Getting Lucky Number Seven (10 page)

Do I really want to type it in here?
My computer was password protected, and putting goals where you could constantly see them helped you achieve them—it was a proven fact. So I went ahead and typed it, and it definitely looked bold sitting there on the page, the cursor blinking behind it.

7. Have mind-blowing sex

Chapter Fourteen

Beck

This week had been damn long already, and it was only Thursday. Traveling for games on a weekday nearly always messed with the rest of my schedule, but at least we’d killed Dartmouth in the game on Tuesday, and I’d managed to chat with Megan for a few minutes afterward. Apparently she’d had to put up quite a fight against being grounded to be allowed to go. Lucky for both of us, Aunt Tessa had caved when she’d claimed the game as our only family time. Or more likely, she’d caved because she knew she’d never hear the end of it.

I’d spent the last few days playing catch up, with little contact with the outside world besides classes and hockey practice. I’d nearly asked Jeff about Lyla all week, but I didn’t want to know. Not to mention it would’ve come across weird as shit.

What was even weirder, though, was that I’d met a sexy volleyball player at the campus cafeteria on Monday, and I still hadn’t texted her, despite her number sitting in my phone, just waiting to be used.

Lyla and I hadn’t talked since last Saturday night’s game, and each passing day that went by without hearing from her left me more and more on edge. Sundays were our set-aside nights, but we usually sent texts back and forth all week, and the lack of smiley faces and cat pictures from her ate at me, despite the fact that I’d been the one to purposely put space between us.

I’m just worried about her. Gotta make sure Jeff doesn’t hurt her. And that her new better-and-bolder goals don’t get too out of control.

That’s what I told myself when I texted her, anyway.

Me:
How’s the party animal?

I stared at the display for a moment, about to put it in my pocket when it chimed.

Lyla:
Studying like a mofo, but I need a break. Come over?

I could just imagine the way she’d say mofo—as un-gangster as possible, the words coming out with a dimpled smile.

Me:
Your cat will give me hives. You come over.

Lyla:
But Einstein LOVES you. Breathing’s overrated, didn’t you hear?

I was about to text “Fine,” but then my phone chimed again.

Lyla:
Be there in fifteen or so :-)

Me:
:{)

Lyla:
WTP is that?

Me, now grinning like an idiot:
Me with my sexy mustache, smiling at your smiley face.

Lyla:
Mustache???

Me, making sure to outdo her punctuation by one:
Hurry!!!!

Lyla:
Keep your pants on, dude ;)

I laughed, all the suckiness of the week melting away. It wasn’t like my life was tragic, but I realized how much having Lyla in it broke up the monotony and kept away the sad memories that liked to emerge when it was too quiet. I wasn’t going to screw it up by not talking to her, and I wasn’t going to screw it up by crossing lines. With her dating Jeff, it’d be like when she was dating Miles—I’d go back to thinking of her as a non-option, and we could go back to our easy hangouts.

…

When I opened the door, Lyla held up a bag from Tasty Burger, my favorite burger place in the city. Must’ve been why it’d taken her so long. “Full disclosure, this is a bribe. If you take it, you’re committing to help me check off one of my list items.”

“Which one?” I asked, reaching for the bag.

She swung it away from me as she stepped inside the apartment. “I’m not saying until you decide if you’re taking the bribe.” She removed her coat, revealing a fuzzy purple sweater that hung off one shoulder and jeans so tight I could see the curve of her hips and nice ass. She unrolled the bag and tossed a fry in her mouth. “
Mmm.
It’s sooo good.”

“You know I could just tackle you and take it.”

She took a step back, her eyes going wide, and a predatory urge to do exactly that went through me. If it involved wrapping my arms around her and having her body pinned under mine for a few minutes, even better.

A few long strides and I was right in front of her, my steadily increasing pulse humming under my skin. She was such a little thing, really, and I towered over her. Instead of being intimidated, the way she should be, she set her chin and tucked the bag behind her back.

“Just promise. I drove all the way to
Fenway
for you.” Her chest rose and fell, her muscles tensing like she was preparing to dodge if she needed to.

Much longer toying with her, regardless of how fun it is, and I’m going to need to give myself the Don’t Screw It Up speech again.
“Fine. I promise. Now gimme.”

A triumphant grin split her lips. She spread the food out on my coffee table and sat on the couch, a burger in hand. I already knew I’d regret agreeing to whatever it was, but I’d do it anyway, so I might as well have a burger first. She got me a double, too—I could kiss her. Metaphorically, of course.

She licked ketchup off her lip.

Maybe not so metaphorically. Time to redirect my thoughts. “So, did you get making out checked off the list?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah.”

I lowered my half-eaten burger. “You sound about as enthusiastic as if I’d asked if you’ve recently been tortured.”

She huffed out a breath and then twisted to face me. “Look, I’m sure Jeff’s a nice guy, but kissing him…well, it was kind of torture. He
licked my chin
, Beck. I’m traumatized for life.”

I burst out laughing, and she shoved me. “It’s not funny,” she said, but now she was laughing, too. “Please don’t tell him I said that. He’s texted a few times and I haven’t answered. I’m afraid I’ll agree to see him again, and I can’t—I just can’t. This is what I get for making the guy think all I cared about was kissing.”

Her sweater slipped farther down her shoulder, revealing a hint of a lacy black bra, and suddenly all my blood moved south. She licked at the ketchup and mayo mess that was about to drip from her burger and then took a giant bite that most girls wouldn’t attempt.

It really shouldn’t turn me on. Curiosity and want sparked and took control of my thoughts.

“Anyway,” she said, shaking her hair off her face and reaching for a napkin. “I did check it off, at least. I’m now on the karaoke portion of the list.”

“Karaoke.” The word was as effective as a cold shower.

“You already ate the food, so you’re coming. Tomorrow night. I checked your hockey schedule, too, so don’t pretend you have a game.”

“I’ll go with you and listen to you sing, but—”

“Ah! Wrong. You’re singing, too. That’s what the double patty’s for.”

There were so many arguments on the tip of my tongue, but then she reached out and ran her fingers across my jaw. “It’s really more of a scruffy beard than a mustache.”

The sensation of her fingertips on my skin made my heart skip a couple beats, and the desire returned. Leaning into her touch slightly instead of moving away felt like playing with fire, but I found myself wanting to see how close I could get to the flame without getting burned.

“I’m glad,” she continued, and maybe my imagination was getting carried away, but I swore her voice sounded breathier than usual. “Mustaches always look so pervy.” Her fingers strayed from my jawline, tracing the skin right above my top lip, and I forgot how to breathe.

The corners of her mouth lifted. “Of course, according to you, that’s just guys letting their true selves show.”

I locked eyes with her. Time to let reality creep back in—for both of us. “That’s right. You might as well know what you’re getting into if you’re still set on this quest to hit on guys. We’re the worst,” I said, making sure to lump myself in with the rest of them.

She dropped her hand and I immediately missed her touch.
I’ve just gone without too long,
I told myself, the same excuse I’d tried to convince myself of for over a week. But surely getting back out there would at least help take the edge off.
Later tonight I’m definitely texting…whatever her name is.

Good thing I’d put it in my phone, because I couldn’t even picture the volleyball player with Lyla sitting next to me, her knee resting against my thigh. My fingers itched to brush across her exposed collarbone and trace the bra strap peeking out of her sweater. I couldn’t help wondering how she’d react. If she’d gasp. If she’d tip her head up so I’d have access to those lips…

Okay. Pulling back before I do something stupid. Way,
way
back.

“Luckily, karaoke requires more making a fool of myself than hitting on guys,” Lyla said, jerking me back into the conversation I forgot we were in the middle of. “Something I’m a natural at.” She took a drink of her soda, leaving peach lipstick on the straw and making it hard to keep my thoughts from returning to her lips.

The ice rattled in my cup as I lifted it to my mouth. A cold drink—that’d help.

“I think I’m going to take a mini break from adventures in flirting,” she said. “At least until after I figure out how to sexy dance on a bar.”

I nearly choked on my soda and had to force the fizzy liquid down my too-tight throat.

If I survived her college bucket list, it was going to be a fucking miracle.

Chapter Fifteen

Lyla

I’d chosen a karaoke bar a ways from campus, hoping it’d prevent running into anyone I knew. A girl about my age was onstage, belting out a Kelly Clarkson song. When no one booed during her totally off-key, laughing-through-the-lyrics rendition, my muscles relaxed a fraction. All the same, I reached for Beck’s hand, needing something to hold on to.

He looked down at me, the colored overhead lights reflecting blue, yellow, and red across his skin at intervals. His face was even scruffier than it’d been yesterday, and I wanted to run my fingers across his jaw again. Feel the coarse hair against my palm. Have his breath skate across my wrist as his blue eyes pinned me in place.

My skin heated at the memory, the warmth traveling up my arm and spreading through my entire body, the same way it did yesterday. On top of the residual sensation, he curled his fingers over mine, the tight grip giving me the sense of security I needed right now.

The list must be working because I’d definitely gotten bolder, if only by a fraction. A couple of weeks ago, I would’ve never run my fingers over Beck’s whiskers or grabbed his hand, even if I thought I might pass out without it. Both times I found myself doing it before thinking and talking myself out of it.

Of course, being bold with Beck wasn’t exactly my goal—it was good training, though, being able to touch a guy without overthinking everything. Nothing more. Really it just meant I was on track, and knowing how awesome it could be with a friend made achieving my list that much more vital.

That was my story and I was sticking to it.

On the drive over, Beck had joked that he was going to add “Not singing karaoke” to his bucket list. It’d made me laugh, but as I stared at the stage and the people crowded around tables, I was thinking maybe it was the better option.

Beck squeezed my hand. “You realize you can take a few months to finish your list, right? You don’t have to do it all in a matter of weeks.”

I shook my head. “I’m already a semester behind as it is.” Plus, there was number seven to consider. I’d need items one through six to amp me up and gain enough courage to accomplish my most recent addition.

“Always the overachiever.” He was teasing, but it dug at the part of me that had to do this. I couldn’t explain the overwhelming sense of urgency that’d gripped me since deciding to make the list. If I stopped, I knew I’d never get enough momentum going again to finish. I needed to prove I could be the bold, crazy college girl before I went home and everyone tried to shove me back into the box they wanted to put me in.

Nice. Sweet. Adorable. Smart. Plain.

Talk about a yawn-fest—I almost fell asleep thinking about it.

“No going back.” Keeping my grip on Beck’s hand, I tugged him toward the front of the room. “Let’s sign up before I lose my nerve.”

Every time I picked a track from the binder of music, Beck declared it a chick song and told me to just sing it myself. Finally, I crossed my arms and stared at him. “Did you, or did you not, eat that
double
burger yesterday? With fries?”

He heaved a dramatic sigh. “Fine. I don’t know most of these songs, though.” He flipped the page and something about the smile he gave me made my skin prickle. “Here we go. Flo Rida ‘Right Round.’”

“You’re rapping? Wow. That’s ambitious.”

The smug smile curving his lips faded. “Like you’re really going to sing a song about a stripper.”

I lifted my chin. “Why not? Maybe I’ll even act out the motions. Do you think it’ll count as dancing on a bar, even if it’s more a stage than a bar? Maybe there’s a pole around here, too.”

His right eyebrow shot up, the shocked look on his face turning me into the smug one—I liked this side of things. “You’re not serious,” he said.

I took a step closer. “Try me.”

A competitive glint hit his eye. “I’m going to put it down on the singing list. And I’m dragging you onstage when they call our names.”

A flush of adrenaline curled its way through my body. “Oh, I’ll beat you onstage. You’ll be the one holding back.”

Beck scribbled our name on the karaoke list, along with the code for the song. Apparently, we were singing and rapping about strippers. Bold, to say the least.

Now I wished I’d ordered those striptease workout videos I’d found online. Not that I planned on actually acting out the lyrics—my current goal was to not totally choke at the singing. But maybe they would’ve given me a few mild dance moves I could use to spice up the performance and distract from the times I couldn’t quite hit the right note.

Beck put his hand on my back as we headed to an open table, five fingerprints of heat burning into my skin, even through the fabric of my shirt. “You want a drink?” he asked when a waitress came by.

“Yeah. Something with lots of vodka,” I joked.

Without missing a beat, he ordered me an appletini and a beer for himself, along with hot wings and onion rings. Once the waitress was gone, I leaned in and asked, “Weren’t you scared she’d card us?”

“I’ve got a fake ID if I need it. Most of the time if you’re confident, they don’t bother.”

I’d love to think I could pull it off, but there was no way. This was why Beck was the perfect person to learn confidence from. If only I could stop thinking about how much the scruff worked for him, how lately our banter felt more…charged than usual, and how every time he put his hand on my back, I wanted to lean closer and feel more of his body against mine.

Addictive shivers of electricity skittered across my skin and gathered low in my stomach. If I entertained thoughts of pressing into him much longer I might lose my mind and try it out.

Well, if there was one thing I was good at, it was taking that option away by bringing up cats. “Okay, you’re going to mock me, but I have to show you this picture. I was looking up bucket list items, and I’ve even started a Pinterest board for it—”

“You’re right. I’m gonna mock you, nerd.”

I elbowed him in the ribs. “Hey. That’s not even the part I’m talking about.” I pulled up the photo I’d saved on my phone and showed it to him.

Beck looked at the cat standing on two legs, its mouth wide open, a microphone photoshopped into its paws. The corners of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

I poked his cheek. “Come on, a cat singing karaoke is crazy cute. You can admit it. I won’t tell.”

“I just want to know if he’s singing the Kesha or the Flo Rida part.” The skin around his eyes crinkled in this adorable way as he finally gave in to the smile. I liked how his whiskers were lighter, a hint of strawberry hue to them—he’d probably hate me pointing it out, though. Not to mention it’d be a dead giveaway that I couldn’t stop staring at him.

But the thing was, he was looking right back at me, an indescribable expression on his face that made me think maybe the cat pictures weren’t as much of a deterrent as I thought.

I must be tripping. There’s no way
Beck
is looking at me like that.
Despite my common sense shouting for me to abandon my current line of thinking, longing still wound itself through my body, shaking every one of my senses awake.

Beck draped his arm on the chair behind me, his fingers brushing my neck along the way and his knee resting against my thigh. He placed his other arm on the table, closing off my view of anything but him and bringing his chest against my shoulder. Each sharp beat of my heart attacked my ribcage, an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain.

“Lyla,” he said, his voice deliciously low, and my throat went dry.

Then his phone rang, popping the cozy bubble that’d formed around us. It almost seemed as if he had to shake himself awake—probably because I had to, and my temporary insanity reflected that onto him. He glanced at the display. “Sorry. Give me a sec.”

When he answered, it was with the same tone he’d used when he’d gotten a call while I was in the dressing room. A cold lump formed in my gut as I wondered if he’d ditch me again.

“I’ve already explained all the reasons why you can’t live with me,” he said into the phone. “I love you, but we’d drive each other crazy, and you’d only get into trouble. Not to mention the fact that you’re mid-semester in high school. And before you ask, you
do
have to graduate, so don’t even go there.”

Whoa. This just got more awkward than my love of cats and goofy pictures involving them. I suppose the girl could be eighteen, so…at least not illegal? Did she know about all of Beck’s other girls, though?

“If you’d just be nice to Tessa, she’d be much easier to live with.” Beck glanced at me. He put his hand on my shoulder, twisted the phone up so the mouthpiece was in the air, and whispered, “Sorry. My sister’s determined to win an award for best dramatic actress in a perfectly nice life.”

Sister
. Relief flooded me. “It’s okay,” I whispered back. Of course watching him talk to his sister, smiling or shaking his head at whatever she said, only made the crush I was trying to pretend I didn’t have grow.

How many times did I have to tell myself that he was the worst possible guy to crush on? I needed his friendship more than I needed to kiss him. My gaze moved to his lips.

I was fairly certain.

He licked his lips.

Damn, I was slipping. Good thing he never would, or we could really screw this up.

“Beck and Lyla are up next!” the emcee announced. “If you guys can make your way to the stage…”

My eyes flew wide as I looked at Beck. No way was I singing that song by myself.
I
couldn’t rap. I didn’t even know if I could pull off the Kesha part.

“Megan, I gotta go. I’m singing karaoke.”

Even with the noise in the place, I could hear her shocked reaction.

“It’s not like that,” Beck said to whatever had come after her exclamation. Not hard to figure that out. It wasn’t like that with us—a good reality check, really. One I obviously needed. The guy onstage waiting for us to come up and take the microphones was a little
too
real, though. The ground seemed unsteady under my feet as I stood.

Beck scooted out right behind me. He held out his hand as if he knew I needed it. I gripped it like a lifeline all the way to the stage, only letting go to take one of the offered microphones.

The music started, and I wished my appletini had arrived so I could’ve at least had some of it buzzing through my system. Considering the completely sobering effect the sea of anticipation-filled faces brought on, it probably wouldn’t have helped. Beck’s part was up first. He cast me a quick
holy-crap
glance before lifting his mic and singing into it.

I echoed his first line, the way my prompter said to, and then we were off and running. The faster the lyrics got, the more Beck struggled. He didn’t quit, though, just put a little swagger into it, his confidence and the rapping coming from his lips totally at odds.

I laughed so hard at his performance I nearly missed my cue. Beck moved closer to me and whispered, “Where’s the dancing?”

I swiped at him, but he dodged my hit and leaned in again. “You can use me as the pole if you want.”

Heat flooded my cheeks—as if I wasn’t embarrassed enough. But then I decided what the hell. So I danced a circle around Beck, and the second time he sang, “From the top of the pole, I watch her go down,” I slid against him.

He faltered and motioned for me to help, and I obliged, because, well, it was my fault we were up there in the first place. As far as the actual singing went, “complete disaster” fit perfectly. But between the laughing, dancing, and being out of breath, those three or so minutes were some of the most fun minutes of my life.

The crowd clapped and whistled like it was the best thing they’d seen all night—which was nice of them—and Beck took my hand. He lifted it, and then we bowed in unison.

I handed the microphone to the guy running the karaoke, and he called the next name. Our drinks had already arrived at our table, and I wasted no time tipping back mine.

Beck took a swig of his beer and then flashed me a grin that added to the light-headed, overloaded-circuits sensation that’d overtaken my body. “You’d make a hell of a stripper. Gotta work on the taking clothes off part, though.”

“Yeah, and who knew you could drop the beats like that?”

The wattage on his grin kicked up a couple of notches, reaching a too-perfect-to-look-directly-at-without-swooning level. “I do try to keep it on the down low. When you’re good at everything, it brings out the haters.”

“I’d imagine.” I bumped my shoulder into his. “Thanks for doing that with me. So far, that’s been more fun than the keg stand and making out with a stranger combined.” I leaned back in the seat and took another sip of my neon green drink.

“I know I resisted at first, but that was fun.” Beck shot me a sidelong glance. “You’re something else, Lyla.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is crazy. Or maybe Queen of Awkward.”

His eyes locked onto mine. “Nope. Definitely not the word I’m looking for.”

Was it my imagination, or was his face moving toward mine? The earlier attraction, longing, and electricity rose to the surface, mixing with the adrenaline from singing. Dizziness set in and I hoped the world never righted itself again.
Don’t think. Just go with it.

The sound of plates being dropped on the table made me jump. “Need anything else?” the waitress asked.

Yeah, I could’ve used another minute or two to see where that was going.