Page 6 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

“Okay, no pressure and all, but you’re kinda one of my only friends here. And I don’t need someone who knows fashion—I need aguy’sopinion. I want to know what guys prefer for girls to wear, versus what they hate. Like, turtlenecks, or whatever.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Yeah, turtlenecks are a no.”

“See,” she said. “You know the important stuff. And if I try on something that guys usually like, but I can’t pull off, I need you to tell me that, too. You always give it to me straight.”

Not turning that “give it to me straight” comment into an innuendo wasn’t easy, but I let it go. She’d probably be horrified or smack me, and while she was trying to act like this was totally normal, I could tell by the slight hitch in her voice and the way her eyes never landed on anything for more than a couple seconds that she was getting overwhelmed.

“It’s pretty simple, actually,” I said. “Guys like seeing girls’ bodies. Accentuate what you got, hide what you don’t. Lesser men might be intimidated by all of your layers and colors—I personally find them charming.”

“But you don’t want to date me, either.” She waved her hands. “Not that I want to date you. We’re, like, nonentities to each other. I get that, and that’s what’s so great about us. I’m just saying that I’m glad you find them charming, but I want to see if I can make a guy stop and stare here and there. I want to use what I got.”

I exhaled, feeling totally out of my league. The foreboding prickling sensation warned me I was getting sucked into a conversation where I’d inevitably say the wrong thing. “Well, what do you got, then?”

She took a step toward me. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

Honestly, I’d never looked at her like that. I mean, of course there was the general noticing that she had nice ivory skin, a cute little nose, and a really great smile. There was also something hot-librarian about when she wore her glasses and had her hair in a bun. But she wasn’t a hookup type of girl, and when I’d met her, she’d talked about Miles. Alot. It was one reason I hadn’t hesitated to have her over to study at my place.

One day she noticedThe HangoverDVD on my entertainment center, remarked that she hadn’t seen it, and I insisted we watch it. The next week she suggested a movie, and even brought over a carton of ice cream. From there, we started our Sunday night ritual. For so long, she’d been a—as she put it—“nonentity,” that I hadn’t thought about what kind of body she was hiding underneath her many layers of clothes since I’d first met her.

I grabbed a few short skirts and skimpy tops and thrust them at her. “Put these on and we’ll see.”

She glanced at what I’d grabbed, changed the sizes out, and headed to the dressing room.

My phone rang, and I pulled it out of my pocket, thinking it was Monica, and already trying to come up with an excuse for why I’d blown her off.

But it wasn’t Monica. It was the only other girl on the planet I’d ever let drag me to a mall.

Chapter Five

Lyla

They always say dressing rooms have the worst lighting and mirrors, and right now, I was hoping whoever “they” were, knew what they were talking about. Why wouldn’t stores invest in fabulous lighting and mirrors that smoothed out flaws? Wouldn’t that sell more clothes?

“Lyla?” It was Beck, obviously. I’d heard him talking on the phone a moment ago, although I couldn’t make out the words. Whoever it was, she’d immediately gotten a sweet tone I’d never heard him use before.

“Just a second,” I called, tugging at the hemline of the skirt. If guys wanted to see girls’ bodies, well, this getup certainly accomplished that. I hadn’t worn a skirt that didn’t brush my ankles since a band concert in high school that required boring black and knee-length. This one was black, showed off lots of thigh, and was more adventurous than boring—the adventure being maybe I’d accidentally flash everyone. Wahoo!

The beaded purple top scooped low, showing off quite a bit of cleavage. And by quite a bit, I meanholy hell balls, that’s a lot of boobage. I had a lot of it to show off, too, which, trust me, I wasn’t one to brag about. I’d actually wished for not-so-much many times through the years, but especially when I was younger and they were the bane of my existence.

When I’d suddenly developed at eleven, way before the rest of my friends, my mom freaked out and bought me lots of super high-necked shirts and jackets. Since she made a point to always tell me—with a frown on her face, no less—if there was even a hint of cleavage or if my shirt was “so tight it’s graphic,” it only added to the stress. She warned me guys would think I was older, and that I’d have to be careful. Didn’t want to give them the wrong idea. Didn’t want to make myself a target. I heard about it so much that I got paranoid about it. Then I found scarves, and they at least made my boring, high-necked T-shirts look cuter.

“I’m sorry to do this,” Beck said through the door, “but something came up. I need to go.”

The girl who’d been on the phone. My heart dropped. Of course he’d choose her over helping me shop. I didn’t blame him, but it still stung a little—didn’t he get how important this was to me? I stripped off the revealing clothes and started to pull my long sweater and leggings back on.

“If you want to keep shopping, maybe Whitney could come get you? Or you can catch the bus?” His voice got closer, and I saw his Adidas under the stall. “I know that sucks, though, and I swear I wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t important.”

Maybe I wasn’t the only damsel currently in distress that Beck had to attend to. For all I knew he had needy friends like me spread across campus—he rarely talked about anything but hockey, with the occasional remark about his classes, but I knew he had more than that going on.

“Maybe I’ll just catch the bus, then. It’s not that far of a ride to my apartment.” I cracked open the door, wishing I’d left the outfit on so he could’ve told me if it was a go or not. He looked a little paler than usual, and the lines in his forehead were creased. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, no worries.” His attempted smile didn’t fully catch hold. He glanced at the discarded skirt and shirt bunched up on the floor. “How’d they look?”

“Skimpy.”

“Well, that’s the opposite of nice and sweet. I say go with it. Just act confident and you can pull off anything.”

“Confidence.” I gave one sharp nod, even though confidence had always been a hard thing for me when it came to anything besides school. “Got it.”

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