Page 36 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

I shot him a glare. “Not helping the not-weird thing!” My thoughts about shirtless Beck weren’t helping either, but I’d take that to my grave. And now the image of Jeff coming at me with his tongue mixed in, leaving my emotions so confused that they didn’t know which way was up anymore.

Is it going to be like this from now on? I don’t know if I can take it.

Beck scrubbed a hand over his face, the flustered gesture mirroring the way I felt. Then he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Come on. Might as well get it out in the open. Then we can move on.”

Our waitress chose that moment to show up to take our order. After a brief discussion about types of sushi, and getting a backup teriyaki chicken entrée for me in case I couldn’t handle raw fish, Beck and I were alone again. Except for the ghost of our previous conversation hanging over us.

The air was thick with tension and the question of who was going to say something about it first. The longer we stared at each other, the harder it was for me to not squirm in my seat. Finally, I broke. “Look, number seven is… It’s just something I want to try, okay? But I’m not going to jump into bed with just anyone to cross it off.”

Amidst the dancing on the bar and the attention that it brought, I’d looked around at the sea of unfamiliar faces and realized I didn’t want to sleep with some random dude just so I could cross off an item. “I still don’t want a serious relationship or anything, but I’d rather wait than force it. I need it to be someone I’m attracted to, whose kiss doesn’t gross me out, and I need it to be with someone I trust. Not a total stranger.”

I glanced around and then leaned in, keeping my voice low. “Even if the chemistry was off the charts, I know I’d still freeze up if I wasn’t comfortable with the guy. And I don’t think that would help accomplish my goal.”

Beck stared at me as if someone had put him on pause, so completely motionless I swore he’d even stopped breathing. I waited for him to say that wasn’t how it worked, or maybe give me advice on how to pick a person for a fling. Instead, he leaned in, mimicking my conspiratorial posture. “I just want to make one thing clear, and then I’ll leave you alone about this.”

My breath stuck in my lungs, thick and suffocating.

He scooted his chair closer and cupped my cheek, and my lungs gave up working altogether. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Lyla. You just haven’t been with the right person yet.”

My skin was on fire, and an ache traveled down my core.

Then trays of food were slid in front of me, a variety of colors and textures I didn’t recognize.

Beck’s fingertips dragged across my skin as he slowly lowered his hand, leaving a tingly trail of heat. He gave me a reassuring smile that only deepened my conflicted feelings about him yet somehow calmed me as well, thanked our waitress, and picked up his chopsticks.

He snagged one of the circular pieces with rice and colored sushi inside a green wrap. “Try this one first.” He extended it to me, his gaze steady on mine. “Trust me.”

…

I flinched, grabbing onto Beck’s arm as the fight on the ice escalated. I’d stood with him and the rest of the crowd watching the hockey game, but hadn’t expected the bombs the players threw at each other. The crowd cheered, egging on the Bruins player, who was landing way more punches than the guy from the Canadiens.

“Aren’t the refs gonna stop it?” I yelled over the noise.

“They will when one of them hits the ground,” Beck said. My confusion must’ve showed on my face because he added, “The fights are half the fun.”

“Yeah, if you’re not the one being punched.”

He laughed. “You take some, you give some. It all works out.”

The fight wrapped up and the refs sent the players to their respective penalty boxes. As Beck and I settled back into our plastic seats that always squeaked a bit when they went up and down, he shot me a smile. “I thought you wanted to yell about smashing faces. What? Change your mind about liking it rough?”

My cheeks heated, and even Beck flushed once he realized what he’d said. “I mean…” He gave a half laugh, half cough. “Anyway.” He pushed his fist to his mouth and shook his head.

I bumped him with my shoulder. “I like the checking and the shoving, but I’m not so sure about the punching. That one player was bleeding.”

Beck shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.

I pulled the coat he’d lent me tighter—I’d been a bit distracted by the overabundant awkwardness and embarrassment as we’d left my apartment, and had totally forgotten mine. His was cozy and smelled like him, which was comforting and torturous all at the same time. “Have you left the ice bleeding before?”

“Yeah, it happens once in a while. But I’ve still got all my teeth.” He flashed me an over-the-top grin. “And only a few scars.” He rubbed at his eyebrow, and I leaned closer to examine the raised white skin cutting across it. “There are times I can hardly move the next day, but that’s part of the fun.”

“Fun? And what about fights off the ice? Are those fun, too?”

“I don’t get into those if I can help it—I like to get it all out on the ice. But make no mistake, I’d win. Wherever the fight went down.” He bumped his shoulder into me, the way I’d done to him, and I couldn’t help returning his smile.

Somewhere between starting my crazy bucket list and here, he’d begun to let me in, little by little. I was gradually getting to know the real Beck, and he was even more awesome than the guy I’d known the past several months. Going to his favorite restaurant and having him explain every dish made me feel like I knew him better, too—I liked how excited he got when he told me what raw fish I had to try next, and how proud he was when I gave it a thumbs-up instead of a thumbs-down. Apparently I was more of a beginner level with the “barely sushi” California rolls coming in as my favorite.

Then there was being here with him, watching his face light up during the fast breaks and noticing the way his brow would crinkle when the Bruins lost the puck. He also gripped the armrests whenever things around the goal turned intense. I doubted he’d brought any of his string of girls to an NHL game, but maybe that was just my wishful thinking. Either way, the passion shining in his eyes made it clear how much he loved the sport.

---