Getting Lucky Number Seven (13 page)

“Are you saying…?” The words
Since I haven’t…
and
if I could even have an…
tumbled through my mind. Surely her ex-boyfriend had taken care of her. Or was he one of those selfish jerks who only cared if he got what he wanted? The thought sent anger jumping into the tornado of emotions swirling through me. I should probably let it go, considering how close I’d come to crossing lines without this information, but I found myself asking anyway. “You’ve had an orgasm before, right?”

For several seconds, dead silence crowded the air between us and her gaze remained glued to the floor. “Miles tried,” she said, so quietly I could barely hear her. “I think I’m just… I don’t know if I can have one.”

“That’s crap,” I said, pissed she’d blame herself. She deserved better—much, much better. “He just wasn’t doing something right.”

“We tried a lot of things, and…” She shook her head again, still not looking at me. “Can we not talk about this? I knew I shouldn’t have typed it up. So stupid,” she muttered under her breath.

I hated that she wouldn’t look at me. This was supposed to be a kicked-back night where everything else in our life didn’t exist—that was why our Sundays together were so important.

So I tried to focus on why I’d come here. Sushi dinner and then hockey. Not to think of all the ways I could ensure Lyla enjoyed herself, starting with kissing that spot where her neck and shoulder met and working my way down. I jammed my hands into my pockets and let out a long exhale—not that it did much to cool my revved up condition.

“Let’s go, then,” I said. She finally looked at me, the embarrassment in her features clear. She nodded, told Einstein to be good, and then we headed out of her apartment. As I walked after her, I noticed the strip of skin, equally enticing from the back. The curve of her ass. How sexy her neck was with the hair swept off it.

The urge to touch her overwhelmed me, and finally I gave in, putting my hand on her back as I opened the passenger door for her. I spread my fingers more than necessary, sliding a couple just under the hem of her T-shirt.

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and my pants were getting tighter by the second.

I had a feeling that for the rest of the night, it was going to be next to impossible to stop thinking about number seven.

Chapter Nineteen

Lyla

As soon as the hostess sat us in the restaurant, I stole a peek at Beck. He’d hardly said a word since we’d left my apartment.

I’m such an idiot. I never should’ve put number seven on there.

How was I supposed to know he’d come into my room? Usually he just texted me to say he was in the parking lot. He’d been standing there in his black Henley, letting Einstein rub hair on it, and I’d thought it was possibly the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

Now I could hardly look at him. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t immediately shut down the conversation. It was like my mouth thought explaining would make it better, when it ended up doing what it did best instead: made things a hundred times more awkward.

I wanted to hide in a dark hole and never come out, but the only thing I had near me was a menu. Unfortunately it was one of those skinny ones that didn’t make a good cover. My heart seized as I caught sight of the prices.

“It’s on me,” Beck said, and I wondered if I was really so easy to read. “Get whatever you want.”

No matter how many times I read the menu, nothing sank in, so I dropped it on the table. “It’s all weird with us now. The silence is killing me.”

“It’s not weird,” he said. I raised an eyebrow, and he sighed. “It doesn’t have to be weird.” He reached out and put his hand over mine. “I’ll admit I was a little…shocked. But now I want to enjoy dinner and the hockey game. I’m gonna teach you how to talk trash, remember?”

I nodded, thinking about how warm his hand was and the way it totally enveloped mine, while wishing I could stop the constant thoughts like that. In hindsight, choosing a hot-yet-smart hockey player for a friend might not have been the best choice. I mean, there was only so long I could resist that combo, right? But that just brought me to thinking about how much he meant to me, and how lost I would’ve been my entire first year of college if I hadn’t met him. “Swear it’s not going to be weird now.”

Did he mean to brush his thumb over my knuckles? My pulse didn’t mean to leap over it. “Stop saying the word weird. It’s weird,” he added in a teasing tone.

I bit back a smile.

“Now, tell me about the dancing,” he said, sliding his hand off mine and over to his side of the table. His finger tapped against the shiny wood and I had trouble not focusing on the motion and the way it made the muscle in his forearm jump. “Did you make out with any strangers? Or was that a one-time thing?”

Talking. Normal. I could do this. I forced my gaze up to his face and took a quick fortifying breath. “Whitney and I got up on the bar for a couple of songs. The guys went crazy when we danced together. They kept yelling for us to kiss.”

Beck’s hand knocked into his water glass, and he barely caught it from spilling.

“We didn’t do it,” I said. “Jeez, what is it with guys? I’m your friend, and even you’re drooling over the idea.”

“You’re my friend who happens to be pretty and female. You do realize being your friend doesn’t mean I don’t have a penis?”

I exhaled, deciding it was best not to respond to that—his clear blue eyes, the scruff, and that little indentation in his cheek when he smiled were getting to me plenty without thinking about involving other body parts. So there’d be no fixating on how I could see the hint of definition in his chest even through his shirt, or how firm those muscles felt under my hands the night of the party. How they’d look and feel without the shirt in the way…

Damn it,
not
going there, remember?

I cleared my throat.
Where were we again? Oh, yeah, the other night at the bar.
“As for the making out with strangers, that was a one-time thing. Jeff keeps texting, and I feel bad, but I’ve been ignoring him—the kissing was just so awful.”

“Yeah, he’d probably not be a good choice for number seven either.”

I shot him a glare. “Not helping the not-weird thing!” My thoughts about shirtless Beck weren’t helping either, but I’d take that to my grave. And now the image of Jeff coming at me with his tongue mixed in, leaving my emotions so confused that they didn’t know which way was up anymore.

Is it going to be like this from now on? I don’t know if I can take it.

Beck scrubbed a hand over his face, the flustered gesture mirroring the way I felt. Then he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Come on. Might as well get it out in the open. Then we can move on.”

Our waitress chose that moment to show up to take our order. After a brief discussion about types of sushi, and getting a backup teriyaki chicken entrée for me in case I couldn’t handle raw fish, Beck and I were alone again. Except for the ghost of our previous conversation hanging over us.

The air was thick with tension and the question of who was going to say something about it first. The longer we stared at each other, the harder it was for me to not squirm in my seat. Finally, I broke. “Look, number seven is… It’s just something I want to try, okay? But I’m not going to jump into bed with just anyone to cross it off.”

Amidst the dancing on the bar and the attention that it brought, I’d looked around at the sea of unfamiliar faces and realized I didn’t want to sleep with some random dude just so I could cross off an item. “I still don’t want a serious relationship or anything, but I’d rather wait than force it. I need it to be someone I’m attracted to, whose kiss doesn’t gross me out, and I need it to be with someone I trust. Not a total stranger.”

I glanced around and then leaned in, keeping my voice low. “Even if the chemistry was off the charts, I know I’d still freeze up if I wasn’t comfortable with the guy. And I don’t think that would help accomplish my goal.”

Beck stared at me as if someone had put him on pause, so completely motionless I swore he’d even stopped breathing. I waited for him to say that wasn’t how it worked, or maybe give me advice on how to pick a person for a fling. Instead, he leaned in, mimicking my conspiratorial posture. “I just want to make one thing clear, and then I’ll leave you alone about this.”

My breath stuck in my lungs, thick and suffocating.

He scooted his chair closer and cupped my cheek, and my lungs gave up working altogether. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Lyla. You just haven’t been with the right person yet.”

My skin was on fire, and an ache traveled down my core.

Then trays of food were slid in front of me, a variety of colors and textures I didn’t recognize.

Beck’s fingertips dragged across my skin as he slowly lowered his hand, leaving a tingly trail of heat. He gave me a reassuring smile that only deepened my conflicted feelings about him yet somehow calmed me as well, thanked our waitress, and picked up his chopsticks.

He snagged one of the circular pieces with rice and colored sushi inside a green wrap. “Try this one first.” He extended it to me, his gaze steady on mine. “Trust me.”

…

I flinched, grabbing onto Beck’s arm as the fight on the ice escalated. I’d stood with him and the rest of the crowd watching the hockey game, but hadn’t expected the bombs the players threw at each other. The crowd cheered, egging on the Bruins player, who was landing way more punches than the guy from the Canadiens.

“Aren’t the refs gonna stop it?” I yelled over the noise.

“They will when one of them hits the ground,” Beck said. My confusion must’ve showed on my face because he added, “The fights are half the fun.”

“Yeah, if you’re not the one being punched.”

He laughed. “You take some, you give some. It all works out.”

The fight wrapped up and the refs sent the players to their respective penalty boxes. As Beck and I settled back into our plastic seats that always squeaked a bit when they went up and down, he shot me a smile. “I thought you wanted to yell about smashing faces. What? Change your mind about liking it rough?”

My cheeks heated, and even Beck flushed once he realized what he’d said. “I mean…” He gave a half laugh, half cough. “Anyway.” He pushed his fist to his mouth and shook his head.

I bumped him with my shoulder. “I like the checking and the shoving, but I’m not so sure about the punching. That one player was bleeding.”

Beck shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.

I pulled the coat he’d lent me tighter—I’d been a bit distracted by the overabundant awkwardness and embarrassment as we’d left my apartment, and had totally forgotten mine. His was cozy and smelled like him, which was comforting and torturous all at the same time. “Have you left the ice bleeding before?”

“Yeah, it happens once in a while. But I’ve still got all my teeth.” He flashed me an over-the-top grin. “And only a few scars.” He rubbed at his eyebrow, and I leaned closer to examine the raised white skin cutting across it. “There are times I can hardly move the next day, but that’s part of the fun.”

“Fun? And what about fights off the ice? Are those fun, too?”

“I don’t get into those if I can help it—I like to get it all out on the ice. But make no mistake, I’d win. Wherever the fight went down.” He bumped his shoulder into me, the way I’d done to him, and I couldn’t help returning his smile.

Somewhere between starting my crazy bucket list and here, he’d begun to let me in, little by little. I was gradually getting to know the real Beck, and he was even more awesome than the guy I’d known the past several months. Going to his favorite restaurant and having him explain every dish made me feel like I knew him better, too—I liked how excited he got when he told me what raw fish I had to try next, and how proud he was when I gave it a thumbs-up instead of a thumbs-down. Apparently I was more of a beginner level with the “barely sushi” California rolls coming in as my favorite.

Then there was being here with him, watching his face light up during the fast breaks and noticing the way his brow would crinkle when the Bruins lost the puck. He also gripped the armrests whenever things around the goal turned intense. I doubted he’d brought any of his string of girls to an NHL game, but maybe that was just my wishful thinking. Either way, the passion shining in his eyes made it clear how much he loved the sport.

“Is this what you want to do?” I asked. “Play for the NHL?”

The happiness in his expression faded. “It’s not in the cards.”

“It’s not Vegas. If you want it, you make your own luck.”

“It doesn’t always work that way.”

The raw pain in his voice scraped at me. I didn’t understand, and I wished he would explain, although I knew he wouldn’t—he was shutting down. Letting the mask descend. Maybe if I really pushed, but the last time I had, he’d told me about his parents. I assumed that had something to do with his statement, and it made me even more curious, but I wanted him to go back to being happy.

So when one of the Bruins players scored, I screamed, “Suck it, Canadiens!” I turned to Beck. “Was that good trash talk?”

Beck draped his arm around my shoulders and curled me close. His scruffy chin brushed my cheek as he said, “Cutest trash talker ever.”

A pleasant shiver ran down my spine, and I started wondering if something was happening between us. We were closer than we’d ever been, but I had trouble gauging if that meant we were moving beyond friends. If he felt the pull between us and the same desire to be more.

Hope was so dangerous. It beckoned to me now, whispering to just let go with the guy whose breath was warming my neck. Be bold. Twist my face a couple of inches so that our lips met.

But if I jumped and discovered no safety net waited for me at the bottom, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get back up.