Somewhere Only We Know(55)

It was clear how much passion she had as a kid. Still had. It made her glow as she talked about it. And it confused me—her unhappiness in finally achieving her goals.

“Maybe you need to reevaluate what your dreams are,” I said. The words surprised me—but I realized I had been thinking about this all day. Turning over her unhappiness and her fame in my head. As if they were inextricably connected with each other. I had assumed she was unhappy because she was forced into this. But she had wanted it at one point.

Lucky cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe you lost track of everything once you got on the Lucky train,” I said, my voice higher, energized. “Maybe you can still have a version of this life. On your own terms.”

A faraway look fogged her expression and I stared at her expectantly. Waiting for her excitement. Instead, her eyes grew distant and she pulled back slightly, barely noticeable. “It’s impossible to do anything on your own terms in K-pop,” she said, bitterness sharpening her words.

“That can’t be true!” I was baffled by her defeatist attitude. “You have power! You are the asset to your label.” I flinched at that word—that’s what Trevor had called her.

“Jack. I’m replaceable. There are, oh, five thousand girls who are waiting to take my place,” she said with a laugh. “Younger, thinner, better dancers.”

“But you’re you. And you’re special,” I gushed. Oh, God, I was really in it now.

Lucky laughed. “I am?”

“Yes,” I said adamantly. I reached for her again. “It wasn’t luck that brought you into this.”

Her eyes shone bright under her new cap. A full minute passed before she spoke. “Well, then what’s the deal with my name?” She smiled.

“Is your name actually Lucky?” I had to ask it.

“Oh my God, what do you think?” She swiped another piece of chicken and took a bite.

“Well, I don’t know! What’s your real name, then?”

“You can Google it.”

“I don’t want to Google it! I want to hear it from you, the star herself.”

She made a pfft noise. “You sound like a journalist.”

My stomach fell out of my body. I made a pfft noise in response. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“Today is a fantasy day. So, you only know the fantasy. And that’s Lucky.”

There was something so sad about that. I shook my head. “Are you saying that you haven’t been you? That you’ve been Lucky? Because, for me, you’ve only recently turned into Lucky.”

She looked thoughtful as she chewed. “I think you’re right. Today was a fantasy day away from Lucky.”

“Are you saying I’m a total fantasy?” I waggled my eyebrows. I was expecting a specialized eye-roll or some kind of withering glance. But instead she blushed.

“I am a fantasy?” I couldn’t help it.

“Well. Actually, yeah,” she said, her face still pink. “I don’t get to hang out with guys. Ever. And … you’re a pretty good one.”

It was crazy because sitting across from me was a literal untouchable star. And she was saying that I was a fantasy for her. She was probably the fantasy of a bazillion people across the world. And at the thought of that, my fists clenched. Like some chest-thumping caveman.

“You’re okay, too,” I managed to say. What the hell, Jack.

“You know, pop stars need to hear they’re hot on occasion,” she teased.

That was all I could take. I tipped my stool forward, my body stretching across the table so that I could cradle her face in my hands. Up close, Lucky had freckles scattered on the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones. She had a darker freckle on her chin. Remnants of makeup under her eyes. A very tiny blemish near her nose. Human through and through. Yet.

“You’re unreal,” I said, my voice so quiet that I could barely hear it myself.

And then my lips touched hers. Finally.





CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE


LUCKY


When you get kissed like this, after a guy says in a breathy voice, You’re unreal, it’s very hard to keep your head about you.

Jack was good at this. Truly, he was too masterful. The head tilt was perfect. The soft touch of his hands on my face. The pressure of his lips.

The stalls full of steaming food disappeared. The people sitting on the plastic stools around us melted away. The string of lights hanging over us dimmed. All that existed was Jack in front of me. Jack kissing me. This delicate and hungry exchange of breath. The sweetness and heat of it.

Then he pulled away and looked at me, eyes kind of bleary. “Um, was that okay?”

Lord, did I like, flinch or something when he Frenched me? Was I twelve years old?! “Yes! It’s so okay!”

But the moment was lost. He looked a little embarrassed as he sat back.

So I got embarrassed. It hit me then how unusual this was—my first kisses being with this total stranger who I would never see again. I guess I had always imagined it would be with my first love.

I know that’s some old-fashioned nonsense but when you wait this long for your first kiss you get notions, okay?

“When do you have to go back?” he finally asked, clearing his throat.