Read My Lucky Days: A Novel for Free Online

over again. I kept thinking back to little pieces of my conversation with Lucky. He was funny and sweet and a complete mess. But that voice. Good grief. The boy could sing. And that smile. And that hair.
    My phone dinged on the nightstand. Leaning over, I saw an unknown number displayed across the screen. My stomach got a quick rush of flutters as I opened the message.
     
    A thousand minutes may pass.
    And a hundred thoughts may come.
    But all of those disappear.
    When I’m sitting in the sun.
    Staring into your green eyes.
    Watching them change with your smile.
     
    I read the text a couple of times before I realized the words he sent were song lyrics. The memory of his voice filled my head. I stored his name into my phone and then responded.
     
    M E: It’s not the same if I can’t hear you sing them.
     
    And then my phone suddenly came alive. I sucked in a deep breath.
    He was calling.
    I answered, holding the phone to my ear without saying anything. And then I heard just Lucky without any music. His voice, deep and soulful as it filled the quiet night, as he continued with his song.
    When he finished, I smiled in the darkness. Lucky was unlike anyone I had ever met. He was impossible to resist.
    “So do you sing to all the girls on the phone?”
    “No, just lonely kittens.” He laughed.
    “Oh,” I whispered as my heart beat faster.
    And then I heard his voice again. “Does this count as calling you?”
    My breathing picked up at the subtle meaning to his question. “Yeah, it counts.”
    “Good. But I’ll still call you tomorrow.” He sounded sleepy. “Night, Katie.”
    “Good night, Lucky.”
    And after he hung up, my screen filled with words again.
     
    L UCKY:
    A glimpse of your smile
    Won’t be enough.
    ’Cause my heart keeps telling me,
    I need more of this stuff.

 
    I woke up a little after ten, but I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t immediately get up. Instead, I stayed in that sleepy haze that existed somewhere in the middle, where my thoughts roamed free without any control.
    Last night.
    Lucky.
    I had never done something that impulsive when it came to a guy. I’d gone on some innocent dates in high school before I met Chase my freshman year of college. Our relationship had moved like a snail in a rat race. We had sat next to each other for two months in American History before he ever asked me out.
    Chase had been sweet. Safe. Practical. He took me out on predictable dates. And touched me in all the predictable ways and had sex at all the predictable times. It had felt good. I never complained. And I had never worried about him—even the late nights that he spent with his study groups.
    We eventually broke up last summer when he left for medical school in Portland. And even the end of our relationship was practical. It had made sense. We both knew it.
    I missed him sometimes. But I was used to people leaving. The only difference, I was usually the one doing the leaving.
    I opened my eyes, seeing the same room with the same view out of the same window. Familiar contentment. I never got tired of that feeling—morning after morning.
    When I arrived in Stillwater, I had lived in twelve places in eighteen years. Seven towns. Three suburbs. Two cities. Four elementary schools—or was it three? Two middle schools and three high schools. I was certain of that one.
    The rest of my memories were often scattered. I couldn’t remember what city I learned to ride a bike. I just knew that it was pink with glitter stars across the seat. We had a real Christmas tree one year. It smelled of winter and spice. I think that was in Kentucky.
    The first boy I ever kissed was named Will. His lips were slightly chapped and he smelled of Juicy Fruit gum. That was in either Cincinnati or St. Louis. I never could keep those two places straight.
    My father was a corporate vice president for an elegant restaurant chain called Benton’s. He was in charge of evaluating the different locations, which required him to