Getting Lucky Number Seven (7 page)

Chapter Nine

Lyla

Every once in a while, I’d bump into Beck, but he’d just laugh and steady me, so I figured he didn’t mind. My head felt pleasantly floaty, and I was pretty proud of the fact that I wasn’t even slightly nauseous. Weirdly enough, standing still and walking were way more challenging than dancing right now. It was like the beat told my body where to go when it wasn’t sure, and I was already swaying, so I just went with it. Man, I loved to dance!

Near the end of the second song, Beck gave me a funny look, the line of his jaw tight. His chest rose and then fell with a deep breath, almost like he was fortifying himself.

“What?” I asked, trying to stop swaying and totally failing until I put a hand on his arm.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Just tell me, I can take it.” I cringed, already expecting the worst. “I’ve been singing too loud, right? When I get excited, I really belt it out, which is bad, because I’m totally tone deaf.”

The crooked smile he gave me eased the anxiety trying to work its way through my happy buzz. “The singing’s fine. I like how you make up your own lyrics instead of singing the right ones.” He put his hand on my hip, pulled me close, and hovered his lips next to my ear. My stomach crawled up to my throat and I wrapped my hand around his biceps, my thumb running across the curve there. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was a bad idea, but the other sensations were louder—racing pulse, fuzzy pleasantness, his firm body pressed against me, his hand sliding around to rest on my back. “You’ve got several guys checking you out, and you’re wasting all your cute on me. Why don’t you go circulate?”

Beck stepped back, his sudden absence a shock to my revved up body.
Other guys? Huh?

Then I noticed two girls eye-humping him, and they didn’t look like they’d mind sharing him, either. He glanced their way and then slowly back at me.

“Right. You want to meet girls.” That sufficiently doused the happy from my mood. I shook my head, feeling like a moron. Stupid alcohol, glorious one moment and making you think idiotic thoughts about one of your closest friends the next. “I’ve gotten in your way a lot lately. I wasn’t even thinking. Go, pick up a girl, or at least get a few numbers. I’ll be fine on my own for a bit.”

“Lyla, that’s not it. It’s not like I can’t go without for a while.” He curled his hand around the brim of his baseball cap, molding it the way he did when he needed to keep his hands busy. “I just wasn’t sure if you were going to check another item off your list. Wasn’t that what this party’s all about?”

Sure. Check everything off now so he wouldn’t have to spend every weekend plastered to my side, basically babysitting me. How embarrassing that I thought he was having fun, too. I worked to sound as casual as possible. “Yeah, and I definitely want to accomplish my list this semester, but…” I glanced at all the people, but between the spinning and the music and the lights, dizziness set in, tilting the floor under my feet.

Beck reached for me right as someone knocked into me from behind, and I ended up having to brace my hands on his chest.
Holy muscles, Batman. It’s like hitting a wall
.
A warm, solid, smokin’ hot wall.

He gripped both of my arms, just above the elbow, and tingly zips of heat spread from his touch and skittered across my skin. “We can keep dancing, if that’s what you want. I’m down for whatever.”

I licked my lips, trying to wade through my sluggish thoughts. “No, you’re right. No time like the present. When you’re as behind as I am, missing an opportunity isn’t an option.”

Suddenly I did feel a little nauseated. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, or the dancing, or the weirdo attraction vibes. Maybe I just needed to be drunker. Yeah, that must be it. “I’m gonna go grab another drink. You mingle, I’ll mingle. We’ll meet in the middle.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his large hands still fully wrapped around my arms and making me feel things I shouldn’t.

Which meant I needed to be drunker
and
put space between us before I did something stupid like try to kiss a beautiful not-stranger, who would then decide we couldn’t be friends anymore. “It’s a party. I appreciate you being the more responsible one, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun. See you in a bit.”

With every step I took away from him, the more like myself I felt.
Wait. The point is to
not
feel like myself, though.
Thoughts weren’t connecting like they should, but when a cute guy stopped me and asked me if I wanted a drink, I said sure.

We headed over to the table overflowing with alcohol, exchanging names on the way. By the end of the heavy-on-the-vodka red drink, and a conversation that was too out of focus for me to really follow, the world had blurred into nothing more than colors and sounds, reality melting away with it.

…

I shot up and immediately regretted it. Some little bastard was hammering away at my brain, and my mouth was a desert wasteland. It took me a moment to realize I was at Beck’s.

In his bedroom.

In his
bed
.

I lifted the covers, letting out a relieved breath when I saw I still had on my clothes. Pressing my fingers to my forehead, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and screeched when the floor moved under my feet. Beck was stretched out on the carpet, a pillow under his head. He squinted up at me as his hand wrapped around my ankle.

“Please tell me I didn’t puke on you,” I said.

“There were a few close calls, but you didn’t puke. I did have to carry you in here, though, and then you got super chatty. When I tried to go sleep on the couch, you asked me to never leave you alone again, so…”

I dropped my head in my hands, all too aware of the weird thoughts I’d had about Beck last night. “Did I say anything embarrassing?”

“No, mostly just random stuff, heavy on the cat and science references, as usual.”

I peeked through my fingers. “Did I end up making out with anyone at the party?”

“That jackass you were talking to started to pull you away from the crowd, but I cut him off. You gave him your number, but I don’t think he’ll be calling you after what I said to him. Sorry about that.” His tone conveyed that he wasn’t actually sorry at all.

Beck sat up, his hair more a mess than a stylized mess now, although he still made it look good. “You went to a party, did a keg stand, and got so drunk you forgot half the night. Congrats on this amazing milestone in your life.” He squeezed my leg. “What are you gonna do next?”

“Uh, Disneyland?” I spotted a pen on his side table, so I wound my hair into a bun and secured it in place. “Actually, I’m thinking breakfast. Is that thing about greasy food being a good hangover cure true?”

“There’s nothing bacon can’t fix.” Beck glanced at the clock. “I’ve got just enough time to hit the diner around the corner before I need to get going on the rest of my day. This huge assignment in econ is trying to kill me, and I want to knock it out before my game tonight.”

We’d only been practicing conversation skills last night, but he’d said I should go to a game, and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to. “Would you be embarrassed if I came to watch you play?”

The beat of silence made my stomach clench—I was blurring the lines too much. Already I had him helping me with my list, carrying me home from parties, and I didn’t want to smother him.

But then a smile spread across his face. “Not at all. It’d be cool.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But best lay off the booze for one night. I might be too distracted to keep the guys off you.”

“
Pfft.
Like that’s gonna be a problem.” I stepped over the piles of clothes littering the floor of his room and headed to the bathroom. My eyeliner had made a run for my cheeks, so I cleaned it up the best I could. Figured it was nice enough for the diner, at least.

All that really mattered was that, in the light of day, I was thinking clearly enough to realize that Beck was an awesome friend and nothing more. I’d never do anything to risk messing that up, either. I needed him in a way I didn’t need most people.

Momentary attraction aside, I’d say last night had been a success. I’d hit a huge party and had fun, even if the last half was a bit blurred—very college, if I do say so myself. With two items checked off the list, I was feeling pretty good about life. As for finding a cute boy to make out with, there was this total hottie who always studied at the same spot in the library. I’d wanted to approach him a dozen times, but hadn’t been able to work up the courage.

This afternoon, I was going to walk right up to him and put Beck’s flirting tips to good use.

Chapter Ten

Beck

I was so full I could hardly move, but my giant “works” breakfast with double the pancakes was probably all I’d eat until after the game. It was already getting to be late in the day, and nothing was worse than skating on a too-full stomach. Not to mention how my gut always churned before a big game. I thought I’d get over it in time, but for about an hour leading up to every single game, I was sure I was going to puke.

Then I’d get onto the ice, adrenaline would take over, and I’d be fine. I opened the passenger door of the Land Rover for Lyla. Luckily things were back to normal between us today. It helped that she wasn’t constantly knocking against me, making it impossible to not think about her curves. Last night when she’d bumped her hips into mine on the dance floor, my body had reacted in all the wrong ways. She’d been so cute, singing the wrong lyrics as she swung her hair and bounced around. Not like I could help that it’d turned me on, and I’d kept thinking,
Any second she’s going to call me on it.

Hopefully she’d been too drunk to notice, or had blanked out that part of the night. Still, right before I closed the door, I took another look at her sexy legs. Toned thighs that led to perfectly curved calves and a whole lot of creamy soft skin.

Combine that and the fact that she had the morning-after look, was it any wonder the waiter had flashed me a thumbs-up when he took the menus from us?

“Why didn’t you tell me I had syrup on my face?” Lyla asked when I settled behind the steering wheel. Her tongue darted out, licking the corner of her lip. I went to put the key in the ignition and missed.

What the hell was wrong with me? This was what I got for ignoring Monica’s calls and going around half-cocked.

Finally I got the key in the right place and made it to Lyla’s apartment complex. As she started out of the car, I remembered what she’d said about the game. “Wait. You want me to get you a ticket to the game?”

“Can’t I get one there?”

“It’s easier to get one ahead.” She probably didn’t know how expensive they were, either. Or where to sit. I took out my phone and pulled up the site to order tickets to the game at Kelley Rink. “I’ll get it. You have ink in your printer?”

She nodded. “But you don’t have t—”

“Already done.” A seat next to our bench was even available. Better yet, with my attention on my phone, I could keep myself from checking out Lyla for the hundredth time. “I’ll forward you the email. Just print it and bring it to the game. And if you get too busy, no worries. I know how caught up you get in studying.”

“Thanks, Beck. And thanks again for last night.” The grin she shot me showed off that dimple I was suddenly noticing every few seconds. Had it always been there? “See you later.”

I nodded and refocused on my phone’s screen. I forwarded the email with the tickets and waited until she was safely inside before heading home to study.

It only took thirty minutes to realize I was never going to ace my economics class. At this point, I’d be happy with a C. I liked my science classes, but when it came to the business ones, my brain shut down. I fought the urge to throw the textbook across the room. I imagined how satisfying the loud smack would be as it hit the wall, and even better, if it broke the spine and made the nonsense-filled pages scatter across the floor.

But then I’d have to gather them and try to put the book back together. It definitely wouldn’t get me any closer to passing the class.

If I can’t even get through the beginner business classes, how am I going to get through them when they get more complicated? And how am I going to take over a company when I clearly fail at comprehending the principles it’s founded on?

I got supply and demand, but once you threw in graphs and analyzing data, my mind drifted to hockey plays and formations.

I closed the textbook and tossed it aside, the thump against the coffee table only mildly satisfying. For something that supposedly ran in my blood, I sure sucked at it. The blood carrying that knowledge needed to find its way to my brain, preferably sometime before I turned twenty-one.

Hopefully hands-on training will give me the skills I need, because this isn’t working, and with the Davenport name on the line, and Megan relying on me, failure isn’t an option.

I walked to the fridge and stared inside. I’d already had soda last night, and for the most part, I avoided it, since drinking too much tended to leave me gassed during practice and games.

Apple juice and water were the options I had, and I needed more than H2O.

Great, now I’m referring to it as H2O, the way Lyla always does.
I smiled as I poured myself a glass of juice, remembering when she and I had been doing one of our first labs, and she’d turned to me and said, “I’m sure you heard about the two guys who tried to order water at the bar.”

I’d assured her I had no idea what she was talking about, and then she’d bit her lip, looking like she’d changed her mind about telling me the story. But once I nudged her and said, “You can’t leave me in suspense like that,” she pushed her safety goggles up her nose, carefully filled a beaker with hydrogen peroxide, and said, “Two men walked into a bar. The first one said, ‘I’ll have some H2O.’ The second guy said, ‘I’ll have some H2O, too.’ The second guy died. Obviously.” Her gaze flicked to me. “You know. ’Cause…” She lifted the hydrogen peroxide, clearly afraid I hadn’t gotten it.

“Because drinking hydrogen peroxide—H2O2—would be bad,” I’d said, so she knew I understood.

She beamed at me. “Right!” Then her smile faltered and she shook her head. “I know it’s lame. I just…” She shrugged. “Couldn’t help myself. Got the potassium permanganate?”

I handed it over with a cheesy remark about double bonds, and things went from carefully cautious and reserved to joking and chatting as we worked our way through the experiments. Science wasn’t the only thing she made corny jokes about, either. Once she found out I played hockey, she started making puck jokes. She’d greet me with a, “Hey! What the puck’s going on?” Or “How did we manage to puck up that experiment?”

I was starting to pick it up, too, often using the P-bomb when we were arguing about movies. If I ever slipped and swore that way in front of the guys, I’d never hear the end of it.

One thing was clear, though, I wouldn’t have enjoyed that class nearly as much without her. Guess I should see how much she knew about economics. If she could tell a bunch of micro and macro jokes and help me understand what the hell they even meant, maybe I wouldn’t want to stab my eyes out every time I studied it.

Of course, if Lyla was going to keep wearing skimpy outfits, I might need to stab my eyes out to keep from thinking inappropriate thoughts about my sweet, brainiac friend.