Getting Lucky Number Seven (21 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Lyla

Okay, Whitney and I had a game plan for this.
With my rapid heartbeat pounding through my head, I just couldn’t remember what the hell it was. The people crowded around me weren’t helping either. Add to that the memories from my first party here with Beck and this was a disaster waiting to happen.

I’d known there was a chance Beck would be at this party, just like Whitney knew Matt might be here with his new girlfriend, who I disliked on principle—I felt bad about it, but still. Honestly, the possibility of having to face him again was one of the reasons I’d worn my embroidered dress with my over-the-knee brown boots.
Oh yeah,
that
was part of the game plan. Show him what he’s missing.

As the music and multiple conversations in the Quad buzzed around me like a tornado, I stared at the back of the maybe-Beck guy. I thought I’d somehow
just know
if it were him, as if my body was so attuned to his it’d scream at me. It was screaming all right, my pulse now skittering under my skin, but it was still more of a that-
might
-be-him scream. With the dimmed lights, I could only make out that the guy was tall, the same build as Beck, and that his hat was black and possibly a Bruin’s cap. What with us being in Boston, that wasn’t even a sure sign it was him.

“Hey.” Whitney extended me a red cup. “See any hotties?”

Maybe the one I’m desperately trying to get out of my head.
I glanced at where maybe-Beck had been standing, but he’d gotten swallowed up in the crowd. The place was extra crazy tonight, so many people crammed inside it was hard to move, and if I hadn’t stayed rooted in place, I doubted Whitney would’ve found me again. “Not really,” I shouted over the music.

“Well, don’t give up. We’re at least finding a
possibility
tonight—that was what we agreed to. Our first step to get over those douchebags we’re not mentioning.”

Part of me wanted to ask,
What’s the point?
There was only a month and a half of school left, and while I missed sex—I couldn’t believe how much, considering it was such a little part of my life pre-Beck and his damn mind-blowing sex—I was done with casual hookups. For a while anyway.

Whit and I made our way through the mass of people, and when we caught a good vibe, or a cute enough guy smiled at us, we’d introduce ourselves. I forced myself to use the small-talk skills I’d learned over the past few months, and I was getting pretty good at managing it without embarrassment, if I did say so myself.

We’d just grabbed another round of drinks when Whitney started up a conversation with a tall guy with bronze skin and black curly hair—most definitely more jock than nerd, despite last week’s vow. Which left me to come up with something to say to his cute friend, Noah. He was also super tall, but more on the scrawny side, with a great, easy smile that instantly made me glad we’d stopped to chat.

My attention drifted when I caught sight of the black cap again. The guy glanced to the left, and my heart seized. Bruins cap. Beck’s profile.

Beck.

He turned to talk to someone, and I let out a relieved breath when the someone was a guy instead of a girl. I thought it was one of his teammates, but the features were too hard to make out at this distance.

“…major?” Noah asked.

I glanced at him, taking a stab at the part of the question I’d missed. “Chemistry. I want to get a job in pharmaceuticals someday.”
Like maybe at my sorta-ex-boyfriend’s company, because that won’t be awkward at all.
“You?”

“Math. I’m thinking engineer, but I haven’t decided for sure yet.”

Score! He totally fits the nerd requirement.
He picked at something on his shirt. “Ugh, my dog sheds like crazy.”

“My cat does, too. Pretty much anything dark-colored is like catnip to him.”

Noah laughed. “Right? How do they know?”

Inwardly I did a happy dance that I’d figured out how to talk to guys so easily, but then I realized it was because I didn’t care. Noah was a nice guy, and on paper, we’d probably be the perfect match. But my skin didn’t hum around him, and maybe that’d change with time, but I could hardly focus on him when I knew Beck was somewhere in the room.

I glanced at the spot I’d seen him last, and there he was.

Staring right at me.

Our eyes locked and a sharp pain shot through my chest.
I’m strong, I’m strong, I’m strong.

We stared far past the polite range, and the blur of the crowd, music, and flashing lights faded into the background. Then Beck took a step toward me. Sure I was about to faint, I gripped Noah’s arm like a lifeline, even though I’d been ignoring whatever he’d been telling me.

The muscles along Beck’s jaw tightened, tension filling the planes of his perfect face. I worried I was reading too much into his expression, but I swore he paled, and he looked…well, absolutely miserable. Pretty much the way I’d felt since our big blowout, no matter how hard I tried to pretend otherwise.

Afraid I’d burst into tears, or worse—fling myself at him and beg him to take me back—I forced myself to turn away. “Sorry, I…” My brain was too hazy to come up with anything to say. For a brief moment I entertained the idea of kissing Noah to show Beck I was over him—to hurt him the way he’d hurt me—but I didn’t want to be that girl.

I was me. I was strong. I was…aching, aching, aching.

I looked for Beck again, deciding I needed to at least see how he was doing and, if he’d actually talk to me, ask him if things were better with his family. Despite everything, I wanted him to be able to push past all his demons and be happy. It’d kill me to be near him and not reach for him, but somewhere buried underneath the rubble of our relationship was the friendship we’d started with, even though I knew it’d forever be mangled as well.

But he was gone, and suddenly I worried I’d never see him again, and then I wanted to sit down on the sticky, cup-littered ground and cry.

My phone vibrated against my hip. With the music, I hadn’t even heard the chime. I pulled it out and read the text.

Beck:
Is that your bf?

I stared at the words. Seeing his name on my screen again stirred up a tornado of emotions, and a giant lump rose in my throat.

What to say, what to say? Words tumbled through my mind, so many responses to such a simple question, most of which had nothing to do with the actual question. Slowly, I forced my thumbs into motion.

Me:
No. Just met him.

Beck:
Conquest for the list, then?

I glanced around, trying to see where he was. Noah smiled at me, and I felt rude for texting instead of talking. I lowered my phone. Let Beck stew.

But it was easier said than done—my hands twitched, my fingers burning with the desire to send a response, and finally, I couldn’t stand it. Especially after that last text. What the hell kind of question was that anyway?

“Sorry, Noah, but could you excuse me for a second?” I took a few steps away from him, my emotions morphing from agony to anger, although my heart still ached like someone had put it through the wringer and then shoved it back in my chest.

He breaks my heart and then dares to ask me about conquests? Does he expect me to ask him the same? Give him a high five if we both leave with someone?

I must’ve only imagined the tormented expression on his face—stupid wishful thinking, or projecting, or whatever had caused my mind to play tricks on me. I typed my reply, which wasn’t easy considering how badly my hands had started shaking.

Me:
It’s none of your business. What are you trying to do to me?

My phone chirped and I stared at the picture he’d sent me. Chemistry Cat with his glasses and bowtie. On the top it said:
do you have
11
protons?
Then, underneath:
because you are sodium fine.

A tight band formed around my chest, constricting further with each breath I attempted to take. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to figure out why he’d send that image to me. Was this his way of trying to be friends again? Like we could just go back to the way things were?

Obviously even a mangled friendship was too much to hope for—I’d never feel neutral enough toward him to pull it off. Not without lots and lots of time, and even with that, I wasn’t sure.

My phone vibrated again. A picture of an adorable kitten with a silver gift bow on his head showed up on my screen. He was crouched down, eyes wide, with the caption:
omg! getitoffgetitoffgetitoff

Right after came a picture of a black cat behind a gray and white one, his tongue out.
are you licking me?
was across the top. Then, down by the black cat,
shh…just let it happen

Beck:
This is what I do with my spare time now. I find these pictures that you’d love and end up staring at them while thinking of how stupid I am for letting you go. I’m so miserable I can hardly eat or sleep, and I despise that I even have to be around myself

Tears sprung to my eyes. I clenched my jaw and blinked, trying to hold them back. I wanted to give in and tell him I’d been miserable, too, but I was afraid of what would happen after. Of being hurt again. There was overcoming your fears, and then there was not learning from your mistakes.

Me:
You hurt me, Beck. Worse than anyone ever has. It’s going to take more than a couple of chemistry jokes and cat pictures to make it okay.

Beck:
I know. That’s why I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Including this…

I looked around, trying to see what he was talking about. I didn’t see him anywhere. The music died, and instead of another song starting up, dead silence followed. Even the conversations going on quieted at the stark contrast to the constant noise.

Then Beck jumped up next to the DJ booth, a microphone in his hand. “Lyla, I screwed up. I know I suck, and I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m so damn sick of pretending I’m okay without you.” He took a deep breath and then cleared his throat. “Because, baby…”

He glanced at the DJ, and a second later the familiar
bloop, bloop
noise sounded out. Beck stared across the crowd at me and raised the microphone to his lips. “You spin my head right round, right round—”

“What the hell is he doing?” Whitney asked, stepping up next to me.

I put my hands over my heart. It launched into motion, the erratic pumping stirring up a new wave of emotions, happy ones that battled to take over the sad. “He’s singing our song.”

Whitney winced when the rapping began. “He’s really bad.”

I laughed, although it came out half-sob. “I know.”

There were cheers, and some boos, and a lot of people looking at each other like they didn’t know how to react. When Beck pointed the microphone at the crowd for help, though, a large part of them sang along with him. Unlike karaoke night, the lyrics were blasting out of the speakers, too, helping when he didn’t know the words and chose not to do the Kesha part.

As the song wound down, Beck crooked his finger at me and mouthed, “Please.” The crowd seemed to turn as one to see who he was pointing at, and then there I was, suddenly the center of attention. My face heated, and speaking of “right round,” my head was spinning. Judging from the wetness sliding down my cheeks I was also crying.

Of all the romantic gestures, I couldn’t believe I was about to be won over by a badly done hip-hop song. Logical or not, though, the signs of swooning were all there. Likeliness of fainting? Shortness of breath? Hysterical rapture?

Check, check, and check.

Not to mention the way my heart beat faster and harder—if it could speak, it’d be saying Beck’s name. It belonged to him and had for a long time, no doubt about it.

Love really was one of those things that made no sense when you tried to analyze it. I pushed my way through the crowd. A few of Beck’s teammates helped clear a path, people moving out of their way much faster than they had done for me. They nodded as I walked past and a couple of them clapped me on the shoulder. Beck tossed the microphone to the DJ and jumped down next to me, his face adorably flushed.

“Wow, that was embarrassing,” he said. “Pretty sure I’m not going to ever live it down with the guys, either, but if it worked…” He cupped my cheek. “I’m so sorry for everything—I was a pucking idiot!”

I bit back a smile at his choice of swearing. It was so perfect. Like his off-key singing onstage, the cat memes he’d sent, his face, and just everything about him.

“I love you, Lyla. More than I ever knew was possible. I’ve been so miserable without you. We won regionals tonight, but all I could think of was getting back to you so I could make things right. I panicked when you weren’t at your apartment, and then your neighbor told me she thought you’d come here. When I saw you with that guy, I was terrified I was too late.

“Even as I told myself to leave you alone if you’d moved on and were happy, I knew I’d never be able to do it, because the fact of the matter is, you belong with me.” His gaze locked onto mine, so much passion blazing in his eyes my heart forgot how to beat for a moment. “Please say something.”

“You won regionals? So you’re going to the Frozen Four?”

A surprised laugh fell from his lips and then he nodded. “Yeah. As long as you’re in the crowd cheering for me as my girlfriend, none of this silly pretending anything less than that is enough.” He brushed his thumb across the top of my cheek and intoxicating warmth spread from his touch and traveled through my core. “What do you say?”

For the first time since we’d parted, I felt like I could finally take a full breath again. “I’ll be there. And I love you, too.”