Chapter Fourteen
Beck
This week had been damn long already, and it was only Thursday. Traveling for games on a weekday nearly always messed with the rest of my schedule, but at least we’d killed Dartmouth in the game on Tuesday, and I’d managed to chat with Megan for a few minutes afterward. Apparently she’d had to put up quite a fight against being grounded to be allowed to go. Lucky for both of us, Aunt Tessa had caved when she’d claimed the game as our only family time. Or more likely, she’d caved because she knew she’d never hear the end of it.
I’d spent the last few days playing catch up, with little contact with the outside world besides classes and hockey practice. I’d nearly asked Jeff about Lyla all week, but I didn’t want to know. Not to mention it would’ve come across weird as shit.
What was even weirder, though, was that I’d met a sexy volleyball player at the campus cafeteria on Monday, and I still hadn’t texted her, despite her number sitting in my phone, just waiting to be used.
Lyla and I hadn’t talked since last Saturday night’s game, and each passing day that went by without hearing from her left me more and more on edge. Sundays were our set-aside nights, but we usually sent texts back and forth all week, and the lack of smiley faces and cat pictures from her ate at me, despite the fact that I’d been the one to purposely put space between us.
I’m just worried about her. Gotta make sure Jeff doesn’t hurt her. And that her new better-and-bolder goals don’t get too out of control.
That’s what I told myself when I texted her, anyway.
Me: How’s the party animal?
I stared at the display for a moment, about to put it in my pocket when it chimed.
Lyla: Studying like a mofo, but I need a break. Come over?
I could just imagine the way she’d say mofo—as un-gangster as possible, the words coming out with a dimpled smile.
Me: Your cat will give me hives. You come over.
Lyla: But Einstein LOVES you. Breathing’s overrated, didn’t you hear?
I was about to text “Fine,” but then my phone chimed again.
Lyla: Be there in fifteen or so :-)
Me: :{)
Lyla: WTP is that?
Me, now grinning like an idiot: Me with my sexy mustache, smiling at your smiley face.
Lyla: Mustache???
Me, making sure to outdo her punctuation by one: Hurry!!!!
Lyla: Keep your pants on, dude ;)
I laughed, all the suckiness of the week melting away. It wasn’t like my life was tragic, but I realized how much having Lyla in it broke up the monotony and kept away the sad memories that liked to emerge when it was too quiet. I wasn’t going to screw it up by not talking to her, and I wasn’t going to screw it up by crossing lines. With her dating Jeff, it’d be like when she was dating Miles—I’d go back to thinking of her as a non-option, and we could go back to our easy hangouts.
…
When I opened the door, Lyla held up a bag from Tasty Burger, my favorite burger place in the city. Must’ve been why it’d taken her so long. “Full disclosure, this is a bribe. If you take it, you’re committing to help me check off one of my list items.”
“Which one?” I asked, reaching for the bag.
She swung it away from me as she stepped inside the apartment. “I’m not saying until you decide if you’re taking the bribe.” She removed her coat, revealing a fuzzy purple sweater that hung off one shoulder and jeans so tight I could see the curve of her hips and nice ass. She unrolled the bag and tossed a fry in her mouth. “Mmm. It’s sooo good.”
“You know I could just tackle you and take it.”
She took a step back, her eyes going wide, and a predatory urge to do exactly that went through me. If it involved wrapping my arms around her and having her body pinned under mine for a few minutes, even better.
A few long strides and I was right in front of her, my steadily increasing pulse humming under my skin. She was such a little thing, really, and I towered over her. Instead of being intimidated, the way she should be, she set her chin and tucked the bag behind her back.
“Just promise. I drove all the way to Fenway for you.” Her chest rose and fell, her muscles tensing like she was preparing to dodge if she needed to.
Much longer toying with her, regardless of how fun it is, and I’m going to need to give myself the Don’t Screw It Up speech again. “Fine. I promise. Now gimme.”
A triumphant grin split her lips. She spread the food out on my coffee table and sat on the couch, a burger in hand. I already knew I’d regret agreeing to whatever it was, but I’d do it anyway, so I might as well have a burger first. She got me a double, too—I could kiss her. Metaphorically, of course.
She licked ketchup off her lip.
Maybe not so metaphorically. Time to redirect my thoughts. “So, did you get making out checked off the list?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah.”
I lowered my half-eaten burger. “You sound about as enthusiastic as if I’d asked if you’ve recently been tortured.”
She huffed out a breath and then twisted to face me. “Look, I’m sure Jeff’s a nice guy, but kissing him…well, it was kind of torture. He licked my chin, Beck. I’m traumatized for life.”
I burst out laughing, and she shoved me. “It’s not funny,” she said, but now she was laughing, too. “Please don’t tell him I said that. He’s texted a few times and I haven’t answered. I’m afraid I’ll agree to see him again, and I can’t—I just can’t. This is what I get for making the guy think all I cared about was kissing.”
Her sweater slipped farther down her shoulder, revealing a hint of a lacy black bra, and suddenly all my blood moved south. She licked at the ketchup and mayo mess that was about to drip from her burger and then took a giant bite that most girls wouldn’t attempt.
It really shouldn’t turn me on. Curiosity and want sparked and took control of my thoughts.
“Anyway,” she said, shaking her hair off her face and reaching for a napkin. “I did check it off, at least. I’m now on the karaoke portion of the list.”
“Karaoke.” The word was as effective as a cold shower.
“You already ate the food, so you’re coming. Tomorrow night. I checked your hockey schedule, too, so don’t pretend you have a game.”
“I’ll go with you and listen to you sing, but—”
“Ah! Wrong. You’re singing, too. That’s what the double patty’s for.”
There were so many arguments on the tip of my tongue, but then she reached out and ran her fingers across my jaw. “It’s really more of a scruffy beard than a mustache.”
The sensation of her fingertips on my skin made my heart skip a couple beats, and the desire returned. Leaning into her touch slightly instead of moving away felt like playing with fire, but I found myself wanting to see how close I could get to the flame without getting burned.
“I’m glad,” she continued, and maybe my imagination was getting carried away, but I swore her voice sounded breathier than usual. “Mustaches always look so pervy.” Her fingers strayed from my jawline, tracing the skin right above my top lip, and I forgot how to breathe.
The corners of her mouth lifted. “Of course, according to you, that’s just guys letting their true selves show.”
I locked eyes with her. Time to let reality creep back in—for both of us. “That’s right. You might as well know what you’re getting into if you’re still set on this quest to hit on guys. We’re the worst,” I said, making sure to lump myself in with the rest of them.
She dropped her hand and I immediately missed her touch. I’ve just gone without too long, I told myself, the same excuse I’d tried to convince myself of for over a week. But surely getting back out there would at least help take the edge off. Later tonight I’m definitely texting…whatever her name is.
Good thing I’d put it in my phone, because I couldn’t even picture the volleyball player with Lyla sitting next to me, her knee resting against my thigh. My fingers itched to brush across her exposed collarbone and trace the bra strap peeking out of her sweater. I couldn’t help wondering how she’d react. If she’d gasp. If she’d tip her head up so I’d have access to those lips…
Okay. Pulling back before I do something stupid. Way, way back.
“Luckily, karaoke requires more making a fool of myself than hitting on guys,” Lyla said, jerking me back into the conversation I forgot we were in the middle of. “Something I’m a natural at.” She took a drink of her soda, leaving peach lipstick on the straw and making it hard to keep my thoughts from returning to her lips.
The ice rattled in my cup as I lifted it to my mouth. A cold drink—that’d help.
“I think I’m going to take a mini break from adventures in flirting,” she said. “At least until after I figure out how to sexy dance on a bar.”
I nearly choked on my soda and had to force the fizzy liquid down my too-tight throat.
If I survived her college bucket list, it was going to be a fucking miracle.