Page 17 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

Momentary attraction aside, I’d say last night had been a success. I’d hit a huge party and had fun, even if the last half was a bit blurred—very college, if I do say so myself. With two items checked off the list, I was feeling pretty good about life. As for finding a cute boy to make out with, there was this total hottie who always studied at the same spot in the library. I’d wanted to approach him a dozen times, but hadn’t been able to work up the courage.

This afternoon, I was going to walk right up to him and put Beck’s flirting tips to good use.

Chapter Ten

Beck

I was so full I could hardly move, but my giant “works” breakfast with double the pancakes was probably all I’d eat until after the game. It was already getting to be late in the day, and nothing was worse than skating on a too-full stomach. Not to mention how my gut always churned before a big game. I thought I’d get over it in time, but for about an hour leading up to every single game, I was sure I was going to puke.

Then I’d get onto the ice, adrenaline would take over, and I’d be fine. I opened the passenger door of the Land Rover for Lyla. Luckily things were back to normal between us today. It helped that she wasn’t constantly knocking against me, making it impossible to not think about her curves. Last night when she’d bumped her hips into mine on the dance floor, my body had reacted in all the wrong ways. She’d been so cute, singing the wrong lyrics as she swung her hair and bounced around. Not like I could help that it’d turned me on, and I’d kept thinking,Any second she’s going to call me on it.

Hopefully she’d been too drunk to notice, or had blanked out that part of the night. Still, right before I closed the door, I took another look at her sexy legs. Toned thighs that led to perfectly curved calves and a whole lot of creamy soft skin.

Combine that and the fact that she had the morning-after look, was it any wonder the waiter had flashed me a thumbs-up when he took the menus from us?

“Why didn’t you tell me I had syrup on my face?” Lyla asked when I settled behind the steering wheel. Her tongue darted out, licking the corner of her lip. I went to put the key in the ignition and missed.

What the hell was wrong with me? This was what I got for ignoring Monica’s calls and going around half-cocked.

Finally I got the key in the right place and made it to Lyla’s apartment complex. As she started out of the car, I remembered what she’d said about the game. “Wait. You want me to get you a ticket to the game?”

“Can’t I get one there?”

“It’s easier to get one ahead.” She probably didn’t know how expensive they were, either. Or where to sit. I took out my phone and pulled up the site to order tickets to the game at Kelley Rink. “I’ll get it. You have ink in your printer?”

She nodded. “But you don’t have t—”

“Already done.” A seat next to our bench was even available. Better yet, with my attention on my phone, I could keep myself from checking out Lyla for the hundredth time. “I’ll forward you the email. Just print it and bring it to the game. And if you get too busy, no worries. I know how caught up you get in studying.”

“Thanks, Beck. And thanks again for last night.” The grin she shot me showed off that dimple I was suddenly noticing every few seconds. Had it always been there? “See you later.”

I nodded and refocused on my phone’s screen. I forwarded the email with the tickets and waited until she was safely inside before heading home to study.

It only took thirty minutes to realize I was never going to ace my economics class. At this point, I’d be happy with a C. I liked my science classes, but when it came to the business ones, my brain shut down. I fought the urge to throw the textbook across the room. I imagined how satisfying the loud smack would be as it hit the wall, and even better, if it broke the spine and made the nonsense-filled pages scatter across the floor.

But then I’d have to gather them and try to put the book back together. It definitely wouldn’t get me any closer to passing the class.

If I can’t even get through the beginner business classes, how am I going to get through them when they get more complicated? And how am I going to take over a company when I clearly fail at comprehending the principles it’s founded on?

I got supply and demand, but once you threw in graphs and analyzing data, my mind drifted to hockey plays and formations.

I closed the textbook and tossed it aside, the thump against the coffee table only mildly satisfying. For something that supposedly ran in my blood, I sure sucked at it. The blood carrying that knowledge needed to find its way to my brain, preferably sometime before I turned twenty-one.

Hopefully hands-on training will give me the skills I need, because this isn’t working, and with the Davenport name on the line, and Megan relying on me, failure isn’t an option.

I walked to the fridge and stared inside. I’d already had soda last night, and for the most part, I avoided it, since drinking too much tended to leave me gassed during practice and games.

Apple juice and water were the options I had, and I needed more than H2O.

Great, now I’m referring to it as H2O, the way Lyla always does.I smiled as I poured myself a glass of juice, remembering when she and I had been doing one of our first labs, and she’d turned to me and said, “I’m sure you heard about the two guys who tried to order water at the bar.”

I’d assured her I had no idea what she was talking about, and then she’d bit her lip, looking like she’d changed her mind about telling me the story. But once I nudged her and said, “You can’t leave me in suspense like that,” she pushed her safety goggles up her nose, carefully filled a beaker with hydrogen peroxide, and said, “Two men walked into a bar. The first one said, ‘I’ll have some H2O.’ The second guy said, ‘I’ll have some H2O, too.’ The second guy died. Obviously.” Her gaze flicked to me. “You know. ’Cause…” She lifted the hydrogen peroxide, clearly afraid I hadn’t gotten it.

“Because drinking hydrogen peroxide—H2O2—would be bad,” I’d said, so she knew I understood.

She beamed at me. “Right!” Then her smile faltered and she shook her head. “I know it’s lame. I just…” She shrugged. “Couldn’t help myself. Got the potassium permanganate?”

I handed it over with a cheesy remark about double bonds, and things went from carefully cautious and reserved to joking and chatting as we worked our way through the experiments. Science wasn’t the only thing she made corny jokes about, either. Once she found out I played hockey, she started making puck jokes. She’d greet me with a, “Hey! What the puck’s going on?” Or “How did we manage to puck up that experiment?”

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