FOUR LEAF CLOVER — preview
tags: John Price × Reader, fem!reader, supersticious!reader, getting together.
“You really believe all that?” he asks, voice a little rough, quiet.
You shrug, eyes tracing the steam curling off your tea. “I don’t believe,” you emphasize the word with a bitter chuckle. “I just don’t take chances.”
Price studies you like he’s reading something written in your irises. The intense eye contact almost makes you squirm in your seat. The faux leather seems to love sticking to your sweaty thighs.
Then he hums. It's low, you realize he's amused, but not in the way that makes you feel like a one clown show.
“Love, I’ve seen enough bad luck to know it’s just people doing what people do.”
You want to believe him. You want to believe the world doesn’t have rules that punish you for breaking them. But the thought of being wrong again, of calling something harmless and paying for it, makes your stomach twist. You push your cup towards him as you laugh to filll the silence. To pretend this conversation isn't putting you on the edge and threatening to push you off.
When the lights above you flicker, your hand twitches toward the table. A reflex. You don’t even realize you’ve knocked on wood until he catches the movement, his eyes trained on your knuckles.
“Force of habit?”
“Insurance,” you answer.
He exhales, shakes his head with that crooked smile that makes your stomach flutter “You’re a strange one.”
When the lights steady again, neither of you mention it.
