Page 37 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

“Is this what you want to do?” I asked. “Play for the NHL?”

The happiness in his expression faded. “It’s not in the cards.”

“It’s not Vegas. If you want it, you make your own luck.”

“It doesn’t always work that way.”

The raw pain in his voice scraped at me. I didn’t understand, and I wished he would explain, although I knew he wouldn’t—he was shutting down. Letting the mask descend. Maybe if I really pushed, but the last time I had, he’d told me about his parents. I assumed that had something to do with his statement, and it made me even more curious, but I wanted him to go back to being happy.

So when one of the Bruins players scored, I screamed, “Suck it, Canadiens!” I turned to Beck. “Was that good trash talk?”

Beck draped his arm around my shoulders and curled me close. His scruffy chin brushed my cheek as he said, “Cutest trash talker ever.”

A pleasant shiver ran down my spine, and I started wondering if something was happening between us. We were closer than we’d ever been, but I had trouble gauging if that meant we were moving beyond friends. If he felt the pull between us and the same desire to be more.

Hope was so dangerous. It beckoned to me now, whispering to just let go with the guy whose breath was warming my neck. Be bold. Twist my face a couple of inches so that our lips met.

But if I jumped and discovered no safety net waited for me at the bottom, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get back up.

Chapter Twenty

Beck

Lyla and I had been missing each other all week. Either I was busy with practice, classes, and games—we had one on both Friday and Saturday this week—or she had study groups or projects due. After spending so much time together the previous few weeks, the days without her seemed especially long and boring. Coach was pushing us extra hard lately, too, so add being able to hardly move to the list that was making everything suck.

All I wanted to do was soak my sore muscles and see Lyla. If she said she was busy, I was going to drive over and tell her it was too bad as I hauled her out of her apartment—that like it or not, I needed her.

Figured I’d go for the subtler, asking nicely method first, though.

Me:I’m gonna soak in the hot tub before our movie. Grab your swimsuit and meet me ASAP

Lyla:Be right there.

Me:Smiley face. LOL. Other required text things

Lyla:(_E=MC2_) Do you know what that means?

I stared at it. Obviously it was Einstein. Energy.Is she asking if I have energy? Saying I don’t? Saying she doesn’t? Or that she does?

Me:Tell me, Einstein

Lyla:Smartass

For a second, I thought she meant I was a smartass for calling her Einstein. Then I realized she meant the original text, although she’d probably say it applied to both. I grinned like an idiot, thinking she couldn’t get here fast enough. The girl was like crack for good moods, and I desperately needed a fix.

I tugged off my clothes and changed into my swim trunks. Thanks to being rammed into the goalpost during last night’s game, a large bruise had formed down my left side. I’d still sent the puck across the line, so that was all that really mattered.

The complex I lived in had an indoor pool and hot tub, which was especially nice in the winter. I made my way down to it, and had only been soaking for about ten minutes when Lyla showed up. She tossed me a quick “Hey” and started peeling off layers. First her coat, then her T-shirt. The bikini top was brightly colored and gloriously tiny, with a beaded bow in the center that begged to be untied. Good thing the jets covered me from the waist down right now, becauseholy shit. She shimmied out of her pants and I got lightheaded.

This wasn’t exactly the relaxing soak I’d planned—not that I was complaining. She wound her hair into a bun—she actually had an elastic band to secure it this time—and stepped down the stairs, hissing when the water hit her skin. “Hot.”

Yes, yes you are.

“I was feeling bold when I got this swimsuit—or thinking I wanted to be, anyway—but I’m starting to rethink if it was a good idea.” She looked down at her perfect breasts. “I feel like I’m one wrong movement away from a wardrobe malfunction.”

She was trying to kill me now, I was sure of it. Surely she couldn’t be that oblivious to the fact that I’d had trouble not staring at her lately. Not to mention the way I couldn’t keep my hands to myself whenever she was around. Even now, my brain spun for an excuse to touch her.

If she’d noticed, she certainly didn’t show it. She sat next to me and started talking about her week and classes, and I tried to follow, but really all I could do was stare, mesmerized by the water clinging to her skin. When I reached over to grab my bottle of Gatorade, Lyla moved closer and put her hand on my side. “What happened?”

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