Just My Luck by Adele Parks (best romance books of all time txt) 📗

time travel, for real. Quietly arguing that if it was going to happen, moving forward in time was far more likely than back. Their faces! We’d practically burst, laughing about it.

I loved Megan. And then Ridley. Oh, God. Help me.

It wasn’t that I left Megan behind or moved on. I loved them both. It was just that what I feel—felt—feel for Ridley was something so different. So more.

Like, everything about him gets to me. The way he smiles, laughs, eats an apple. Ridley moves in a way that is somehow both purposeful and also slack. It’s not that he learned this posed strut as a cool teen, it’s intrinsic to him and always has been. He’s a great sportsman, and boys who grow up being told they are brilliant at throwing and catching and saving and hitting balls just ooze a different, inimitable confidence and a trust in their bodies that nerdy kids never have. He knows where he wants to put his hands, his mouth. He knows where I want him to put them. It hurts. Thinking about it, his hands on my body and the fact that they won’t be again, that I’m no longer entitled to that, it causes me actual pain. Way more pain than when Megan’s thugs tried to rearrange my face.

There is something I know I need to do. Like, very much more important than my nails or my brows, yet I haven’t. I daren’t. I can’t. It’s better this way. Not knowing for certain. Limbo is pretty liberating when you think about it. Being on the fence you get a view of everything. Once you jump down on one side or the other, half the world is inaccessible. Right? The point is, although I’m not the science geek, I’m not an idiot. Time travel is not a thing. You can’t undo the past. Time moves in one direction only and that relentless march has never been more poignant than now.

I fight the overwhelming lethargy that invades my body whenever I think about this and stand up, walk toward the large number of shopping bags that are scattered on my bedroom floor. I haven’t got around to unpacking everything we’ve bought. I’m not even sure if I have enough hangers and space. Even in among all this mess, I know exactly where it is, though, and I’m drawn to it like a magnet pulls a needle on a compass. It’s nestled in a skinny plastic bag, hidden inside a quality cardboard bag, right at the bottom, below a pair of Guess jeans.

The pregnancy test.

CHAPTER 23

Lexi

I come home to a silent house. Logan is reading.

“Where is my son and what have you done with his body?” I ask the alien invader.

“Ha-ha.”

“What’s the book about?”

“A postapocalyptic world where a bunch of teens survive without parents but have an army of zombies to fight.”

“Sounds great.”

“It’s awesome, really gory and actually the kids do much better without parents.”

“Funny boy.” I’m just pleased to see he’s reading, rather than playing video games as usual, but know better than to say as much. If I support an activity, I am condemning said activity to certain death.

Emily is in her room. It isn’t clear what she is doing; she claims to be watching a YouTube tutorial on how to apply eyeliner, but there’s no sign of a screen. She’s just staring at the ceiling.

“Everything okay?” I immediately want to kick myself. It is too general a question, unlikely to elicit an informative or a specific response.

“God, yes, Mum. Why wouldn’t it be? We’ve just won the lottery.”

“Right. I was thinking of doing some baking. Do you want to help?”

“Bad day at the office?” I applaud her perception. She hasn’t noticed I’m home five hours early, but she does know that I often bake when I feel wobbly. There’s something about the rituals of weighing, sifting, stirring that I find extremely therapeutic. I cross my fingers, hoping that she’ll agree to bake with me. “Don’t fancy it today, thanks.” Her gaze stays focused on the ceiling.

“Not even brownies? Or cupcakes? We could make those bake-in-the-mug cupcakes.”

“Actually, Mum, if you fancy a cupcake you should probably just get some from Lola’s, you know, in Selfridges? They do delivery. They’re very on-trend.”

“Okay, maybe I’ll look into it.” I won’t.

I’ve spent most of the afternoon clock-watching because I figure six o’clock is an acceptable time to open a bottle of wine. The kids tell me that Jake is seeing a new school but neither of them know which one, and although I call him he doesn’t pick up. I assume it’s the local private school he’s visiting, but I don’t know for sure. For all I know, he might have made an appointment at Eton or Cheltenham Ladies’ College. Nothing would surprise me anymore. I’m irritated. He shouldn’t be looking at schools without me or the kids. He doesn’t get home until I’m a third of the way down the bottle of wine.

I tell him about Ellie forcing me to take a leave of absence. I expect him to be insensitive and go on about how it’s a good thing because it will give me more flexibility and we can take more holidays. He blindsides me with understanding and thoughtfulness when he says, “Oh, Lexi, I’m really sorry about your job. I know it mattered to you.” I’m at the breakfast bar, nursing my glass. He stands behind me and massages my neck. He leans close and kisses my nape with extraordinary tenderness.

“Thanks.” I realize this is the moment I should tell him about giving three million pounds away. I stay silent.

Jake pulls away and claps his hands together. “Okay, right. Who feels like cooking tonight? No one. We need to go out for dinner.” He’s out of the room and calling up the stairs before I respond. “Kids, come on, we’re going to London. We’re going to find a really great restaurant and eat and drink too much.” They don’t need to be