Free Luck on the Line by Zoraida Cordova

ground. When I stand, my knee finds the tender stop between his legs and he whimpers.
    “You’re trying to kill me, woman.”
    I grab onto the gate that leads to a brownstone. It’s covered in thick green vines. And I laugh.
    “Real funny.”
    I keep laughing.
    “You’re a regular comedian, Lucky Charms.”
    At the mention of my high school nickname, my laughter dies. The night is warm and breezeless. Sweat beads roll down my temples. I hold out a hand to help James stand, but he pushes himself off the ground, still off-kilter. A lady and her shih tzu out for a night-time walk shake their proper little heads at us. The lady grabs her pooch and side steps our bodies like we have the plague. They rush into the brownstone above James’s and all I can think is why would someone have a dog’s head as a door knocker?
    “Can I have my keys back or do you plan on making me sleep on my neighbor’s steps?”
    I dig the keys out of my bag and dangle them on my index finger. He takes them, and when his fingers brush mine, I feel the drunken dizziness return.
    “Okaybye,” I slur, turning on a precarious heel up a street I’ve never been on. Jesus , Lucky, why do you do these things ? Why did you say yes to help Stella? Why did you think it’d be a good idea to drink with a man who looks like a smooth, succulent ice cream scoop on a warm summer night like this?
    James grabs onto the back of my shirt and pulls me back. He presses the bridge of his nose. I bet the shooting pains he feels all have my name on them.
    “Look,” he starts. “I can’t let you go home like this. Just sleep it off.”
    I follow him down the steps with my arms crossed over my chest. As much as I’d like to think of myself as a great judge of character, I can’t get a read on James. He’s cocky and proud about his food, but he’s insecure at the same time. He can talk all about me but when I turn the tables, he’s gun shy. He can go from cold to flirtatious in seconds, but hasn’t tried to make a move on me. Perhaps I’m just not his type. Perhaps this was his plan all along. It’s not too late to turn around.
    “Home, sweet home.” He drops his keys on the little table at the entrance. There’s a stack of unopened mail and lots of receipts. He kicks off his shoes, then turns to face me. He’s a head taller than me, but suddenly I feel like Thumbelina in his hands. Big, calloused hands holding my face. My stomach fills with raging butterflies, the fiery ones that want to burn right through my skin.
    I want to ask, “What are you doing?” I want to tell him that I don’t want him, but that would all be a lie. I’ve wanted to feel his hands from the moment I laid eyes on him.
    His eyes are green as the sea. His lashes are thick and long and brush against my skin as he leans in to kiss me. My breath hitches from surprise. My brain is a series of landmines going off. I close my eyes and lean into him. It’s a perfect fit, the way my body contours to him. I run my fingers through his hair, pressing my lips harder on his.
    He pulls away, brushing the ache from my lip with his thumb. “I’m sorry. I was wrong about you, Lucky.”
    “I’m not spoiled and privileged?”
    He brushes his nose against mine, playing closely to my lips. Just kiss me, dammit. “No, you’re still privileged. But you’re not spoiled.”
    His hands cup my face. His eyes are sleepy and dreamy and focused on me. I wish I knew what he was thinking. I wish he could feel the way my insides are ready to combust. The way my heart slides down a spiral when I realize I want more, more, more.
    James takes off his white t-shirt. I take in the full expanse of his chest, muscles that aren’t just sculpted at the gym but delicious from hard work. My mind is in a frenzy, wanting to reach out and touch his skin, but also wanting to run out the door.
    Then he pulls back. He rests his forehead on mine and his eyelashes tickle my skin.
    “Damn.” One word. Just: “damn.”