That Secret Crush (Getting Lucky #3)(5)

“You know I don’t have all day, Roberts. As much fun as it is staring at your ass bent over like that, I need to get paid, and I need to get to the Lobster Landing in thirty.” I hold out my hand. “Pay up.”

“Please tell me you’re going to take a shower before you go to cut up fudge.”

“No, I plan on horrifying tourists with my putrid stench,” I deadpan.

“So you admit you smell putrid.” She digs into her pocket. “At least we can agree upon that.”

“Hey, there are other things we agree upon.”

She holds out a few bills, which I snatch, fold up, and stick into my flannel shirt pocket.

“Yeah, and what would that be?”

I nod at her shirt. “How great your tits look in that maroon collared shirt.”

She rolls her eyes. “Never going to happen, Knightly.”

I hold up my hands in defense. “Slow down there, Eve. You act like I want to fuck you or something. That’s far too presumptuous. You’re my best friend’s twin after all, so that would be like fucking Eric with a wig on.”

“We’re fraternal.”

“You sound the same.”

“He’s a man.”

“Yeah, it’s really unfortunate that you have such a baritone voice coming out of such a hot body.”

She swats at me. “Get out of here. I’m done with you.” She calls through the back door, “Joe, lobsters are here,” and then turns back to me, a smile on her face. “I told you to get out of here, Knightly.”

I take a few steps backward. “You want me—you know you do.”

“It’s disgusting how confident you are.”

“Confidence is sexy in a man.”

“Confidence is annoying in you,” Eve says as Joe pops out the back door and gives me a nod before taking in the lobster. “I’ll catch you later, Knightly.”

“See ya, Eve.”

I hop back into my truck and make the drive down to the harbor to my houseboat, which I rent from Rogan. The small two-story boat caught my attention when he was first remodeling it. With its perfect location out in the harbor, it’s as far away from the town gossip as I can get. Rogan was going to use it as another tourist rental property, but I convinced him to let me rent it from him, though the fucker doesn’t give me a cut on rent. Well, a little cut, but not as much as I was hoping.

With not much time to spare, I take a quick shower and put on my signature white shirt with the Lobster Landing logo plastered on the front. I throw on a matching baseball cap and worn jeans before heading out the door.

The walk to my family business is short but just long enough to give me some unfortunate time to think.

I claim Eric as my best friend, but in all honesty, I can’t remember the last time I spoke with him. He’s still living in Boston, where he found a job as a line cook at a three-star restaurant, and he’s still trying to chase the dream—one I gave up on a long time ago, probably the moment I walked back into town with my tail tucked between my legs. After we lost the restaurant, we had a falling-out, a big one. I blamed him for bringing Janelle into the mix. He blamed me for not keeping up on the books in the first place. I blamed him for not helping with managing the finances. He blamed me for not helping out with promotions. We pointed fingers, we swung fists, and we planted a giant stake into our friendship, dividing us and sending us our separate ways.

I occasionally send him a text about some stupid local gossip, and he sends me GIFs on my birthday. It’s nothing like it used to be, and I don’t think it ever will be.

Eric and I used to be attached at the hip, but Eve and I have a better friendship at this point.

But that’s life. You lose friendships; you gain some.

I lost a big one, and I only have myself to blame.





CHAPTER TWO





EVE


“Are you doing anything special tomorrow?” Harper, my best friend, asks, bringing her drink up to her lips.

Victoria, our good friend from grade school, rubs a napkin over the bar before resting her arms on its peeling top. The polish has worn off over the years, and instead of sanding down the bar and refinishing it, the owner has decided to let the bar top “show its character.” The Lighthouse Inn is one of many places to rest while you’re visiting Port Snow. The food is subpar, and the accommodations could use some work, but the scenery is epic and why it’s a sought-after tourist destination.

“I was just about to ask that,” Victoria says, stirring a lemon in her water. Uppity and very particular about everything in her life, Victoria runs the town library and the historical league, is a published historian, and owns way too many dresses from the 1850s. But she has a kind heart, and we love her for that.

“Just the usual.” I shrug, mindlessly wiping down the bar top with a wet rag, not really cleaning anything in particular but giving myself something to do on the slow night.

I hate this bar. I hate wiping it down every night, serving the same old locals and helping tiresome tourists when they ask for sightseeing information. This wasn’t exactly how I envisioned my life turning out: me serving up outdated cosmopolitans and bottom-shelf vodka cranberries. But when you sacrifice your dream for someone else, this is what happens. Good thing I was never taught to wallow in self-pity, though. No, I’ve been proactive with my life choices, and I always strive for more. I can taste it, my freedom, and it’s come from nothing more than sheer hard work and determination. Seven years of juggling my time, seven years of long days and even longer nights spent studying, but graduation is around the corner, and I have plans to use my degree.