Getting Lucky Number Seven (5 page)

Chapter Seven

Lyla

Nerd is such a broad term when you think about it. Or maybe I liked thinking about it that way, because it meant I didn’t fit into a box. But seriously, there were science fiction nerds, there were the socially awkward nerds, people who role-played and were into comic books, guys and girls who could work wonders with technology, and then there were the because-you’re-smart nerds.

Okay, so I definitely had some overlap going on, but technology tended to do the opposite of what I wanted it to, and I’d never gotten into comic books or role-playing games. Science fiction wasn’t my thing, either. Funny, because I was fairly obsessed with chemistry which was, you know, a science. It’s not like I was opposed to science fiction—I’d seen the odd movie or read a book here and there that was interesting enough—but I didn’t have the commitment to be a Trekkie or a Whovian or whatever other subset was out there.

As I was pulling on my new outfit in my room, legs freshly shaven and coated in shimmery lotion, I decided I was in the because-I-am-smart-and-socially-awkward category of nerd. The smartness came from a lot of hard work, though—a plethora of nights spent studying like crazy so I could get a scholarship, because it was the only way I could afford college, as my parents had reminded me often. I think the obsession with good grades, combined with lack of sunlight and interactions with the general population, might’ve messed with my social skills.

You would’ve thought Mom’s Mexican genes would’ve at least given me an eternal tan, but nope.
With this outfit, it would’ve been especially nice, considering all the skin I had on display. The hips she gave me were definitely in full force, though, and I was doing my best to shut out the horrified comments and looks I’d get if she saw me showing off my curves in a getup like this. On top of that, my heart was beating way too fast, my previous anticipation and high hopes had dissolved, and I was now fairly certain this night was destined to end in me making a fool of myself.

The few high school parties I’d attended with Miles had been relatively quiet—we never knew about the loud, pack-three-hundred-people-in-a-house ones until we showed up at school on Monday and heard how “killer” they were. He didn’t drink, so I’d decided not to out of solidarity, and the fact that my parents would’ve freaked if they found out. It’d just gotten to be a habit somewhere along the way, I supposed. Since I’d started college, I’d tried a few drinks here and there, but I always kept myself in control.

No more. Not tonight, anyway.

Whitney poked her head in. “You ready for me?”

“Yeah. Thanks again for helping me.” First step of letting go a little was recruiting my roommate to do my makeup. I’d watched a few tutorials, figuring I was nothing if not a fast learner, but my technique still needed work, and tonight was too important to mess up.

“Anytime.” Whitney sat across from me, took out her makeup brushes, and got to work swiping liquids and powders across my skin, hopefully taking away the last traces of the girl who was too afraid to let loose. “You’ve got great cheekbones, and just wait until I get done with your eyes. They’re totes gonna pop.”

I wrinkled my nose. “That sounds oozy.”

She laughed and directed me to look up. As she swiped the mascara wand across my lashes, I asked, “How was bowling the other night? Are you and Matt a thing now?”

Whitney sighed and returned the mascara wand to its tube. “We haven’t had
the talk
about our relationship. Like I’m hoping that he’s only dating me, but I don’t want to be the girl who asks, because guys always read it as needy or too serious, and I don’t want to mess things up, you know?”

No, I didn’t really know. The bottom of my stomach dropped out. Having a steady boyfriend through most of high school hadn’t prepared me for all these new college dating rules. If Whitney thought she was going to mess things up, I was going to do nuclear damage when I tried.

Good thing I’m not looking for anything serious right now. Hopefully there are fewer rules involved with being flirty and free.

Whitney applied lipstick to my lips, then handed me a tissue and instructed me to kiss it. She then slicked on another smooth layer that smelled like bubble gum before sitting back, a satisfied expression on her face. “You look amazing. Take a peek.”

I stood and opened my closet door. The girl in the mirror with the dressy black shorts—to keep from flashing everyone in case of keg stand—and purple, low-cut top that complimented her new fiery hair color was bold. Fearless. Her makeup was flawless, with shiny nude-colored lips, shimmery silver lids, and black cat-eye liner that did, in fact, make her eyes pop. Even better, she didn’t look like
any
kind of nerd.

“Wow, Whit. You do good work.”

Whitney’s reflection showed up next to mine, a big smile stretched across her lips. “It’s easy when I’ve got a pretty canvas to work with.”

Warmth filled my chest. I didn’t have any close girlfriends, so maybe that’s why I didn’t realize she was one till now. I turned and hugged her, and she squeezed me back.

“Good luck tonight,” Whitney said. “Have fun. Meet lots of hot guys. Tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“I will. Unless you wanna come?”

“Nah, I’ve got plans with Matt. If he’s with me every night that means he’s not dating anyone else, right?”

“Sounds like a logical conclusion to me.”

She gave me a hope-filled smile and then gathered up her makeup and left my room. Beck texted to say he was in the parking lot as I was adding another spritz of perfume, and I moved over to my desk to close my laptop. I hesitated, reading my first few list items.

Maybe I’ll save the making out with a beautiful stranger for later.
Of course, the drinking would probably help the nerves bouncing around in my stomach. I hoped. And I probably wouldn’t look this pretty ever again, not to mention my timetable got shorter by the day, and I planned on adding a few more things to the list before I’d feel like it was complete.
Okay, I’ll do it tonight.

I took a deep breath to combat the anxiety gnawing my insides, stepped into black strappy heels that were sexy but not so easy to walk in, and paused at my doorway.

Was I really going to go somewhere dressed like this? I fought my instinct to look down and think about how much skin I was currently exposing and told myself once again that I could be bold. I could party with reckless abandon the way the rest of my peers did.

No letting fear get the best of you. Remember, rapid changes take catalysts.

I lifted my chin and made my way downstairs, careful not to step on the left side of the stairs where the ice rarely melted since it was forever in shade. My palms were so sweaty by the time I got to Beck’s Land Rover that it took me two tries to open the door—so the sexy was already happening.

I slid into the passenger seat and turned to Beck, waiting for him to laugh at me and tell me to go change. His attention was on his phone, though, the brim of his black and yellow Bruins cap blocking my view of his face. But then he finally glanced over at me.

And did a double take.

My face flushed as he ran his gaze down my body and all the way back up. “Damn, Lyla. That’s what you’ve been hiding under those scarves and long skirts?”

I shrugged, because how else do you respond to a question like that? I reached down and messed with the ankle strap of my shoes. “Is it okay, then? I feel…naked.” When he didn’t say anything, I turned my face toward him, shaking my bangs out of my eyes.

Beck shifted into reverse and backed out of the parking spot. “You’re good. And I like the hair.”

Good?
Like
the hair?
Those words seemed so mediocre, especially compared to how I felt. My bangs fell in my eyes again and I swept them away, fighting the urge to gather the rest of my hair into a bun. “Please tell me it’s at least an improvement.”

Beck slowed the SUV, stopping just short of exiting the parking lot. Then he turned his eyes on me—were they darker than usual? I swore they were, but it must’ve been a trick of the light. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and there was something mesmerizing about the motion.

“You look so different, it was hard to believe it was even you at first,” he said. “I feel like saying that you look better is an insult to how you usually look, but I’ll admit the red hair is sexy as hell, and your legs and your…” His gaze dipped to my cleavage, and I fought the urge to cover it up. Maybe I should’ve brought, like, a tiny scarf. Just a little something. “If you’re asking if guys will notice you at this party, the answer is yes. Trust me on that.”

There was an edge to his voice I hadn’t heard before and it sent an unexpected dart of heat through me. I tried to swallow, but it wasn’t really working, so I settled for nodding.
Relax. He’s just complimenting your new look, and you desperately needed the reassurance—that’s it.

Beck turned up the music, and we didn’t talk much on the way to the Quad. When we got there, he squeezed into a narrow gap at the end of a packed parking lot that I wasn’t even sure was legal, unhooked his seatbelt, and turned to me. “If you change your mind about this, or decide you’re over the party at any time, just let me know. And I know you want to let loose, but there are guys out there who’ll try to take advantage. That’s why, with every drink you have, the closer I’ll be. Try not to puke
on
me, okay?”

“Ew. I know the other night I said that was the goal, but stop me before I get quite that far. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Beck met me at the back of the Land Rover and we wove in and out of cars toward the large squat building with a line of people streaming into it. The bass from the music boomed out, so loud the beats echoed under my skin. I wanted so badly not to be nervous—to believe my new look was all it took to take on the party crowd—but my frayed nerves weren’t convinced. If anything, they were unraveling faster and faster with each step closer to the front door.

An icy breeze hit me and I shivered—another con for wearing so little clothing.

Beck placed his hand on the small of my back, the contact calming my nerves and the heat from his touch taking the edge off the cold. With the shoes on, I was three inches taller than usual, but he still had several inches on me. The added height gave me a closer view of the blond scruff dusting his strong jawline, though.

By the time we reached the door, even the fact that Beck’s hand remained on my back didn’t stop my stomach from tying itself in knots again. My thoughts turned to how relaxing a night on the couch in my comfy clothes would have been. A movie or a book required no panicking about what to do or say. No wondering how far I’d bend before accidentally flashing someone.

“Your college party experience awaits,” Beck said. Then he studied me, no doubt seeing the worry etched across my features. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

I took a deep breath, the frigid air burning my throat on the way down, then squared my shoulders. “Nope. I’m doing this. Just, uh, stay close. Okay?”

“Sure thing.”

The music grew even louder as we stepped inside, and the buzz of simultaneous conversations mixed in. People crowded the center of the space, dancing to the beat. Pairs, large groups, smaller groups, the wallflowers—they were all here, spread throughout the room.

“Lyla?”

I pulled my attention off the gyrating bodies and turned to Beck, who was gesturing me in the other direction. My ankle wobbled slightly, and I inwardly cursed the heels. Careful of where I stepped, I followed Beck’s familiar hat through the crowd. There was a large table in the corner covered in alcohol.

Beck put his hand on my back again, and leaned in close, talking loud to be heard over the music. “You ever have beer before?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty gross, but I’ve been assured it’s an acquired taste.”

“Hang tight. We’ll start with something that tastes better and will get you buzzed fast, and then we’ll work up to the keg stand.”

The smile, combined with the hand on my back and a whiff of his cologne sent a flutter through my stomach.

What the what? First the strange reaction in the car, then thinking about his eyes and his scruff, and now I’m getting butterflies? Don’t go doing that to me, body.

“Sounds good.” Clearly, my senses were in overdrive or something. As I watched Beck move over to the table, I tried to think if he’d ever touched me so often before.

No, because we’re usually sitting on his couch eating ice cream and watching movies. And before that we mostly studied. But he usually opens doors for me when we go places.
Maybe I’d just always worn too many clothes to notice his hand on my back. Either way, I knew better than to get flutters over Beck Davenport. The guy had longer relationships with cereal boxes than girls, and I wouldn’t even be on his radar in that area, looking for only temporary fun or not. We were just two chemistry nerds who’d built a friendship out of our mutual love of effortless hangouts involving movies and food—he was a closet nerd, whereas I let my love of science hang out there for the world to see.

But not tonight.

“Hey,” a guy near me said, and I looked to my right and then my left. There wasn’t anyone else super close by, and the few who were near us were involved in other conversations.

“Me?” I asked, still not quite trusting he was talking to me.

One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Yeah, you. I’m CJ. I saw you across the room and had to come and say hi.”