Page 35 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

“That’s crap,” I said, pissed she’d blame herself. She deserved better—much, much better. “He just wasn’t doing something right.”

“We tried a lot of things, and…” She shook her head again, still not looking at me. “Can we not talk about this? I knew I shouldn’t have typed it up. So stupid,” she muttered under her breath.

I hated that she wouldn’t look at me. This was supposed to be a kicked-back night where everything else in our life didn’t exist—that was why our Sundays together were so important.

So I tried to focus on why I’d come here. Sushi dinner and then hockey. Not to think of all the ways I could ensure Lyla enjoyed herself, starting with kissing that spot where her neck and shoulder met and working my way down. I jammed my hands into my pockets and let out a long exhale—not that it did much to cool my revved up condition.

“Let’s go, then,” I said. She finally looked at me, the embarrassment in her features clear. She nodded, told Einstein to be good, and then we headed out of her apartment. As I walked after her, I noticed the strip of skin, equally enticing from the back. The curve of her ass. How sexy her neck was with the hair swept off it.

The urge to touch her overwhelmed me, and finally I gave in, putting my hand on her back as I opened the passenger door for her. I spread my fingers more than necessary, sliding a couple just under the hem of her T-shirt.

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and my pants were getting tighter by the second.

I had a feeling that for the rest of the night, it was going to be next to impossible to stop thinking about number seven.

Chapter Nineteen

Lyla

As soon as the hostess sat us in the restaurant, I stole a peek at Beck. He’d hardly said a word since we’d left my apartment.

I’m such an idiot. I never should’ve put number seven on there.

How was I supposed to know he’d come into my room? Usually he just texted me to say he was in the parking lot. He’d been standing there in his black Henley, letting Einstein rub hair on it, and I’d thought it was possibly the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

Now I could hardly look at him. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t immediately shut down the conversation. It was like my mouth thought explaining would make it better, when it ended up doing what it did best instead: made things a hundred times more awkward.

I wanted to hide in a dark hole and never come out, but the only thing I had near me was a menu. Unfortunately it was one of those skinny ones that didn’t make a good cover. My heart seized as I caught sight of the prices.

“It’s on me,” Beck said, and I wondered if I was really so easy to read. “Get whatever you want.”

No matter how many times I read the menu, nothing sank in, so I dropped it on the table. “It’s all weird with us now. The silence is killing me.”

“It’s not weird,” he said. I raised an eyebrow, and he sighed. “It doesn’t have to be weird.” He reached out and put his hand over mine. “I’ll admit I was a little…shocked. But now I want to enjoy dinner and the hockey game. I’m gonna teach you how to talk trash, remember?”

I nodded, thinking about how warm his hand was and the way it totally enveloped mine, while wishing I could stop the constant thoughts like that. In hindsight, choosing a hot-yet-smart hockey player for a friend might not have been the best choice. I mean, there was only so long I could resist that combo, right? But that just brought me to thinking about how much he meant to me, and how lost I would’ve been my entire first year of college if I hadn’t met him. “Swear it’s not going to be weird now.”

Did he mean to brush his thumb over my knuckles? My pulse didn’t mean to leap over it. “Stop saying the word weird. It’s weird,” he added in a teasing tone.

I bit back a smile.

“Now, tell me about the dancing,” he said, sliding his hand off mine and over to his side of the table. His finger tapped against the shiny wood and I had trouble not focusing on the motion and the way it made the muscle in his forearm jump. “Did you make out with any strangers? Or was that a one-time thing?”

Talking. Normal. I could do this. I forced my gaze up to his face and took a quick fortifying breath. “Whitney and I got up on the bar for a couple of songs. The guys went crazy when we danced together. They kept yelling for us to kiss.”

Beck’s hand knocked into his water glass, and he barely caught it from spilling.

“We didn’t do it,” I said. “Jeez, what is it with guys? I’m your friend, and even you’re drooling over the idea.”

“You’re my friend who happens to be pretty and female. You do realize being your friend doesn’t mean I don’t have a penis?”

I exhaled, deciding it was best not to respond to that—his clear blue eyes, the scruff, and that little indentation in his cheek when he smiled were getting to me plenty without thinking about involving other body parts. So there’d be no fixating on how I could see the hint of definition in his chest even through his shirt, or how firm those muscles felt under my hands the night of the party. How they’d look and feel without the shirt in the way…

Damn it,notgoing there, remember?

I cleared my throat.Where were we again? Oh, yeah, the other night at the bar.“As for the making out with strangers, that was a one-time thing. Jeff keeps texting, and I feel bad, but I’ve been ignoring him—the kissing was just so awful.”

“Yeah, he’d probably not be a good choice for number seven either.”

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