For a Friday the 13th, luck found a delicate perch on Laurel's shoulder. What else could explain her unbelievable attraction and magnetic personality today of all days? Of course, she knew that with a little work and the right touches of makeup and a good outfit she could make any one event that had happened today happen on any other day. But, the funny thing was, she wasn't working it today. She wasn't just having a good day. She was having a great day. That's where the luck came in. And who was she to mess with a little luck? She needed all the luck she could find.
Laurel pocketed the phone number of the nice, distinguished gentleman who was going to take her jet skiing tomorrow, swatted at a pesky mosquito that dared to land on her deeply tanned arm, and headed for the recreation room.
Shutting the door on the outside noise and music, the rec room was relatively quiet. Folding her arms on the bar and leaning over, she gave the bartender a little peek of her impressive cleavage and asked for a diet Coke.
"What do I owe you?"
"Ah, not a thing. I appreciated the view."
"Oh." Laurel ducked her head and pretended to blush. She tilted her head and looked up at the bartender through thick eyelashes. "My, aren't you sweet." Her eyes swooped over his tall, thin body and up to his boyish, freckled face. Laurel guessed his age to be around twenty-five although he looked about sixteen.
"Just showing my appreciation for the finer things in life."
"My my, with a line like that I bet you get lots of chances to enjoy the, ah, finer things in life."
"Are you flirting with me?"
Laurel laughed. "Are you?"
Before the aroused young man behind the bar could respond, a shout came from the direction of the group surrounding the big screen television.
Laurel turned to see what had caused the commotion. "Oh, my . . . What do we have here?" She whispered to herself.
Several young men sat on the sofa and in chairs surrounding the large television. They shushed each other and stared intently as a referee described the foul on the play.
All was quiet. Laurel found their devout attention amusing and smiled as the only sound she heard in the room other than the announcers was the hissing and crackling of soda on ice. Even the bartender momentarily forgot about her as he moved from behind the bar to get closer to the action.
Laurel surveyed the men in the room. They could have been entered in an event in the Olympics. Synchronized Game Watching. They acted in unison as they groaned or applauded as one team wearing baggy white shorts with dark red piping missed or made a basket. She crossed one bare leg over the other, swinging her brown leather sandal from a polished, sparkling blue toe.
She hadn't missed the fact that she was the only female in the room. The odds were definitely in her favor and she wasn't about to let a perfectly good opportunity like this go by without at least a minimal effort. Even if Friday the 13th was turning out to be one of the luckiest days of her life, this was proving too good to be true.
Taking a chance, Laurel cleared her throat daintily then said in her best helpless female voice, "Oh, boys. Anyone want to explain this here little ol' game to me?"
Laurel giggled like a schoolgirl. "Oh, my. Why look at ya'll." She pushed herself from the barstool and stumbled a bit. Before she could blink a heavily mascara-ed eyelash, three of the young men were at her side to keep her balanced.
"Here, take my hand."
"No, let me help you."
"I'll help you, miss."
Laurel stumbled again, this time for real. The deep voice resonating from the tall, straight from the pages of GQ, hunk of man that took command of her arm made her catch her breath. For the first time in her life, Laurel was speechless. She stared into dark chocolate eyes as she was led to a small sofa near the television. Prime viewing seating.
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