Getting Lucky Number Seven (9 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Lyla

“So, you and Beck have been friends for a while, then?” Jeff asked as we exited the hockey arena.

“Yeah, I met him in a class at the beginning of the year, and it didn’t take long for us to become friends.” Which was why I knew something was off tonight. Or maybe he was always like that after games. Amped up from victory and the thrill of playing or whatever. Except it was more like he was antsy… Maybe the excess adrenaline pumping through his veins made it hard for him to focus or stand around talking.

The first time he’d slammed a guy from the other team into the glass—right in front of where I was sitting—I’d jumped. Beck was already a big guy, and with those hockey pads on, he’d seemed larger than life. If I’d seen that competitive glint enter his blue eyes when he’d stood across from me, I would’ve run—or skated, as it were—in the opposite direction. He’d thrown other large dudes around like they were ragdolls, and scored three points overall, including the winning goal.

While I’d always considered myself more of a peaceful and can’t-we-all-just-get-along person, I had to admit there was something hot about watching guys so hopped up on testosterone fighting over a puck and slamming into each other.

I was really trying to think of it as guy
s
and not Beck. I’d done so well all day, through our greasy breakfast served by a guy who must’ve been a huge fan of pancakes or maybe a fanatical hockey fan, because he’d given Beck an enthusiastic thumbs-up for just being there. Then I’d gone and put myself out there at the library, not even a second thought to Beck besides his flirting advice. Alcohol-induced lust—that was where last night’s fleeting attraction had come from. And the nonstop thinking about his eyes…well, they were what people talked about when they said piercing blue eyes. I’d have to be blind not to notice them.

But watching him play hockey and then the hug after the game, his fingers splayed across my hip… There’d been completely sober butterflies breaking free and flapping their wings. Even now they stirred, somersaulting in my stomach and rising up to flit around my heart.

“Is that about how most of the games go? Back and forth so fast like that?” I asked Jeff, forcing myself to be in the moment so I didn’t screw it up with a guy I might actually have a chance with. “Or was that team extra rough?”

“Nah, that’s pretty typical. They actually did a better job than most keeping Beck from scoring, but as you saw, he still snuck in a few.”

“Hmmm.” That was all I had, since I was now thinking of how Beck had glanced at me here and there when he was catching his breath on the bench. He was far too into Serious Sports Mode to give me the full smile, but the crooked half one had still affected me plenty. Despite my best efforts, a crush was developing.

It’s all right to have crush-like feelings, as long as I don’t act on them.

And what better way to prevent that than to find a new guy to focus on?
Luckily, I just so happened to be walking next to another cute hockey player. While on the shorter side, and not over-the-top hot like Beck, Jeff was definitely more accessible as far as I was concerned, as well as a good “beautiful stranger” contender. Plus, he was low risk. I wouldn’t be forced to see him later if things went south.

My mind started going over Beck’s conversation tips. We’d already discussed Jeff’s hobby. Guess that left school. “What are you—”

“Do you—” he started at the same time, then grinned, revealing nice straight teeth. No gaps from a couple being knocked out, so bonus points. His dark hair was shaved nearly down to the scalp, and his eyes were a chocolate brown—pretty much the opposite of Beck.

Who I was absolutely going to stop thinking about.

“Uh, this is me,” I said as we reached my beat up, used-to-be-blue Chevy. Driving it required a lot of praying and swearing, but I was happy to have it, especially on chilly nights like this, where walking meant the possibility of losing toes.

I shivered and zipped up my coat the last few inches—it was too cold to think about not covering up my shape. Even though I knew my hair was down, I did a quick check for pointy objects—call it post-traumatic-eye-stabbing stress disorder. If it’d given me issues, I could only imagine how fast Sebastian would run from me the next time our paths crossed.

Jeff put his hand on my car, right by my arm, and leaned in. “You want to go to the movies? Or just rent one?”

“Whatever,” I
so
eloquently said.

He pulled out his phone and asked for my number. After he put it and my address into his contacts, he told me he’d pick me up at seven. He straightened like he was getting ready to leave, and I started thinking he might not count as a stranger tomorrow, so I just went for it.

My enthusiasm got the best of me, turning my attempt at number three into more of a mild headbutt than a kiss. I’d gotten the right side of his mouth instead of the center, too, and all I could do was close my eyes and hope when I opened them, I’d either be alone or wake up to find it’d only been a bad dream.

Twice in one day. I should be quarantined.

“Lyla?”

“Sorry.” I cracked my eyes open. “If you’ve changed your mind about the movies, then I—”

Jeff’s lips slanted over mine. He pressed me into the car and shoved his tongue into my mouth. It was a little more…wetness than I expected. Once I started participating, keeping my lips tighter to slow the tempo, the kiss turned into something better, and might’ve even morphed into some feel-up action if I wasn’t wearing such a puffy coat.

“See you tomorrow.” Jeff gave me one more quick kiss and then he rushed across the parking lot to a black Jetta, and I climbed into my car, grinning like a loon.

I did it! I kissed a guy I didn’t know.
I’d even initiated it, but considering how disastrously that part had gone, maybe I shouldn’t be so proud.

As I drove away, though, I couldn’t help thinking that pride-over-checking-off-a-list-item probably shouldn’t be the top emotion I felt after kissing a perfectly cute hockey player.

…

You know what you get when you decide to be bold and kiss a guy you barely know?

Attacked with his tongue, pretty much the first moment you enter his apartment. Jeff had hardly said a word to me, just dived right in. His tongue frequently traveled too far south, too, more chin-licking than kissing. After several minutes, my skin felt…
sticky.

“I’m thirsty,” I finally said, pushing myself up from the horizontal position on the couch Jeff had eased me into. The urge to squeegee off my chin and lips was strong, but I didn’t want to offend him.

I totally take back those times I wished Miles would kiss me with a little more passion.
Maybe French kissing wasn’t for me. All I knew was I didn’t want to do it anymore—not with Jeff, in any case.

But the movie was only thirty or so minutes in, and I didn’t know how to leave without hurting his feelings. The television screen lit up one half of his face and I found myself focusing on the flickering colors changing on that side as I pondered excuses, none of which sounded good enough to use.

“What do you want to drink?” Jeff asked. “I don’t have any beer, but I could maybe get a case—my roommate’s twenty-one.”

“Some simple H2O would be good.”

The lines in his forehead deepened as he scrunched it up. “Water?”

Beck always teased me for not just saying water. I should probably work on cutting back my nerdy chemistry references as part of my makeover. Jeff must’ve figured it out on his own, because he headed toward the kitchen and opened a cupboard.

I quickly readjusted my shirt, cursing its low-cut front. I took my phone out of my pocket, wanting so badly to text Beck. Something nice and melodramatic like
SAVE ME!!!!!!
But he’d already dealt with my crazy list items and attempt at becoming a whole new me all week, and while he claimed he was behind in his classes, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a non-study buddy with him right now.

Plus, I didn’t need Beck to save me. I could save myself.

I hoped.

Jeff sat next to me and handed me a glass of water. The second his hand was free, he wrapped it around my thigh.

“Don’t you love this part?” I scooted forward, putting my forearms on my knees, trying to curl myself up as tight as I could. I’d never even seen the movie, and, as my shitty luck would have it, that was the moment the lead actor started undressing his love interest.

So now Jeff thought I loved the sex scene. He leaned in and kissed my neck. The woman onscreen moaned and made a whole lot of noise about what was happening.

It was hard to remember a time I’d ever been more uncomfortable—with a pinch of curiosity thrown in. Were there really women who sounded like that when they had sex? Who enjoyed it so much they couldn’t get enough? There had to be.

What was I doing wrong?

Not that I’d find out any time soon, because I
so
wasn’t going there with Jeff. After the movie
finally
ended, I let Jeff kiss me for a few more minutes, because he was a nice guy, and I was a big wimp who was not as in control of my life as I’d thought.

Come on, Lyla. Be bold. That’s the whole point of what you’re doing.

I pulled back, lifting my hands between us for an extra barrier. “Uh, thanks for the movie, but I’ve got a test tomorrow, so I better go.” It’d be so much easier to escape if I would’ve driven myself instead of letting him pick me up. You know what they say about hindsight being twenty-twenty.

Within a few minutes, we were back at my apartment. Before Jeff could lean in for another sloppy kiss, I bolted out of the Jetta and escaped into the safety of my apartment. When I locked the door and sagged against it, Whitney looked up from her spot on the couch.

“You okay?”

I wiped at my chin—seriously, why did it feel sticky? Ugh. “You ever make out with a guy who was a super bad kisser?”

Whitney made a sour face. “Yes. Don’t ever let it go further. If they can’t kiss, they’re awful in bed. Trust me on that.”

I sat next to her, kicked off my shoes, and tucked my legs under me. “He
licked
my chin.”

“Ew!” She laughed, and despite how badly my date had gone, I couldn’t help joining in. Ever since the night she’d helped me with my makeup we’d been spending more time together, even if it was just an hour here and there watching TV or cooking a meal together. “Definitely kick that guy to the curb. You want someone who makes you crave the next time you can kiss him.” She leaned back and sighed. “Like Matt. The sex is
amazing
. Better than anyone I’ve ever been with. Totally mind-blowing, you know what I mean?”

Mind-blowing. Nope. I didn’t know. But when she looked at me, I made a noncommittal head wobble she took for a nod.

“I chickened out on bringing up the relationship, though,” Whitney said, the defeat heavy in her voice.

Good to know I wasn’t the only one who chickened out. “It’s okay. You’ll know when the time’s right, and from what I saw, he’s crazy about you.”

Whitney smiled. “Thanks, Lyla. I needed to hear that. I’ve dated so many jerks over the years that I always doubt my judgment. But it feels different this time.”

I took a moment to enjoy kicking up my feet, but then everything I needed to get done came tapping on my shoulder, and that made relaxing next to impossible. My bucket list took up a lot of time, and already, my study hours had taken a hit. “Well, I better go and do the studying and homework thing for a bit.”

I picked up my shoes and headed into my bedroom. Einstein bounded over to me, and when I dropped my shoes in the closet, he took that as his cue to attack them. I laughed when one flipped over and he leaped backward like it was a snake that’d try to bite him.

“You’re such a cute kitty,” I cooed as I settled into the chair in front of my desk. I snapped a picture with my phone and almost sent it to Beck before I remembered I was trying to give him a break from my weirdness. Even more depressing, I couldn’t think of anyone else to send it to. My parents, I supposed, but then Mom would want to call and talk, and ever since I’d started wearing more revealing outfits, I felt like she’d somehow sense what I was up to and lecture me on how what I wore sent a message to people. I had no doubt she’d think I was sending the wrong one.

Hell, maybe I was, but there was something freeing about it, even if it also made me feel self-conscious at times—I was still working on being okay with putting more of myself out there.

I tossed my phone aside and turned to the piles of books and notebooks on my desk. Literature currently needed the most attention, but instead of picking up my book, I opened my laptop and pulled up my list.

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

I’d done three of the six in one week, which I thought was pretty adventurous of me, despite the few missteps and the fact that the making out was less pleasant than I’d hoped for. But between the sex scene in the movie and what Whitney said, I wanted to add one more thing. Seven happened to be my lucky number, too, so it seemed like fate. I also knew this one would probably take longer than a week or two to achieve, so the sooner I put it down, the more likely I’d accomplish it by finals. It’d require both being bold and pushing my fears aside—it’d pretty much be the ultimate way to fully embrace the whole college experience and leave the old Lyla behind.