Page 29 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

“Man, these wings are hot,” she said, blowing out a breath. “My lips are seriously tingling.”

I picked up one of the orange pieces of chicken, staring across the room instead of looking at her. She’d made it clear she wasn’t interested in me like that—it was another reason why I’d let the friendship develop in the first place. She thought I had a steady string of girls, and I did.

Or I used to. I hadn’t so much as kissed a girl since Lyla showed up at my apartment, determined to change her college experience. But at the mall she’d made a point of saying how great it was that we were nonentities to each other, and at the party last weekend she’d reiterated that she didn’t care about impressing me.

I bet I could convince her differently if I did kiss her—I’d sure as hell do a better job than Jeff’s chin licking.

“So, kinda funny story…” Lyla grabbed one of the celery stalks and dipped it in ranch dressing. “When your sister first called, I totally thought it was one of your many women, only I could tell by the sound of your voice that you cared about her. Then, when you said the thing about her being in high school, I started worrying you were dating some jailbait chick.”

“Uh, ew.” I reached for my drink. “I can find plenty of college girls, thanks.”

“Oh, I know. But there was that beat where I was starting to think I didn’t know you at all.”

I lowered my glass and looked her in the eye. “Lyla, you’re one of the few people who really knows me.”

She blinked at me for a moment, and when she bit her lip, I could tell she wanted to ask more.

“Go ahead. What do you want to know?” Unbelievable. One lip bite with eyelash batting thrown in, and I was giving her permission to pry into the part of my life I kept secret.

“Do you have any other siblings?”

“No, thank goodness, because Megan’s more than I can handle most of the time.”

Lyla propped her elbow on the table and cradled her chin in her hand. “I always wondered what it’d be like to have a brother or sister.”

I slid an onion ring through the puddle of ketchup on my plate. “Not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Oh, come on. I only heard one side of the conversation, but I could tell you adore her.”

Cursing myself for opening up this line of conversation, I finished off my beer. I’d order another, but I had to drive later. Which also meant we’d need to sit here for a bit, listening to more mostly awful singing while Lyla asked who knew how many more questions. “Like I said, Megan’s a drama queen, but my parents were gone a lot, so it’s always been us against the world. I feel responsible for her, and lately she’s been getting into trouble. Some kind of teenage rebellion stage, I guess. It always makes me nervous to answer the phone when it’s her, not knowing if it’ll be ‘Hi,’ or ‘Come pick me up from jail.’”

It was the most I’d ever said to anyone in Boston about my family, and it was a relief to talk about, although there was a part of me screaming to shut up.

“Jail? Seriously?”

“Shoplifting,” I said. “More of a prank than anything—not that my Aunt Tessa and I aren’t taking it seriously.”

“What about your parents?”

And it always comes to that, doesn’t it?I glanced at the woman onstage doing her best Katy Perry impersonation, not wanting to see the pity cross Lyla’s face. “They…” I cleared my throat. “They’re dead.”

Lyla placed her hand on my knee. “Beck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.” The note of apology for asking a simple question got to me. Making her feel bad about it was worse than seeing pity, so I dared a glance at her. “Now I get why you don’t talk about them.”

“It’s not just that… Back in Canterbury, we were the family everyone talked about. Whether it was with respect or bitterness or jealousy. Everywhere I went, people would say, ‘Oh, that’s Richmond Davenport’s son.’ When my parents died, people talked about it, asked about it—it was inescapable. I got so sick of people fishing for details, or asking how I felt, or wanting to know what our family was going to do about the company…” I ran a hand through my hair, digging my fingernails into the scalp so I could focus on that instead of the fact that all the air was slowly being wrung out of my lungs. “It was nice to come here where people didn’t know anything about it.”

I put my hand over hers, needing to hold it there and push its comfort deeper. “That makes me sound horrible. That I never want to ever talk about my parents.”

The multicolored lights reflected off her eyes and danced across her skin as she stared up at me. “Not at all. It makes you sound human.”

Without giving it a second thought, I leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Thanks.”

If she knew every nitty-gritty detail, she might think differently. Mom and Dad were flawed, but they were good people, and of course I’d loved them, even if I hadn’t told them nearly enough. Everything I needed to do to honor their memory and take over the company like Dad wanted weighed on me. I didn’t want to let him down, even though he wasn’t around to see me anymore.

Occasionally I wanted to wallow in how unfair it was that I had to deal with responsibilities I didn’t want, especially while still dealing with everything I’d lost. I knew there were people out there struggling to pay their bills. People living with cancer. And I was the rich boy who wanted to cry about having to be part of a company that’d ensure my life was always filled with every item I needed and then some. I hated that about myself.

“Do you want to go?” Lyla asked.

The night started out so amazing, the mood light and fun—well, except for my stray thoughts about Lyla’s lips and body, but I’d managed to rein those in. I didn’t want to leave it like this, and I needed more time to make sure the alcohol was out of my system. I thought of her onstage, singing and dancing. “No. I want you to sing another song.”

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