Skyler
Spring Break.
Every year, we count down the days until this magnificent week. Every year, we push our diets, tan as much as we can, and buy way too many clothes because we have “nothing to wear” — regardless of our closets being stuffed full of clothes.
But this year? I’d almost forgotten.
I’ve been so focused on Kip, on trying not to focus on him, that I forgot how much fun Spring Break is.
I forgot that I’d have the week with my sisters, that I’d have the chance to earn my entry fee for the tournament by doing the small tournaments on board, that I’d have days in the sun and nights dancing the hours away with my favorite people in life.
But I could never forget that he would be here, too.
It’s been a week since Kip and I hooked up, since the night of the tournament downtown, and ever since then, we’ve played our cards as carefully as we could.
A few stolen glances here and there, a hot kiss in the Greek library, a few text messages — all disguised by putting different names on our phone numbers just in case.
I feel like I’m cheating on someone, even though I’m single, but I don’t want to hurt Erin.
I can’t hurt her.
Until she gives me the sign that she’s fully over Kip, this will have to do.
I tell myself I can handle it, I can keep everything on the down low, can control myself around big groups of people and sneak around to touch him the way I want to.
But when he slides up behind me as I place another bet at the roulette table, I know I’m walking a very thin, very dangerous line.
“Why black number four?” he asks over my shoulder.
His breath warms my neck, and I smile, keeping my composure as best I can and focusing on my chips laying on the table.
“It’s a long story,” I answer, taking a marginal step back — enough to touch him, just a little bit, our bodies sparking to life at the contact.
“I’m in no rush. I’m actually on vacation, believe it or not.”
I roll my eyes, taking a sip of my drink as other players place their bets.
“My dad has this formula,” I say, smiling at the mention of him.
It’s been a while since I’ve talked to either of my parents, and I miss them.
They were my best friends before I had any at all.
“He uses it to find out people’s lucky numbers.
He used to do it all the time, sort of like his party trick, I guess. ”
Kip is so warm behind me, so close, I nearly forget what I was saying. But I shake my head, brushing it off.
“Anyway, obviously he figured mine out the day I was born, and it’s been drilled into my head ever since then that my lucky number is four.
” I shrug. “When I played little league sports, four was always my number. If anyone asks me to choose a number between one and ten, that’s my go-to — always.
I have a tattoo with it, I purposefully buy scratch-offs that are the fourth ones on the roll, I mean, literally anything involving numbers leads me straight to number four. ”
I smile, knowing how superstitious and, frankly, ridiculous I sound, but continuing regardless.
“And, honestly,” I say. “It really is lucky for me. I’ve won a lot of money by betting horses racing with the number four and on the scratch-offs, too.”
I pause, turning to face him to deliver the last of my story. His strikingly blue eyes meet mine with a glittering interest, and my knees shake, my hands reaching for his forearms to steady myself.
“Except, something weird happens in poker,” I say, doing my best not to drop my focus from the story to how delicious he looks in his crisp white button-up and navy blue dress pants.
“For whatever reason, anytime I’m dealt a black number four in poker, whether it’s a spade or a club, I lose the hand.
No shit,” I say, holding up my hands. “Even if I have a pair of aces in the hole, if a four comes up — I know I’m going to lose.
” I chuckle. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it? My lucky number screws me in the game I need it most.”
Turning back toward the table, I gesture toward my bet. “So, because I’m superstitious and a little crazy, I play black number four on roulette. Every time. I guess I’m convinced that if a black four can hit for me here, it’ll reverse my luck with the cards.”
“Has it ever hit for you before?” Kip asks.
I scrunch my nose, half because I can’t believe he’s actually interested in this stupid, crazy story and half because I realize my theory about number four always being lucky except for poker is a little flawed.
“No, it hasn’t,” I finally concede. “So, I guess my lucky number is kind of cursed in this game, too.”
Kip doesn’t answer, but instead reaches into his pocket for his wallet. Before I can even register it, he flicks a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill on the table. The dealer exchanges it for one black chip, and Kip’s eyes find mine as he plucks it from the green.
“Maybe you’re just not betting enough,” he muses, voice low. “Maybe your lucky number feels cheated.”
And then, he slaps that one-hundred-dollar chip right on top of my measley one dollar one.
I’m already shaking my head when I turn to face him, my eyes wide with worry.
“Kip! Don’t do that, that’s so much money.
” My heart races, knowing he’s about to lose a hundred dollars all because of some stupid superstition of mine.
“It won’t hit, it never does, I don’t want to be the reason you lose that! ”
“No more bets,” the dealer says behind us, and all eyes move to the ball spinning on the number wheel — except for mine.
“Too late now.” Kip grins, and I just groan, covering my face with my hands.
“Oh, my God. I can’t breathe.”
Kip laughs, but I can’t hear anything past the click-click-clicking of the ball on the wheel as it rolls over the wooden wheel. It’ll drop any moment now.
“You have a tattoo?” Kip asks. “I don’t know how I missed that.”
I laugh at his stupid attempt to distract me, still covering my face with my hands. “If you’re still talking to me after this, maybe I’ll show you later.”
Kip leans in closer, his voice a growling whisper. “Looking forward to it.”
Heat creeps up my neck as I nudge him, but I still can’t take my hands down.
I know the ball is going to land anywhere but on the number we bet on, and it makes me sick to think about how Kip will look at me once he realizes I cost him a hundred bucks.
The ball hits one of the silver knobs, the sound as distinct as my own mother’s voice, and the bouncing begins.
My heart kicks up another notch, beating painfully hard in my chest.
“I seriously can’t breathe,” I whisper, and Kip’s hand slides down to my hip. He squeezes it gently, but doesn’t say a word.
And then, a gasp from the other players at the table as the dealer announces the winning bet.
“Black four.”
Chaos. Complete and utter chaos.
Everyone at the table cheers, regardless of their own bets as I throw my hands up into the air and stare at the ball resting in the little black crevice of number four on the wheel.
I still don’t believe it, not when I wrap my arm around Kip, not when we jump up and down screaming like a couple of lunatics, and not when the dealer puts the little glass marker on top of our bets, sealing the deal.
“OH MY GOD! That did not just happen!” I stare at the marker, blinking over and over, the reality not sinking in. “Kip, that’s like three thousand dollars,” I whisper, turning back to him with my hands fisting his dress shirt. “Holy shit!”
The rest of the table laughs, my whisper anything but discreet. Even the dealer cracks a smile as she calls the pit boss over to check the pile of chips she’s piled up for Kip.
“Well, I guess we better find a really awesome way to spend it tomorrow on the island, huh?” Kip says, spinning me around to face him again. “See?” His eyes zero in on me, that same flood of weakness consuming my knees. “You just needed to have a little more faith in your number. That’s all.”
I smile, throat tightening with emotion.
There are so many things I want to say to him, so many places I want to take him, so many things I wish I could take back, and so much time lost I wish I could have again.
How is it that my entire life was turned upside down by a transfer, a silly boy with blue eyes, blond hair, and glasses?
He walked onto our campus and into my life and nothing was ever the same.
I know it never will be again.
“I think I just needed you,” I argue. “Maybe you’re my lucky charm.”
His face falls a little, a shadow of something similar to guilt crossing over him before he grins. It happens so fast, I know I must have imagined it, but I wonder what was going through his mind.
“I’ll take that title,” he says. “Am I the kind of lucky charm you never take off? You know, the kind you shower with?”
Kip waggles his brows and I just roll my eyes, turning to collect chips from the dealer. There are a few more congratulations from the players at the table and then new bets are placed, our win forgotten.
When I face him again, my eyes trail his entire body, knowing that what lies underneath those clothes far outweighs the threads.
“Well, I did say I’d show you my tattoo,” I tease.
Kip bites his lip, and just like that, we’re racing to find our next hiding spot.
I can’t wait to have his lips on me, to have his hands on me, to have his body on mine. And more than anything, I can’t wait until Erin gives me even one small sign that she’s over him.
Because I can’t wait until he’s mine — truly mine — for everyone to see.