Count Your Lucky Stars: Chapter 4

Bell and Blanchard Brewing Company, a small, locally owned and operated brewery, was the latest—and largest, save for OTP—partner Oh My Stars had teamed up with to date. In the past, Elle and Margot had diversified OMS’s revenue stream by accepting sponsorships and paid advertisements from zodiac-centric brands they themselves liked enough to rep—perfume, astro-themed activewear—but this was a step above. Oh My Stars would be collaborating with the brewery to launch a series of astrology-inspired beers, one for each sign, to be released during the corresponding season, beginning with Aries and ending with Pisces.

Margot was jazzed about the partnership. She was firmly in the beer good camp. What she was less jazzed about was spearheading the partnership sans Elle.

Not that Elle wasn’t involved—this was an Oh My Stars venture after all, and Oh My Stars was and would forever be run fifty-fifty by them both—but as their business had grown, boomed, so had the need to delegate. They’d done some variation of delegation since day one; Elle handled the majority of the chart readings they offered by phone or Zoom, in part because clients responded better to Elle’s outgoing, bubbly personality, and also because Elle genuinely enjoyed the one-on-one interaction more than Margot did. Margot preferred the behind-the-scenes work infinitely more—website maintenance, content creation for their social media channels, research, and now beer test tasting.

Margot was living the dream.

She just, you know, wished that she got to do it with Elle. These days, as busy as they both were, Margot was lucky if she got to see Elle outside of their weekly OMS planning chat . . . once? Twice? More often if the whole group was getting together at Elle and Darcy’s for game night, like they would be soon. So while Margot was meeting with brewers and discussing hops and yeast and IBU, sampling Bell and Blanchard’s current brews while distilling each zodiac sign into traits that could be represented in beer, Elle was handling back-to-back sessions with clients.

Things were changing, and it wasn’t bad, but it was taking some time for her to get used to it.

Margot juggled a complimentary six-pack of beer from the tasting she’d just attended—the first of many promised to her by the brewery—and flipped through the mail as she stepped inside her apartment. Credit card statement, phone bill, junk, junk, more junk, coupon to Sephora for her birthday next month. She tossed the stack on the entry table along with her keys, set the beer on the floor, then reached down to unlace her boots and—

“Jesus.” Margot jumped back and gasped. Cat sat in the middle of the foyer, head cocked to the side, staring up at her with those peridot-green eyes.

That was also going to take some getting used to.

She cleared her throat. “Hi, Cat.”

The cat blinked at her.

Wait. Shit. Eye contact was a no-no. Then again, this was Margot’s apartment. Did she really want to demonstrate deference inside her own domain?

Cat opened her mouth and yawned out a meow that showed off her many pointy teeth and—Margot quickly averted her eyes. That answered that question.

She shuffled past, boots still on, and booked it down the hall to her bedroom, shutting the door once she was inside. Everything she’d told Elle about maybe adopting a cat? Total bullshit. Cats had terrified Margot ever since her great-aunt Marlena’s fluffy white Persian had fallen through the canopy of Margot’s bed, waking Margot up from a dead sleep by landing on her . . . claws out and yowling. They’d both been fine, but the scars—mostly only emotional, thank God—had lingered.

Maybe living in close quarters with a cat could be good for her. A form of . . . exposure therapy, desensitizing her over time. Either that, or Cat would claw her to death in her sleep. She couldn’t help but see it as an analogy for her and Olivia. Living together would either benefit them both or explode in Margot’s face. One or the other. Margot had never been very good at operating on anything but a scale of either/or, all or nothing, particularly when it came to Olivia.

Margot grabbed her phone and fired off a quick text to her oldest brother, Cameron.

As a veterinarian, Cameron had to possess some wisdom worth her while. Tips, tricks, warnings, anything.

She screwed up her face. Great. She’d clicked on the wrong message thread, texting the family group chat instead.

Margot frowned.

Margot’s head spun. Another message appeared before she could type out a response.

She answered Cameron’s questions one by one.

Jesus. Brothers.

“No, no, no.” Margot cringed, wishing there was an unsend button she could press. It was too late. The knowledge was out there for her entire immediate family to see.

Margot palmed her face.

Margot didn’t see why that mattered, but okay.

Margot sighed. This conversation was quickly devolving into who’s on first territory.

She chewed on her lip.

Margot stared up at her ceiling, regretting her whole life.

Margot swallowed hard. No one, not even her family, knew the specifics of her relationship—or nonrelationship—with Olivia. Mom maybe knew about her crush, but as far everyone else was concerned, she and Olivia had only ever been friends. Best friends. Margot had never seen the point in telling them otherwise. There wasn’t anything worth telling.

Margot shut her eyes. Okay, that was enough family time.

Margot threw her phone down on the bed and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes until a kaleidoscope of bright colors and funky shapes danced behind her lids. Avoid petting her stomach and hind area.

And awesome, now Margot was thinking about touching Olivia, how Olivia liked to be touched, where Olivia liked to be touched.

This was wrong. Olivia was right next door. Margot had no business thinking about how impossibly soft Olivia’s skin was or how her blush spread all the way to her belly button when Margot undressed her. It was wrong to think about the way Olivia’s bottom lip trembled when she whispered the word please or how her breath had stuttered when Margot had put her mouth at the crease of her thigh. How her fingers had tangled in Margot’s hair, not afraid to pull, and how her voice had cracked on Margot’s name when she came. How she bruised so easily, imprints of Margot’s mouth left behind on the soft curve of Olivia’s stomach and hips and the sides of her breasts and how Margot had wondered if, days after, Olivia had gotten herself off, one hand pressed against those marks and the other buried between her thighs.

Down the hall, the bathroom door shut. Margot dropped her hands, blinking into the brightness of her room.

Fuck.

So much for not thinking about it.

Margot pressed her thighs together, heat rising in her face, a miracle her glasses hadn’t fogged. The throbbing between her legs was persistent and hard to ignore, harder because she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to ignore it.

Things were awkward enough between them without having to look Olivia in the eye over a bowl of breakfast cereal with the knowledge that she’d rubbed one out to thoughts of her. Not years ago, but now.

There was a line and that was certain to cross it.

Even if Margot didn’t care, if she threw caution to the wind and said fuck it, that thoughts were thoughts and they didn’t mean anything unless she allowed them to, the walls were paper-thin.

She glanced at her phone. She could do what she’d done in the past and put on music to drown out the sound of her vibrator or—

The bathroom door opened, the sound of some Taylor Swift song carrying down the hall before shutting off. A second later, Olivia’s bedroom door closed.

Margot drummed her fingers against her bedspread. Or she could kill two birds with one stone and take care of herself in the shower, where the water would muffle her noises. That sounded like a much better plan.

Reaching into her nightstand, Margot dug around, searching for—no, not that vibrator, she wanted . . . that one. No bells or whistles, just a tried-and-true, waterproof bullet vibe.

Margot carried it over to her dresser, quickly shuffling through her drawers for a pair of sweats, a tee, and some underwear. Margot bundled the vibrator inside her fresh clothes and made it halfway across the room before doubling back, snagging her phone and swiping open her Spotify app. Clothes cradled to her chest, Margot opened the door and stepped out into the hall—

“Oof.”

She and Olivia collided with enough force to knock her off balance, causing her to drop everything in her hands as she steadied herself against the wall. Her glasses slipped, and Margot quickly slid them up the bridge of her nose.

Olivia was barefoot, her toenails painted a pale lavender, her big toes a deeper shade of purple. Her long legs were bare, too, her towel barely covering the tops of her thighs, the edge of the towel straining against her breasts. Margot’s gut clenched, her mouth going dry at the unexpected sight of Olivia standing in the middle of the hall, mostly naked.

“Sorry.” Olivia blushed, hugging her arms around her body. “I left my, um, my clothes in . . .” Her eyes, already averted, widened to the size of saucers. “In my bedroom . . .”

Margot frowned and followed Olivia’s gaze to the floor where her own bundle of clothing had fallen, and beside it, her bright blue vibrator.

“Um.” Margot puffed out her cheeks, a wicked flush winding its way up her jaw.

Words failed her. There was no mistaking the vibrator for anything other than exactly what it was and—she wasn’t ashamed. She masturbated, big fucking deal. Margot was the friend her other friends came to for sex toy recommendations. She was happy to talk about sex, solo or otherwise. But there was a distinct difference between telling Elle that buying a vibe with suction-magic technology would be a life changer, and Olivia—Olivia—knowing Margot had concrete plans to get off, not at some indistinct point in the future but right here right now in the shower they now shared.

Shit. If she couldn’t speak, she should at least move. Pick it up. Do something other than stand there staring at her vibrator like it was going to sprout legs and hightail it back into her bedroom. Huh. That would be a nifty feature.

Right. Moving. Margot cleared her throat and stepped away from the wall she’d plastered herself against. Olivia’s eyes darted further down the hall, before widening even more.

“Cat, no!”

Margot followed Olivia’s gaze just in time to witness Cat crouch low, her butt wiggling from side to side, once, twice before she propelled herself through the air, pouncing on Margot’s vibrator.

A low buzz filled the hall as the bullet whirred to life. Cat hissed, as if surprised, before wrapping her front legs around the vibe, contorting herself into a tight little ball, bunny-kicking her prey.

Olivia clapped her hands together briskly. “Cat, stop it. Stop.” She clutched her towel to her chest and approached Cat with caution. “Let it go. Bad kitty.”

Cat froze, curled up in her ball, pointy teeth pressed against the silicone.

“Go.” Olivia made a shooing gesture. “Go.”

Cat let out an indignant meow before sprinting down the hall at breakneck speed, fleeing the scene of the crime. Margot’s bullet vibe skittered atop the hardwood floor, buzzing louder, yet somehow not as loud as the blood roaring inside her skull.

“Um.” Olivia bent down, hand faltering in the air for a split second before she scooped Margot’s vibrator off the floor. She turned it over, biting her lip as she studied the base, making a soft “Aha” as she found the power button and pressed it. She cleared her throat and held the now-silent toy out for Margot to take. “You, uh”—she winced—“might want to wash that?”

Margot was pretty sure her soul had left her body. There was a strange lightness to her limbs as she reached out, taking her vibrator, clutching it awkwardly. Wash it. Right. There was black fur stuck to the silicone, not to mention cat spit.

She stared at Olivia, words continuing to fail her.

Olivia stared back, face flushed neon, her lips twitching. She jerked her chin at the vibrator. “I guess it’s safe to say that’s . . . pussy approved.”

Olivia snorted, and that was just—Margot crunched forward, convulsing with laughter.

She couldn’t quit. Each time it felt like she could stop if she could just get a breath in, she’d glance at Olivia, red-faced and shaking, and it would start all over again, the laughter building and building and building on itself. She wasn’t even sure why she was laughing, only that she was, wheezing and sputtering and gagging on her own spit, and it felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“I—I can’t believe you said that,” Margot sputtered. “That was so bad.”

Everything ached from the soreness in the back of her throat to the burn in her stomach muscles, but it wasn’t bad. Once she could breathe again, her chest unknotted and it was almost refreshing. Cleansing.

Olivia slumped against the wall, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “I can’t believe my cat tried to kill your vibrator.”

The chances of Margot ever being able to use this vibrator without thinking of this moment were slim. Besides, there were tiny teeth marks in the silicone. The toy was pretty much done for.

But she didn’t say that. She didn’t say much of anything, words dying in her throat when Olivia shifted, towel parting, revealing the bare curve of her hip, silvery pink stretch marks on display. Margot had never wanted to trace someone’s skin with her tongue so terribly in her life while simultaneously wanting to melt through the floor, residual mortification leaving her dizzy.

Olivia’s laughter petered off, her face pink and her eyes bright. Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip, chest rising and falling a little faster as she met Margot’s stare.

“Well.” Margot averted her eyes and rolled her lips together. “I’m going to go and . . . I don’t know . . . crawl inside a hole.”

Olivia ducked her chin, doing a shitty job of smothering her smirk. “I don’t know.” She shrugged and looked up through her spun-gold lashes. “You’ve got to admit, this was one hell of a way to break the ice.”

Margot scoffed out a laugh. “Fair enough.”

“If you aren’t busy”—Olivia’s eyes dipped to the vibrator, and another wave of heat crashed over Margot—“did you want to have that talk?”

“Talk?” Margot echoed.

Olivia’s brows rose. “You know. Logistics.”

Right. Logistics. She nodded briskly. “Sure. Meet you in the living room?”

Olivia smiled. “Let me get dressed and I’ll be right there.”