Page 31 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

I rolled my eyes and pushed past him, over to the bar. There was a guy sitting on a stool, sipping what I’d guess was whiskey. Ordering a drink and having the bartender card me seemed too intimidating, but I had another idea for getting what I wanted.

My feminist values screamed at the thought, but when you think about it, using whatever tools I had at my fingertips to get what I wanted was really a way of being in control, right? I leaned on the bar, keeping my arms in tight, so that my cleavage was fully on display. “Order me a drink?”

The guy glanced up, and a creeper smile spread across his face. Ew. I’d already committed, though, and even more surprising, it worked. After a few minutes of small talk and my feminist side—along with all of my other sides—deciding not to do that ever again, I had a Long Island iced tea in hand. As I made my way over to the table where my roommate and her gang were, my phone rang.

Beck’s name flashed across the display.

“Hey,” I answered, sure the grin on my face was a giddy, twitterpated grin.

“Hey, I’ve got to talk to you about tomorrow night.”

My heart dropped. He was cancelling movie night again. The outings to cross off list items had been fun, but I missed our low-key nights. “I-I understand. You’ve been spending all your free time with me, and I’m sure you’ve got other things to do.”

“I’m not cancelling,” he said. “I just thought we might do something new. The Bruins have a game, and I was thinking of getting tickets. You want to go with me? See how the pros play?”

My heart climbed back up to where it should be, and now it was fluttering on top of all the moving around. “Yeah, that sounds awesome. Can you teach me to yell things? I wanna yell things, but I don’t want to sound stupid. Like when you were playing, I wanted to be all, ‘Smash his face into the glass! Trip him!’ But then I thought those probably weren’t nice things to scream, and I should be giving more game strategy advice from the stands like the rest of the people.”

“I’ll teach you the right things to yell,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “But I like the one about smashing faces into glass.”

“Good to know. How’d your game go this afternoon, by the way? Smash any faces?” It’d started at four, and I’d meant to look up the score, but was sure if I did, I’d end up calling him to either congratulate or console him.

“Did lots of smashing, scored a few points, only had to sit in the penalty box once, and we won by two, so I’m riding a nice high.” That meant smiling happy Beck. Or maybe it’d be closed off Beck like last Saturday’s game—not my favorite, and after our karaoke night, it’d sting a bit if I encountered that version again.

“Congrats. I had no doubt you guys would come out on top.”

“So, what are you up to tonight?” he asked.

The music picked up tempo, more people packed the bar, and according to Whitney, the dancing got into full swing about an hour from now. Plenty of time to get a nice buzz if I could find a way to do so without flashing my assets. “You know number five on my list?”

“Tattoo?” Beck asked.

I pressed my phone tighter to my ear, plugging the other so I could hear better. “That’s six. I didn’t think the karaoke dancing counted for dancing on a bar. So Whitney and I are at this dive off Beacon.”

“Oh sure, leave me behind for the bar-dancing quest. I feel slighted.”

I laughed. “I’ve made a fool of myself plenty in front of you. I thought we both could use a break.”

“You know I’m always here for you, Lyla. Whatever you need. And now I’m worried. Whitney doesn’t strike me as a reliable wingman.” His voice was so rumbly and deep that it took me a moment to catch up with what he’d actually said. I think the way he’d said my name must’ve short-circuited a few brain cells, too. It’d sounded different tonight. More…intimate.

Focus, Lyla. No imagining things that aren’t there.

I glanced at my roommate. She was on Matt’s lap, and they were kissing—nothing too graphic. They were sorta cute actually, and she looked so happy I couldn’t help but be happy for her. Maybe that didn’t make her the best wingwoman, but I knew she wouldn’t leave me stranded, and better yet, she’d dance with me as promised.

I took a big gulp of my drink now that I was thinking about my plan again.Wowza, the alcohol’s strong with this one.

I swallowed past the burning sensation and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. I’m not getting sloppy drunk tonight. I just need enough liquid courage to dance on the bar and get out of here.”

Beck was quiet so long I thought the call had disconnected. Then he said, “Watch your drink at all times. And if you need me, just call, okay?”

“Okay.” I thought about adding,Or you could just come down here now.But that wasn’t being strong and independent, and it would make it harder to meet guys who weren’t Beck. Temporary flirty fun, nothing more—those were the terms for the rest of this semester so I could accomplish everything I needed to.

I was smart enough to keep myself out of trouble, and I’d learned the skills I needed to snag the attention of a guy or two.

Keeping myself from being embarrassed?

Well, we’d see about that.

Chapter Eighteen

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