?”

“Back to bed, I guess. Ugh, I’m starving, but I don’t think I can stand up long enough to cook something.”

“Leave it to me,” I tell her.

“Exactly how many meals have you cooked in your life?” she asks skeptically. “Do you even boil your own water or do you call in minions to do it?”

I give her an exasperated look. “I live alone and I haven’t starved to death yet.”

She blows out an impatient breath. “You live in Manhattan, where you can open up an app and get Indo-Cuban-Japanese fusion delivered to your doorstep at 3:47 a.m. in half an hour.”

“Well, that was weirdly specific.”

We go back to the bedroom and I bend over and gently deposit her on the bed. She winces, pulling her blanket over her, and settles back against the pillows.

“We shall never speak of this,” she says severely.

“Speak of what? Okay, I’ll be back in a few. After breakfast, I’ll get you some Icy Hot for your legs.”

She arches an eyebrow. “After you cook me breakfast, we’ll be in the ER getting my stomach pumped out for food poisoning. And then maybe, to top it off, you can just push me off a cliff.”

“Do you want breakfast or not?”

She frowns, appearing to consider it.

Then her stomach growls loudly, and she slaps her hand over her belly as if to mask the sound. “Seriously! Could this day get worse?” she groans.

“Don’t say that. In this universe, who knows what could happen. Maybe it’s like Jumanji and we’ll be trampled by elephants. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen,” I say.

I turn and limp away.

Brooke was not wrong. I can make a passable cup of coffee, but I do not cook. When I was growing up, my father had a chef for us, because he was all about the status symbols.

And now, I have the names of my favorite food delivery services on speed dial. Brooke’s right—I can summon up a gourmet feast at the push of a button. I have never even so much as made toast in my life, but Brooke can’t walk and she’s hungry, so I am going to make this happen or die trying.

Which is a definite possibility.

--------

Brooke

I’m trying to go back to sleep, but my legs hurt too much.

Last night, I tossed and turned and struggled with weird dreams from Susie McGillicuddy’s teenage years, when she had a crush on an angsty, broody kid named Jasper Whitfield. A lot of girls had secret crushes on Jasper because he was movie-idol sexy even back then, but nobody would admit it because his dad was an embarrassing loser drunk who spent a lot of time at the county jail.

Susie was the only one who was nice to him in public. They still had to keep it secret when she started dating him, because her parents wouldn’t have understood.

She’d even planned on asking him to leave town with her when she went away to college. He was planning on majoring in business—which is what ended up happening, but he did it without Susie by his side.

He was smart. He had scholarship offers from several colleges and was deciding where to go .

Then there was a big mix-up at the high school prom and—

Damn, my Susie dreams are more detailed than anything I ever experienced in the real world. I feel like I know these people, and I’m indignant on Jasper’s behalf, even though he isn’t real.

I stifle a yawn and nestle back into bed, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in my legs. My eyes close.

The shriek of a smoke alarm jerks me back awake, and I sit bolt upright.

“What’s wrong? What’s on fire?” I cry out.

“Everything’s fine!” Lucas’s voice drifts down the hallway.

“Everything does not sound fine!” I yell back. “And I smell smoke! Is the house burning down? I can’t run, Lucas! I can’t even walk!” Panic throbs in my chest. I always knew this man would be the death of me. I just thought I’d be found at my desk, buried under a towering pile of unsigned business contracts.

His voice, when he shouts back, is edged with panic. “The house is not burning down! This is all part of my process! Just relax!”

Relax. Right. The bitter smell of burnt toast singes my nostrils, my muscles scream every time I move my legs a millimeter, my stomach is growling, and I just let my boss carry me to the bathroom so I could pee.

Oh my God. What was I thinking? I should have just belly-crawled to the toilet. It would have been less embarrassing.

I can hear Lucas talking to someone now, but I can’t make out the words. Is he on his cell phone?

Weariness rolls over me. Yesterday really sapped my strength.

Somehow, without meaning to, I drift off to sleep.

“Rise and shine.” Lucas’s voice rumbles at me, and the smell of delicious, non-burnt eggs and muffins and coffee perfumes the air .

I open my eyes again, yawn, and sit up. Ouchie. My legs are pulsing in pain.

“How long was I out?” I stretch and blink my eyes, squinting at the window as daylight floods in through ruffled yellow curtains. “Does anything in the world make sense yet?”

“Not yet, but I brought you breakfast.” Lucas sets a tray down on the bed in front of me. It’s piled high with hash browns, toast, scrambled eggs, a glass of orange juice, a cup of coffee, and half a dozen incredibly fragrant muffins. Let’s see—chocolate chip muffins, banana muffins, streusel muffins, lemon-raspberry muffins, cinnamon muffins... I grab a chocolate chip muffin and take an enormous bite. It melts in my mouth. I’ve never tasted anything this good.

“Oh, my God, this is an orgasm on a plate.” I take another bite and moan aloud. “Me and this muffin are going steady now.”

“I’ve half a mind to report you to HR.” Lucas gives me a mock-horrified look.

“I said what I said.” I close my eyes and let the bittersweet chocolate caress my taste buds. “How much did you pay Brenda to deliver this breakfast? And how did you get Carmel to bake all these muffins so fast?” I ask.

Lucas gives me a side-eye as he sinks down onto the bed next to me and grabs a muffin. “Are you a wizard?” he asks, and then takes a bite. “Oh, my God. This muffin is the sexiest thing I’ve ever tasted.” I arch an eyebrow at him. He shrugs. “Okay, we can mutually report each other to HR. If we ever get home.”

“I’m not a wizard. I know you can’t cook, I know Brenda would take pity on you and bring you takeout from the diner, and I know that Carmel is a muffin maven. Also, I heard you in the kitchen talking on your phone. You were calling Brenda at the diner for delivery, right?”

Lucas hesitates for just a fraction of a moment and does a micro-blink that nobody but me would have noticed. “Yes,” he says.

Well, that’s weird.

Lucas is lying to me.

I don’t think he’s ever done that before. If anything, he’s always been brutally honest. Sometimes I wish he’d at least sugarcoat things a little bit.

“Who else did you talk to?” I ask.

His brows draw together and he does an awkward shrug. He’s still lying, or at least telling me only half-truths. “Carmel. To get the muffins. My cell phone works just fine to call people and get calls in this universe.” He stands up abruptly, still holding his muffin. I don’t blame him. I don’t want to let go of my muffin either. That sounds pretty obscene, but the muffins are indecently good. “I’m going to go to the pharmacy to get you some Icy Hot.”

“I’d thank you, but this is all your fault, if I haven’t mentioned that before.”

“The accusation in your eyes said it all.” Lucas heaves a sigh. “It was for a good cause.”

“’Cause you’re a stubborn bastard who doesn’t know when to quit biking and just accept the inevitable?” I rub my legs and wince in pain.

“Be back soon.”

He limps out of the room, and I take petty satisfaction in the fact that I’m not the only one who’s hurting.

I settle back in bed, turning it over in my mind, wondering what he could possibly be lying about. Did he somehow get ahold of someone from the real world and... he’s going to get a car to pick him up, but not me? He’s leaving me here?

No, that makes no sense. He’d have no reason to do that. Also, he can’t function without me as his Girl Friday/verbal punching bag .

Did he get ahold of someone from the real world but they refused to come get him and he didn’t want to disappoint me?

Still doesn’t make sense. I can’t confront him on it, though, since I don’t have any proof that he’s lying, other than my intuition.

So I eat breakfast, including three muffins, which are going to go straight to my ass, thank you Lucas and Carmel, and then I settle in and wait. And wait. And wait.

I glance at the wall clock. The minutes crawl by and melt into an hour, and then an hour and a half. Is he ever coming?

I’m starting to get worried. The town isn’t that big. I’m pretty sure I spotted the pharmacy just off Main Street, about a ten-minute walk from here.

It’s been way too long, and I am not physically able to go out and look for him. Maybe he got in an accident. Maybe someone hit him with their car.

My nerves are twanging with fear. I sit up and painfully swing my aching legs over the side of the bed. I struggle to stand, and my legs collapse underneath me.

Damn it.

There’s no phone in the bedroom. I’m going to have to literally crawl into the kitchen and haul myself up to the counter and call the police.

Carefully, I scoot my butt to the very edge of the bed. My legs shriek in protest.

The front door opens.

“Hey Lucy, I’m home!”

“Lucas, what the heck!” I yell at him. “I thought you’d been kidnapped!”

“No such luck.” He walks into the room, a plastic bag dangling from his hand. “Don’t ask,” he says.

He limps over to the bed.

There are several raw eggs dripping from his hair.

His pants are splashed and muddy .

His knuckles are bleeding and his shirt is ripped.

“Did you get in an actual fistfight?” I cry out.

“You should see the other guy.” He gives me a wry smile.

“Are you going to jail?”

“Not according to Officer Hernandez, since the other guy started it by trying to punch me. It was Henry, by the way. Homicidal Henry.”

“Oh, damn.” I pause. “So you saw Officer Hernandez? Did you remind him how hot Brenda is and how nice she is?”

Lucas gives me a look of disbelief. “While I was fighting off Homicidal Henry? Yeah, I definitely tried to pimp out Brenda. I mean, the timing seemed right.”

“Whatever. Touchy, touchy.”

“You’d be touchy too if the entire town were forming a murder gang for you. I got dirty looks from the pastor of the Methodist church!”

I perk up immediately. “Ooh, the church where sports therapist Sandra and her injured football quarterback client got married, after his big romantic gesture of going up on stage and apologizing to her at the Fall Festival? That was one of Serena’s best books! Did you ask the pastor how they’re doing? Do they have babies yet? I bet they do. How many?”

“Seek help, Brooke.” He shakes his head and hands me the bag. “Here you go. Ibuprofen and Icy Hot. I’m going to go take a shower. Unless you need me to rub the Icy Hot on your legs for you, in the spots you can’t reach. Oh God, I did not... screw it. I’ll just report myself to HR.”

And he limps back out of the room.