Page 26 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

The ice rattled in my cup as I lifted it to my mouth. A cold drink—that’d help.

“I think I’m going to take a mini break from adventures in flirting,” she said. “At least until after I figure out how to sexy dance on a bar.”

I nearly choked on my soda and had to force the fizzy liquid down my too-tight throat.

If I survived her college bucket list, it was going to be a fucking miracle.

Chapter Fifteen

Lyla

I’d chosen a karaoke bar a ways from campus, hoping it’d prevent running into anyone I knew. A girl about my age was onstage, belting out a Kelly Clarkson song. When no one booed during her totally off-key, laughing-through-the-lyrics rendition, my muscles relaxed a fraction. All the same, I reached for Beck’s hand, needing something to hold on to.

He looked down at me, the colored overhead lights reflecting blue, yellow, and red across his skin at intervals. His face was even scruffier than it’d been yesterday, and I wanted to run my fingers across his jaw again. Feel the coarse hair against my palm. Have his breath skate across my wrist as his blue eyes pinned me in place.

My skin heated at the memory, the warmth traveling up my arm and spreading through my entire body, the same way it did yesterday. On top of the residual sensation, he curled his fingers over mine, the tight grip giving me the sense of security I needed right now.

The list must be working because I’d definitely gotten bolder, if only by a fraction. A couple of weeks ago, I would’ve never run my fingers over Beck’s whiskers or grabbed his hand, even if I thought I might pass out without it. Both times I found myself doing it before thinking and talking myself out of it.

Of course, being bold with Beck wasn’t exactly my goal—it was good training, though, being able to touch a guy without overthinking everything. Nothing more. Really it just meant I was on track, and knowing how awesome it could be with a friend made achieving my list that much more vital.

That was my story and I was sticking to it.

On the drive over, Beck had joked that he was going to add “Not singing karaoke” to his bucket list. It’d made me laugh, but as I stared at the stage and the people crowded around tables, I was thinking maybe it was the better option.

Beck squeezed my hand. “You realize you can take a few months to finish your list, right? You don’t have to do it all in a matter of weeks.”

I shook my head. “I’m already a semester behind as it is.” Plus, there was number seven to consider. I’d need items one through six to amp me up and gain enough courage to accomplish my most recent addition.

“Always the overachiever.” He was teasing, but it dug at the part of me that had to do this. I couldn’t explain the overwhelming sense of urgency that’d gripped me since deciding to make the list. If I stopped, I knew I’d never get enough momentum going again to finish. I needed to prove I could be the bold, crazy college girl before I went home and everyone tried to shove me back into the box they wanted to put me in.

Nice. Sweet. Adorable. Smart. Plain.

Talk about a yawn-fest—I almost fell asleep thinking about it.

“No going back.” Keeping my grip on Beck’s hand, I tugged him toward the front of the room. “Let’s sign up before I lose my nerve.”

Every time I picked a track from the binder of music, Beck declared it a chick song and told me to just sing it myself. Finally, I crossed my arms and stared at him. “Did you, or did you not, eat thatdoubleburger yesterday? With fries?”

He heaved a dramatic sigh. “Fine. I don’t know most of these songs, though.” He flipped the page and something about the smile he gave me made my skin prickle. “Here we go. Flo Rida ‘Right Round.’”

“You’re rapping? Wow. That’s ambitious.”

The smug smile curving his lips faded. “Like you’re really going to sing a song about a stripper.”

I lifted my chin. “Why not? Maybe I’ll even act out the motions. Do you think it’ll count as dancing on a bar, even if it’s more a stage than a bar? Maybe there’s a pole around here, too.”

His right eyebrow shot up, the shocked look on his face turning me into the smug one—I liked this side of things. “You’re not serious,” he said.

I took a step closer. “Try me.”

A competitive glint hit his eye. “I’m going to put it down on the singing list. And I’m dragging you onstage when they call our names.”

A flush of adrenaline curled its way through my body. “Oh, I’ll beat you onstage. You’ll be the one holding back.”

Beck scribbled our name on the karaoke list, along with the code for the song. Apparently, we were singing and rapping about strippers. Bold, to say the least.

Now I wished I’d ordered those striptease workout videos I’d found online. Not that I planned on actually acting out the lyrics—my current goal was to not totally choke at the singing. But maybe they would’ve given me a few mild dance moves I could use to spice up the performance and distract from the times I couldn’t quite hit the right note.

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