Getting Lucky Number Seven (12 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Beck

I’d liked it better when I wasn’t spending every minute of my free time worrying about Lyla and her list. The fact that she hadn’t taken me with her tonight bothered me more than it should. Maybe she could tell I’d been thinking about her differently and she needed space.

I hope she’s not letting her grades slip.
We had been going out a lot. She was out even more, apparently.
What the hell? I’m worrying about her grades now?

But the real Lyla worried about her grades. She had her future mapped out, and it involved graduating with honors. She was more serious about her chemistry major than most seniors were—well, serious as in driven. She did love her cheesy jokes. I thought back to the first week I’d met her, when we were studying and she said, “Don’t you know? You can never trust atoms. They make up everything.”

I’d laughed at the stupid, super nerdy joke. Then, once I’d seen just how smart she was, and how excited she got over an experiment in lab, I thought that she’d do a better job working at the company I was going to inherit than I ever would.

All those months ago, I’d had no clue our study sessions would eventually turn into this. Whatever this was.

I considered heading to the bar, but that seemed like a total whipped guy move. Or worse, stalker. I pulled up my texts—Daniel had sent out a group message about a party his frat was having. Most of the guys would probably be there celebrating our win. I’d keep my phone on and my alcohol intake low, just in case Lyla called for backup, but I needed to get out.

Before I went and did something stupid I couldn’t take back.

…

The music was loud, the girls were hot, and the alcohol was flowing. A couple of months ago, I would’ve been in heaven. Or more than likely, I’d be minutes away from leaving with one of the Jessicas, Ashleys, or Taylors who’d come with the intention of picking up someone. Looking around at the girls here, each one bleeding into the next, I kept thinking they paled in comparison to Lyla. And for some reason, she wanted to be one of them. All because some prick had insulted her instead of taking a few seconds to see how beautiful and amazing she was.

A leggy blonde smiled at me. Maybe now I was being the prick who was judging these girls without giving them a chance. And what did I care if they had a great personality? I wasn’t into relationships anyway.

Returning her smile, I approached. “Hi, there. I’m Beck.”

“Taylor.”

What a surprise.
I told myself to stop being an ass and dove into the small talk. She was a sophomore, in Si Beta Something-or-other, and majoring in communication. When I told her I played hockey, she said she
loved
hockey. So I asked her what her favorite team was, and she said, “Well, I’m from Florida.”

“Oh, so the Lightning or the Panthers?”

A hint of panic crept into her features. Clearly, she’d exaggerated how much she
loved
hockey. Not that I really cared.

“I guess it’s more like I love hockey players, because they’re so hot.” She leaned against me and ran her hand down my chest, sticking out her lips.

Maybe what I needed to fix my sudden inability to not think about Lyla was a blond girl who loved hockey players. I was considering kissing her when my phone chimed. “’Scuse me for a second.”

Her lips stuck out farther, into the duckface range. “Don’t be too long.”

I dug my phone out of my pocket and took a step away when I saw Lyla’s name on the screen.

Lyla:
You’ll never guess which song’s playing.

Me:
Well don’t leave me in suspense you tease

Lyla:
You should be here to rap it. Flo Rida says all the words and it’s sooo pretentious.

I grinned, and then I was thinking about her dancing against me, a sexy blush on her cheeks.

Me:
Are you dancing on the bar?

Lyla:
No dancing yet. Maybe it’s a stupid idea. The girls up there look so desperate.

Me:
Just do it. You’ll regret it if you don’t

I knew it meant guys would be ogling her and trying to ply her with alcohol and dance with her for the rest of the night, but I also knew she’d feel like she failed at one of her goals if she didn’t go through with it. Plus, it’d make me a douche if I kept her from meeting guys while I was here chatting up girls. So instead, I’d just be a friend who hated the thought of guys putting their hands on her. The kind of hate that’d fester and grow if I let myself think too long about it, so I lowered my phone, intending to get back to the party. But then it chimed again.

Lyla:
I wish you were here.

My heart tugged at the words, and for a moment I just stared, memorizing the way they looked. If I were there, I could be cheering her on and standing close enough to provide a safe barrier.
I
could be the one dancing with her afterward, her hips bumping mine as she belted out the wrong words to the song.

Want pulsed through me like a hungry predator that needed to feed. I curled my fist tight, trying to force it away through sheer strength of will.
She needs support, not another guy feeling her up on the dance floor.

Me:
Go make some guys drool before you overthink it. I want photographic proof

Jealousy burned through my gut as I hit send, but at least I knew I’d made the right decision. If the urge to punch someone didn’t remain, I might’ve marked it as a win.

When I was sure the conversation was over, I turned to find the blonde. She was now leaning against one of the frat boys. Apparently she loved them, too.

I shook my head. Lyla really was the ultimate cock blocker. I spotted a few guys from the team and headed over to say hi. We spent several minutes talking strategy for our final games of the regular season. Without hockey, classes would feel like wading through waist-deep mud, my motivation left behind on the rink. Which was why I’d do whatever it took to extend our season as long as possible, first by crushing the competition at regionals, and then making it to the Frozen Four.

Playing in the college hockey semifinals had always been one of my ultimate goals, and if we made it that far, I’d only have to endure one long month of nothing but studying to keep me occupied. Of course, summer would be even worse. I’d already promised Tessa I’d go through the house and deal with the estate things she couldn’t.

Then my meetings with the D&T execs couldn’t be pushed off any longer, and I could only imagine how mind numbing they’d be.
I’ll do it for Dad, though—that’ll help get me through.

At least I’d get to spend more time with Megan. Hopefully we could do more fun hanging out and less lectures about screwing up her future before it even starts.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out.

A slightly blurry, purple-tinted picture came up. Lyla and Whitney were dancing on the bar, arms draped around each other. The dimple in Lyla’s cheek was out in full force—she looked like she was having fun. Judging from the raised arms and back of heads crowding the bar she and Whitney were dancing on, there were also plenty of entertained men.

Me:
You can def cross off sexy dancing on the bar

Lyla:
:P Headed home. See you tomorrow.

I was about to type the required smiley face back when another text came up.

Lyla:
Hey, what’s your fave food?

Me:
Sushi. Why?

Lyla:
Just curious. You know, I’ve never had sushi. Not sure I could eat raw fish.

Me:
Before the game. You, me, raw fish

Lyla:
I don’t know…

Me:
You’ll like it

Lyla:
Ok. It’ll be an adventure, anyway. Night :)

Lyla, all of two seconds later:
I better get a goodnight smiley face.

Jeez, woman, give me a minute.
Instead of the smiley face, though, I hit the camera button to choose the photo I’d saved earlier. I told myself it was too sappy, but I’d saved it, sure she’d approve. Originally I’d planned on showing it to her tomorrow.

Me:
I’ll do you one better. Saw this in my FB feed and thought of you

I hit send, and off went the message, along with the black and white cat staring in the mirror, a determined look on its whiskered face. Across the picture it said
carl, you’re going to get out there and you’re going to catch that red dot.

I just sent a cat picture to a girl. I’ve officially lost my Man Card.

Lyla:
:-) !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I grinned like an idiot all the way to my car. Even worse, when I got inside, I pulled up the picture of her dancing on the bar so I could stare at it one more time.

…

It was sorta pathetic how excited I was for the hockey game with Lyla, but as I drove down the familiar streets to pick her up, I let myself enjoy my happy buzz. I couldn’t wait to see how she liked sushi and what she thought about NHL-level hockey.

Earlier in the week it’d snowed, but it’d been unusually warm today, and even the piles of snow that rarely melted were mere specks of white. I pulled into the parking lot of Lyla’s complex and climbed the stairs to her apartment.

Whitney answered the door and gestured me inside. “She’s in her room,” she said, then she flopped onto the couch and pulled a book and notebook onto her lap.

Einstein came up to me and rubbed his furry head on my jeans. I’d only met the cat a few times, but I swore he sensed I was allergic and decided that meant he should rub hair all over me. With his long wiry gray and white fur, he was kind of cute—or maybe I’d just been looking at cat pictures too long. Great, now I was developing a fondness for felines.

This is what I get for being friends with a girl.
I patted the furball’s head despite myself and then moved to Lyla’s bedroom. I knocked, and when there was no answer, I pushed inside, Einstein so close I nearly tripped over him. “Lyla?”

When her cat meowed at me like I’d personally offended it, I picked it up. He purred and rubbed against me as I scanned the room. Lyla’s closet looked like it’d exploded. Shoes were scattered across the floor, there were a pile of shirts off to the side, and several long, colorful skirts hung on her desk chair. Her laptop was open, and I noticed the list up on the screen.

Of course she typed it up.

1. New edgier look

2. Do a keg stand (Remember to not wear a skirt that night)

3. Make out with a beautiful stranger (Exact level of making out TBD as the kissing happens)

4. Sing karaoke

5. Dance on a bar (Learn to sexy dance, so I don’t make a fool of myself when the bar dancing happens.)

6. Get a tattoo

7. Have mind-blowing sex

What the—

“Hey,” Lyla said. “I didn’t hear you come in. I was just finishing my hair and… Beck?”

I turned around and Einstein dug his claws into my arm, apparently wanting down now. I let him go and took in Lyla standing in the doorway. She had her hair in a side ponytail, several loose strands framing her face. The simple white V-neck showed off her curves and hinted at a lace bra underneath, and she had on one of her long hippie skirts. The pink, peach, and red fabric hugged her hips a few inches below where her shirt cut off, leaving a sexy stripe of skin on display.

And all I could think about was mind-blowing sex, mind-blowing sex,
mind-blowing sex
.

“Is this okay? I need to do laundry, so I was running a bit low on options—hockey game probably means jeans, huh? I should’ve known. I’ll change.” She started toward her closet and I caught her arm.

“You look nice,” I said, swiping my thumb across the smooth skin that didn’t help my stray thoughts. “I’ve missed the skirts and colors, actually.”

A slow smile curved her glossy pink lips and my pulse ratcheted up several notches. Then she glanced over my shoulder. Her smile fell and her face went pale.

I winced. “It was open.”

“And you read it?” Her voice came out several octaves higher than usual.

“What? I thought I was consulting on the list.” I did my best to sound casual, but inside my thoughts and nerves unraveled quickly, exposing my baser instincts. Working to keep control of myself, I cleared my throat. “I, uh, see you added more.”

Pink flared through her cheeks. She slammed the laptop closed, holding it down like if she kept it shut long enough, it’d take away what I’d seen.

“Mind-blowing sex?” I couldn’t believe I’d asked, but how could I not? It was like dangling a giant slice of chocolate cake in front of a hungry person on a diet and telling them not to take a bite.

Desire rose up as I traced every inch of her with my eyes, from her pretty face all the way down her killer body, fiery bursts of it pumping through my veins. Yeah, I definitely wanted a taste.

“It’s just… I… Since I haven’t… It seemed like…” She wrapped the end of her ponytail around a finger, winding faster and faster.

Her distress cut through the overpowering sensations her new list item had triggered, and my brain worked to catch up.
Wait? Is she saying what I think she is?
“So you’ve never…had
that
?”

Lyla’s hand stilled and she swallowed, the gesture looking like it took great effort. “It doesn’t have to be so much mind-blowing, but that’s everyone’s goal, right? I mean, if I could even have an…” She shook her head, her entire face red now. “Never mind. This is way too embarrassing to talk about. Let’s just go.”