Page 2 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

Chapter Two

Beck

My lips hovered over Monica’s as I debated my next move. I’d ignored my ringing phone, because, well, I had my hands full with Monica. The knock on the door wasn’t quite as easy to ignore, especially when accompanied by Lyla’s voice.

“Beck, are you home? I’m having a bit of an emergency.”

As soon as I sat back on the couch, Monica’s eyes flashed. “Are youkiddingme?”

Was I? Shit, I was as revved up as she was, but what was I supposed to do? Leave Lyla out on my doorstep? When it came to her, “a bit of an emergency” could be that she’d gotten a B, there was a cat in need of saving, or a slasher was after her. She really only spoke in one level, and that was “quiet.” “Give me just a sec.”

Monica gripped my shirt and ran her tongue over my jaw, which I’m sure she thought was sexy, but left me feeling like I’d been licked by a Labrador. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Much-needed cool air hit me as soon as I opened the door. Lyla stood on the walkway, arms wrapped around herself. She didn’t have on a coat, just a long-sleeved shirt and one of her multi-colored scarves. “Hey, I’m kinda busy,” I said. “Can we—”

I froze at the sight of her splotchy tear-streaked cheeks. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

She shook her head and blew out a white puff of air. “Not physically, anyway.”

I glanced from her to Monica, who was draped across the couch, wearing only her bra and jeans. Damn, she was gonna be pissed.

Lyla glanced inside and her eyes went wide. “You’re obviously busy—I knew you would be. It’s nothing, really. I’ll just see you tomorrow for movie night, ’kay?” She turned to go, and I reached out and caught her arm.

“Come on inside.” There was no way I could focus now. Sure, it’d only take a few minutes to get back into things with Monica, but I’d worry about Lyla off and on all night. Somewhere along the way, I’d started to feel responsible for her, and if anyone hurt her, I’d personally hunt them down.

After I closed the door behind us, bringing this Saturday night to a three-way kind of sitch—and not the good kind—I ran a hand through my hair. “Uh, Monica, we’re going to have to catch up another time.”

The girl looked Lyla up and down with a disgusted scowl on her face that screamedYou’re choosingheroverme? and it suddenly got that much easier to say good-bye.

“In your dreams, asshole,” she spat at me as she walked past. So no love lost there. I still walked her out, even though my thighs burned from tonight’s game, and it involved too many stairs, because I like to think I’m at least half a gentleman.

When I got back inside, Lyla looked up from her spot on the couch. “How’d the flavor of the week take it?”

I flopped next to her, flinching when I bumped the side where I’d been checked earlier tonight. Dude thought he was real tough, but I ended up with the puck and the score—it made any resulting bruises worth it. “Actually, I met herthreeweekends ago, thank-you-very-much.”

“Ooh, a repeat offender. I’m impressed.”

“I can hear you judging me. Pretty harsh after the cock blocking. Guess I’ll just have to make do with you.” I leaned toward her, mouth open as wide as I could get it, tongue out.

“Ew!” She laughed and shoved me away. Good. She was smiling now. The sad face was killing me. But all too soon, it was back. If it were anyone else, I would run as far as I could go to keep from discussing emotions or getting into whatever had made her cry. But Lyla was my girl, and like I said, I felt responsible for her. Probably because hanging with her was always easy—the break from life I occasionally needed—and I didn’t have many close friends who knew me as well as she did. I liked it that way, and honestly, I wasn’t sure how she’d managed to get in so easily.

“Spill it.”

She ran her palms down her thighs, focusing on the motion. “I got set up on a date tonight. Or more like I was the sixth wheel pity-date option.”

“Sixth wheel?” I asked.

She told me about the set-up, the drinking, and when she looked down and whispered the part about some asshole calling her fugly and boring, I clenched my fists, wanting to find the guy and use them on him. “I just don’t think I can go back tonight.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Can I crash on your couch?”

“You know you can. Anytime.” Over the past few months I’d forgotten how fragile she could be. She had no problem speaking her mind around me anymore, but it’d taken a while, and sometimes I worried people would take advantage of her. I’d never expected someone to go out of his way to be outright mean, though. “That guy was wrong, Lyla. He’s clearly a giant douche.”

She unwound the scarf from her neck and tossed it aside. Then she pulled her light brown waves into a messy bun, took a pencil off the side table, and shoved it through her hair to secure it in place. “I don’t think I’m quite as bad as fugly, but I am plain. And I am boring. All I ever do is study. Just like I did in high school. I thought I’d go to college and live in a big city, and things would be different. Only everyone else is different, and I’m as awkward and nerdy as ever. That whole things-get-better-after-high-school is total crap.”

I didn’t even know where to start with that. Seemed like a lot of landmines that could explode if I said the wrong thing.

“I’m sick of it, Beck. I don’t want to do the safe thing anymore just because I’m too afraid to try anything else.” Resolve set into her features—it was the same look she got when we were solving difficult chemistry equations last semester, or when one of our labs didn’t go quite right and we needed to figure out why. She got scary-focused sometimes. “It’s time for a change. Time to let loose a little. I’m in my second semester of college, and I haven’t done anything you’re supposed to do. Like get so drunk you puke and don’t remember the rest of the night.”

“Overrated, I swear.”

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