Page 23 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

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 likeSAVE 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 Isowasn’t going there with Jeff. After the moviefinallyended, 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. “Helickedmy 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 isamazing. 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

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