Page 52 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

He seemed to be lost in reverie for a moment, but then his eyes refocused, the happiness in his features fading quickly. He returned his attention to the closet, so I took the chance to look around and see if I could figure out what high-school-Beck was like.

Hockey posters lined the walls—no surprise there. I leaned closer to the two framed pictures on the dresser. A team photo with Beck in the middle, his cute face easy to spot in the crowd, and one of him alone in his uniform, early high school years from the looks of it. His grin showed off braces.

“Just when I’d come up with the perfect plan to sneak in my girlfriend so we could”—Beck made air quotes—“‘take things to the next level,’ she decided to leave me for Dale Buchanan. He played polo.”

I turned away from the line of trophies I was studying. “Polo? Is that supposed to be more impressive than hockey?”

“Apparently it’s classier.”

Beck came up with a pair of skates and two hockey sticks. I stared at my hockey player boyfriend—er, friend—and tried to imagine him playing polo instead. I’m sure it was a fine game and all, but it wasn’t my Beck. And regardless of labels, he was mine. “Clearly, she was an idiot. I prefer guys with scars and imminent teeth loss in their future.”

Beck flashed his perfect pearly whites at me. “I’ll see about knocking one out next game.” Then the same misery-filled expression he’d had in the car when he’d talked about giving up hockey returned.

“College or not, you’ve got to keep playing. However you can.” I took his hand and squeezed it. “Promise me.”

“I’m playing now, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but I’m suggesting a league where you might win once in a while.”

His laugh echoed through me, leaving me so happy I practically skipped down the stairs. Within a few minutes, we stood across from each other on the cement hockey court, a puck between the hockey sticks in our hands.

I was pretty sure I was about to make a fool of myself, but the thing about embarrassing yourself a lot is you get a little numb to it. Plus, Beck already knew I was coordinationally challenged.

“Go!” I shouted, and slapped at the puck. I took off after it, Beck right next to me. We skated back and forth, the hockey sticks crashing as we fought for the puck. Beck got control and blocked every one of my attempts to steal it. Damn boy and his skills. I skated backward, waiting to make my move. When he lifted his stick, readying to take a swing for a goal, I flew forward and slammed my body into his, thinking I’d impress him with my checking skills.

Only then I was falling back, dropping my stick to grasp at air. Beck caught my arm just before I went down, making me land with more of an easy skid on my butt than a tailbone-fracturing slam—good thing I’d worn jeans today.

He hovered over me. “You okay?”

I groaned. “You couldn’t have wobbled a little?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so used to catching the impact—thatwasan impact, right?”

I slapped his arm, and he laughed before yanking me to my feet.

“Your skating is truly impressive, though. Didn’t expect it, Wilder.” He punctuated the statement with a smack on the butt. Guess he thought he’d give me the full jock experience. He retrieved the puck and batted it back and forth with his stick. “Ready for round two?”

It took me five attempts, and I suspected Beck didn’t pursue the fast break quite as hard as he could’ve, but I finally managed to send one into the goal. I threw my hands up in the air and screamed, that loud victory yell that I’d heard sporty type people do but never had much use for.

Beck scooped me up and spun me around.

I clung to him, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. “Don’t drop me, okay?”

“What do you think I am? An amateur?” He skated over to the edge of the court and slowly set me down, his hands lingering on the sides of my waist. “Thanks, Ly. I needed that.”

My heart turned over in my chest. “Me, too.” I shook my bangs out of my eyes. “So, whaddya think? Do I have a future in the NHL?”

“Yes.” He pulled me against him and lowered his mouth to mine, teasing my lips with his tongue. “Maybe just on the sidelines, cheering me on, though.”

It was an offhand comment, but it was talk of the future, and it sent a spark of hope through me. Surely I wasn’t the only one who was falling. Even if he wasn’t in love with me yet, I’d take the possibility of it.

His phone rang and he dug it out, keeping his other hand on the curve of my butt. He muttered a few answers and then looked at me and said, “Actually, don’t worry about us for dinner. I think Lyla and I are going to stay here tonight.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know, Aunt Tessa. I’ll be there.” Pause. “I have an alarm on my phone, and I’ve managed to get to places on time by myself for years. I’m sure.”

When he hung up, he smiled at me, and the tenderness in his eyes stole the breath from my lungs. “I hope you’re okay with staying here overnight. Seems sad for my bedroom to never see any action.” He pushed his fingers through my hair and wrapped his hand around my neck, his thumb resting over my rapidly accelerating pulse point. “Plus, I want to spend an entire night with you lying next to me.”

I tipped onto my toes and pressed my lips to his, thinkingIt’s happening! It’s happening!“Sounds perfect.”

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