Page 32 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

Beck

I’d liked it better when I wasn’t spending every minute of my free time worrying about Lyla and her list. The fact that she hadn’t taken me with her tonight bothered me more than it should. Maybe she could tell I’d been thinking about her differently and she needed space.

I hope she’s not letting her grades slip.We had been going out a lot. She was out even more, apparently.What the hell? I’m worrying about her grades now?

But the real Lyla worried about her grades. She had her future mapped out, and it involved graduating with honors. She was more serious about her chemistry major than most seniors were—well, serious as in driven. She did love her cheesy jokes. I thought back to the first week I’d met her, when we were studying and she said, “Don’t you know? You can never trust atoms. They make up everything.”

I’d laughed at the stupid, super nerdy joke. Then, once I’d seen just how smart she was, and how excited she got over an experiment in lab, I thought that she’d do a better job working at the company I was going to inherit than I ever would.

All those months ago, I’d had no clue our study sessions would eventually turn into this. Whatever this was.

I considered heading to the bar, but that seemed like a total whipped guy move. Or worse, stalker. I pulled up my texts—Daniel had sent out a group message about a party his frat was having. Most of the guys would probably be there celebrating our win. I’d keep my phone on and my alcohol intake low, just in case Lyla called for backup, but I needed to get out.

Before I went and did something stupid I couldn’t take back.

…

The music was loud, the girls were hot, and the alcohol was flowing. A couple of months ago, I would’ve been in heaven. Or more than likely, I’d be minutes away from leaving with one of the Jessicas, Ashleys, or Taylors who’d come with the intention of picking up someone. Looking around at the girls here, each one bleeding into the next, I kept thinking they paled in comparison to Lyla. And for some reason, she wanted to be one of them. All because some prick had insulted her instead of taking a few seconds to see how beautiful and amazing she was.

A leggy blonde smiled at me. Maybe now I was being the prick who was judging these girls without giving them a chance. And what did I care if they had a great personality? I wasn’t into relationships anyway.

Returning her smile, I approached. “Hi, there. I’m Beck.”

“Taylor.”

What a surprise.I told myself to stop being an ass and dove into the small talk. She was a sophomore, in Si Beta Something-or-other, and majoring in communication. When I told her I played hockey, she said shelovedhockey. So I asked her what her favorite team was, and she said, “Well, I’m from Florida.”

“Oh, so the Lightning or the Panthers?”

A hint of panic crept into her features. Clearly, she’d exaggerated how much shelovedhockey. Not that I really cared.

“I guess it’s more like I love hockey players, because they’re so hot.” She leaned against me and ran her hand down my chest, sticking out her lips.

Maybe what I needed to fix my sudden inability to not think about Lyla was a blond girl who loved hockey players. I was considering kissing her when my phone chimed. “’Scuse me for a second.”

Her lips stuck out farther, into the duckface range. “Don’t be too long.”

I dug my phone out of my pocket and took a step away when I saw Lyla’s name on the screen.

Lyla:You’ll never guess which song’s playing.

Me:Well don’t leave me in suspense you tease

Lyla:You should be here to rap it. Flo Rida says all the words and it’s sooo pretentious.

I grinned, and then I was thinking about her dancing against me, a sexy blush on her cheeks.

Me:Are you dancing on the bar?

Lyla:No dancing yet. Maybe it’s a stupid idea. The girls up there look so desperate.

Me:Just do it. You’ll regret it if you don’t

I knew it meant guys would be ogling her and trying to ply her with alcohol and dance with her for the rest of the night, but I also knew she’d feel like she failed at one of her goals if she didn’t go through with it. Plus, it’d make me a douche if I kept her from meeting guys while I was here chatting up girls. So instead, I’d just be a friend who hated the thought of guys putting their hands on her. The kind of hate that’d fester and grow if I let myself think too long about it, so I lowered my phone, intending to get back to the party. But then it chimed again.

Lyla:I wish you were here.

My heart tugged at the words, and for a moment I just stared, memorizing the way they looked. If I were there, I could be cheering her on and standing close enough to provide a safe barrier.Icould be the one dancing with her afterward, her hips bumping mine as she belted out the wrong words to the song.

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