12 Dates **SAMPLE**

Chapter Two: 12/12

We did finally get over our shock. I called, they gave me my $500,000.

Laurel convinced me the best way to celebrate was by doing a little shopping, so here we are.

We're at the mall. Our arms and hands are covered with bags from Forever 21, Victoria's Secret, Christian Louboutin and much more.

"This is awesome," Laurel says, adjusting her new Gucci sunglasses and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Yeah it is." I nod.

"Let's go to Starbucks," Laurel suggests, grinning.

I agree with her and we get into the car, pulling out of the driveway and heading to Starbucks.

When we get there, Laurel sends me inside. When I ask why, Laurel just sighs and said, "Lisa, do you realize what today is?"

I think about it, then nod.

"It's December 12th," I say.

"Yeah, 12/12," Laurel emphasizes, widening her eyes. "Your lucky number is twelve. Today is possibly gonna be your good luck day and what's the best kind of good luck?"

I roll my eyes and decide to humor her.

"I don't know, but I'm guessing you're gonna tell me."

"Love," Laurel says softly. "Love is the best kind of good luck."

"And you think I'm gonna find love in Starbucks?" My voice sounds disbelieving even to my own ears.

"Trust me."

I roll my eyes and groan.

I finally just give in, though, and march inside Starbucks alone.

And I wonder if Laurel's sudden confidence in me finding love has anything to do with what that surprisingly accurate psychic whispered in her ear yesterday.

I march inside and order two grandé sized caramel frappés.

As I'm waiting, I hear two girls behind me whisper, "Ohmigod, he's so sexy."

Her friend says, "He looks like a frickin' Greek god."

I swivel around, looking for the guy these girls are swooning over and sure enough my eyes find their target.

He's tall, at least 6'2" with thick, dark wavy hair as dark as sin itself. His face is turned and he's talking with another guy, but you can't miss the slight yet defined and incredibly sexy stubble that covers his chiseled jaw.

Suddenly he turns as if he can sense my gaze, and his eyes meet mine.

I gasp. He's beautiful. Like, seriously. He looks like a runway model. And now I can see that his eyes are turquoise. They're so strange and yet so beautiful.

And his lips!

My God, they're full and sensual and are set cockily as if he's aware every girl in the place is watching him.

And then he smiles at me. His smile is crooked, only one side of his mouth raised.

My heart jackhammers in my chest and my face is warm. If I weren't brown, my face would have gone scarlet.

"Miss. Simmons," my barista says.

I tear my gaze away and take the frappés, smiling dazedly.

I hurry out of there. Like, I damn near run.

Now, I'm not usually that effected by white guys. Like, okay, there are some fine ass white boys out there, and I am happy to stare at all of them with my mouth agape.