Chapter Twenty-Three
Lyla
I stood in front of my closet, surveying the contents and trying to mentally put an outfit together. It’s not like I’m his girlfriend, so it doesn’t matter what I wear.
Over the past few weeks, I’d had a lot of mind-blowing sex. Once in a while I’d get caught up in thinking about Beck, and admittedly they weren’t always just-friends or just-sex-buddies thoughts. Now he’d asked me to go to a party the hockey team was throwing, and anxiety churned through me, along with question after question.
Would he hold my hand?
Kiss me?
Hit on other girls in front of me? Man, that’d suck.
Just remember, no matter what happens, he thinks I’m sexy. A calm washed over me. He liked me for me, and he’d never cared much what other people thought. I did know he had a thing for skirts, though, so I pulled on the short lavender lace one I’d bought during my last shopping excursion—I was definitely going to need a summer job to pay off that credit card—along with a white tank top and a dark purple beaded necklace.
As I was deciding yay or nay on a shimmery silver headband, my phone rang. Last minute I decided yay—the headband added bling and volume to my hair, so win-win. I picked up my phone, expecting Beck, but Miles’s name was there instead.
“Hello?” I answered, wondering if he’d called by mistake. He’d texted to check in a few times since we’d broken up, but we were both busy, so I hadn’t heard from him in months.
“Lyla. Hey.”
I moved to the mirror, teased up the hair behind the headband, and then reached for the handmade purple and blue chandelier earrings I’d picked up at a street fair last year. Apparently Miles wasn’t going to say more than hey. “How are you? How’s school?”
Speaking of school, I really need to check my grade for that lit test that totally snuck up on me. Surely I didn’t do as badly as it felt like I did.
“School’s good,” Miles said. “I’m busy, but my grades are good. And I like my professors.” NYU had always been Miles’s dream, and at one point I’d thought about going there, too. But I’d gotten more scholarships for BC and that pretty much sealed my fate. At first we told ourselves the distance wasn’t that much and we could find a way to make it work, but that was before we tried to find the time to visit back and forth.
“Cool.” I slicked on some lip gloss and then glanced at the time. Beck should be here any minute.
“I miss you.”
My body stilled.
“I know we broke up because of the long-distance thing, but… No one gets me like you, Lyla. No one’s as driven or as focused—so many girls here aren’t even that serious about college. They just think it’s party time.”
Driven. Focused. Serious. How many times had he told me he loved that about me? Was that even me anymore? Maybe I was slipping—I had been to lots of parties lately. A tinge of panic pinched my gut. This past month, I hadn’t dedicated as much time to my classes as usual. I wasn’t flunking, but I wasn’t excelling either. This whole bucket list was supposed to prove that I could be serious about college and more relaxed about life at the same time. Only balance had been trickier than ever since Beck and I had entered our friends with benefits arrangement.
And now that I had Beck, I didn’t even miss Miles anymore—it’d been weeks since I’d thought about him.
But I don’t really have Beck. I didn’t know what to say, so I went with the polite. “Yeah, I miss you, too.”
“You should come visit me,” Miles said. “It’s only three hours.”
“Or you could come visit me.” Wait? Why am I inviting him here? Do I even want to see him? I think it’d just be awkward.
“My car’s in the shop. I think it’s dead. Seriously, you’d love it here. You’ve got to check it out.”
My car was limping and hacking up a lung, but not quite dead. “Yeah, maybe.”
A knock sounded on the front door. I cut through the living room and swung it open. Beck had on a vintage blue T-shirt that stretched nicely across his chest and brought out his eyes. He’d shaved today, and while I liked scruffy, shaved was equally nice.
“Looking sexy as usual.” Beck’s fingers skimmed the hem of my skirt. “Love this.”
Oops. I hoped Miles didn’t hear that—didn’t want to hurt his feelings when he was having a vulnerable I-miss-you moment. I held up a finger to Beck. “Hey, Miles, I’ve got to go. I’ll look at my schedule and call you later. ’Kay?”
“Potassium to you, too,” Miles said with a laugh. “Talk to you then.”
Yes, I appreciated the periodic table humor as well as the next chemistry nerd, but for some reason it didn’t make me laugh this time. I guess we’d used it too much over the years.
I hung up and smiled at Beck, and with him in front of me, his sexy compliment echoing through my head, my earlier anxiety melted away. “I’m so ready to party. The non-drinking version, of course, since I’m the designated driver and all.” I hooked my hand in his elbow. “It’s your party, so you can drink if you want to.”
“Deal.” As we headed down the stairs to the parking lot, Beck asked, “You still talk to Miles?”
“I haven’t for a long time. He just called out of the blue. Said he wants me to visit.”
Beck barked a laugh. “Yeah, right. Like you’re going to drive all the way to New York for a booty call when you get nothing out of it.”
I wanted to tell him to be nice—and to add that not every guy expected a booty call—but that wasn’t what our relationship was about. So while I’d told Whitney last night over pedicures and a cheesy romance movie to stop wondering if she should call Matt her boyfriend and just ask—he’d claimed to be busy more and more and she was in full meltdown mode about it—I realized I was a total hypocrite. I couldn’t even talk to my best friend about the guy I was having sex with. Because, silly me, I’d gone and made them the same person.
…
No surprise, the party was big and loud. The guys had about a month without games as they trained for regionals at the end of March, and apparently they planned on letting loose during their mini-break. Whenever Beck ran into one of his teammates, they greeted each other with a variety of fist or chest bumps, with the occasional bro hug. He introduced me to everyone, but other than a hand on my back here and there as we wound through the crowd, we didn’t touch.
There was no hand holding and no kissing.
Beck and I were circling the crowd when a tall brunette in teeny-tiny shorts shoved a total jock-type guy, sending him stumbling into our path. “You’re such an ass!” She loudly accused him of checking out another girl, and he tried to placate her with, “Baby, it’s not like that!” Her response was to storm off, and then he chased after her, leaving our pathway clear once again.
Beck shot me a sidelong glance, the yikes expression on his face clear. “That’s relationships for you. Aren’t you glad we don’t have to deal with that?”
“Totally,” I said, but another couple who stared at each other like there was nothing else in the world snagged my attention. The guy had his hands in her pockets, so there was definitely some feeling up going on, but when he laughed at whatever she’d said and kissed her cheek, I could tell their affection went beyond the physical.
There was no doubt they were together, and clearly they didn’t mind who knew it. Miles had always held my hand, had always introduced me as his girlfriend. I didn’t realize how much I missed small gestures like that.
I’ve got to stop thinking that way. It’ll just screw up the good thing Beck and I have. Besides, now I was glorifying my relationship with Miles, when the truth was that we’d had plenty of issues, several of which went back to the fact that sex with him left us both frustrated enough we’d stopped having it very often. He’d been the one to bring up the breakup, too, as if having a girlfriend in another state held him back somehow, which I supposed didn’t make it as mutual as I liked to pretend.
“You want another drink?” Beck asked, eyeing my empty soda cup. “I’m going to grab another.”
“Sure.”
His hand grazed my back before he headed toward the drinks—the contact made my skin hum, and I told myself it was as good as hand holding, even if it didn’t necessarily announce we were here together. I watched him maneuver through the crowd and how he smiled and nodded at people as he passed. Not shoving, but always nice. Intimidating enough by size alone for most people to move out of his way.
The sex was amazing—there was no denying it. A week ago, he’d asked me what I wanted to try. If I had any fantasies he could help me out with. At first I’d said I didn’t have any, and that I liked what we were doing, which was true. But when he’d pushed again the other day, I’d finally blurted out the thing I’d thought of a few days after he’d asked. “I…I want you to wear all of your hockey gear. Then I…” My face had burned and I’d turned away, shaking my head.
Beck had put his fingers under my chin and tipped my face up to his. “Then what, Lyla?”
“Then I want to take it off you, one piece at a time.”
I’d waited for him to laugh, or look at me like I was crazy, but he’d simply kissed me and told me to hang tight while he changed into his gear. Stripping it all off and telling him exactly what I wanted had been empowering, and my body trembled with desire just thinking of the sex that’d followed.
But I still wished that once in a while he’d simply hold my hand. Or kiss me when we weren’t naked or on our way there.
Longing wrapped around my heart and squeezed. I shouldn’t be thinking of what I didn’t have. Beck was crazy hot, he made sure the sex was as good for me as it was for him, and I knew if anyone tried to hurt me, he’d tear them apart.
We were friends, and friends first, and that was as important to me as to him. Even the fun conversations and easy hangouts with Beck had faded a bit, though, replaced by a blur of sex. It made me feel less like a friend and more like a girl to pass time with until he got bored—I wasn’t delusional enough to believe he wouldn’t eventually move on to someone else. I closed my eyes, hating that I felt stupid for not being happier about how great my life was right now. That I wasn’t pulling off no-strings-attached, no-expectations-or-getting-serious fun.
Was I still open to another adventure around the corner? Or would I turn it down so that I could continue to fool myself about what was happening between Beck and me?
“Lyla, hey.”
I opened my eyes to Jeff. Shit. “Hi!” It came out way too high, with the edge of panic I was trying not to show.
“Haven’t heard from you in a while.”
A hand pressed to my back, the familiar cologne and the way my nerve endings jumped to attention letting me know Beck had stepped up next to me. “She’s seeing someone now,” he said.
I glanced up at him, my heart fluttering at his words. All that worry for nothing.
“I hardly even get to hang out with her now,” Beck added. “She’s always with her new boyfriend.”
The flutter changed to more of a stutter with a splat. There was an awkward beat where Jeff just nodded, then he took himself and his sticky tongue somewhere else.
“Figured that’d be the easiest way to get him to stop asking you out,” Beck said, handing me a cup filled with Coke. “You must’ve really put some kind of spell on him.”
Really? That’s the easiest way? Instead of simply admitting you and I are spending all of our time together? Suddenly I wondered if I was his dirty little secret. The girl he didn’t want to think was sexy. He’d made it sound unbelievable someone could be so wrapped up in me, too. The confidence I’d built up since starting this whole endeavor slowly leaked out of me. I hated that I wasn’t stronger, but it didn’t stop me from feeling the opposite.
I sipped my drink, wishing it were laced with something more powerful than sugar, even though, logically, I knew alcohol wouldn’t solve the mess I’d gotten myself into.
All around us there were people laughing, drinking, and practically humping in corners. There were a lot of beachy bimbo types wearing clothes that made my short skirt and tank top seem like a burka, and most of them were draped over Beck’s teammates, sometimes two or three to a guy.
“You know, I’m kind of surprised you’d bring me when you could pick up so many girls here,” I said, hating I’d let it come out.
Beck lowered the drink he’d been tipping back and his eyebrows drew together, genuine confusion filling his features. “Why would I need to do that? I have you.”
For what? Hookups day and night? Or is there more? Now I was wondering if he was having sex with other girls on the side, on the nights I was busy cramming several subjects into my brain at once. The thought made my stomach lurch.
“Hey, Beck.” The words were icy cold, and when I turned to see who the feminine voice belonged to, I recognized the blonde I’d interrupted him with all those weeks ago. He’d introduced us, but I couldn’t remember her name. She was giving me the same look she’d given me then, too—like I was dog crap she’d gotten on her shoe. More hatred flickered through her eyes as she turned to Beck. “I’mma big girl. You could’ve just told me you had a girlfriend. You didn’t have to ignore me for a month like I was some desperate clinging idiot.”
Judging from the slurring and slight bobble, she’d surpassed the level of alcohol intake that allowed her to keep her inside thoughts from coming out of her mouth a while ago. She was still clinging to the cup in her hand, though. Her lip curled as her acerbic gaze moved to me. “For her of all people.”
I guess I should take comfort in the fact that Beck hadn’t hooked up with her in a while, even if that made me the target of her rage.
“Monica, you’ve had too much to drink,” Beck said, keeping his voice low. “This isn’t Lyla’s fault—she and I are just friends. I was up front about what you and I were doing from the beginning, and you said that was what you wanted, too.”
“You’re an asshole. All guys are such fucking assholes.” She wobbled and Beck reached out a hand to steady her. She jerked away, and whatever was in her cup sloshed over the edge. “Don’t come crawling back to me when you get bored with her.” With that, she walked away, every few steps sending her drifting farther to the right.
Beck scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry. I should’ve realized she’d turn into one of the clingy ones, regardless of what she claimed.”
Instead of trying to come up with a response, I wrapped my arms around my middle, wondering if eventually I’d just be one of the clingy ones, too.
“See, there’s another reason I came here with you. You’re so much cooler than other girls.”
Or was I more of a pushover who kept her feelings to herself?
Damn it, why can’t I go back to not worrying about this, and just having fun, no labels or pressure? I forced my feelings into a dark corner to be explored later. We were at a party, and it was time I started acting like it. The beat from the music flowed through me, and I bobbed my head to it, bumping against Beck until he grinned. No matter what else was going on, seeing him smile made me feel better.
“Davenport!” Someone yelled across the room. “Get over here.”
We headed toward the guy waving him over. Apparently there was a big beer pong tournament going on, and they wanted to recruit Beck. Within a few minutes, teams had been drawn up and Beck was seated across the table from one of his other teammates.
I thought about mingling while he was playing, but thinking of being “on,” meeting new people and trying to make small talk exhausted me. And what would I do in the unlikely event of a guy hitting on me? Would Beck care? Either way, I wasn’t interested in dealing with it tonight. So I watched as Beck played, getting louder and more flushed with every drink.
“You want next?” One of the hockey players—Daniel, I think—asked me when his and Beck’s game wrapped up.
“Oh, I’m driving,” I said with a shrug.
Beck grabbed my hand and pulled me onto his lap. “She’ll play, and I’ll drink for her.”
I glanced over my shoulder at him. “You know that I’ve never played, right?”
“One more college experience to check off your list, then.”
“It also means I’ll miss a lot. And that you’ll have to drink a lot.”
“There are worse things that could happen. Now, go on.” Beck dropped the Ping-Pong ball in my hand. “Just aim for the middle until you get the hang of it.”
Aim. Right. It didn’t help that I was distracted by being on Beck’s lap, one of his arms loosely circled around my waist. It wasn’t really a boyfriend-girlfriend gesture—and it hadn’t happened until he’d gotten a buzz going—but at least I didn’t feel like he was embarrassed of me. In fact, I was feeling other things, and I might’ve rocked back and forth more than I needed to.
Beck had just finished yet another cup, thanks to my poor beer pong skills, when he brushed my hair aside, moved his mouth next to my ear, and whispered, “You’re killing me in this skirt. You know that, right?”
Goosebumps swept across my skin. I turned my head to his, our lips so close, and I wondered what he’d do if I kissed him in front of everyone. His hand circled my thigh, and want throbbed through me, making me crave being alone with him.
“My turn,” one of the guys yelled, and we were forced out of our seat. Beck pulled me aside, and with the way he was having trouble walking in a straight line, it was clear the drinks were catching up to him.
I’d never seen Beck really drunk before. He was giggly. Handsy. “You might have to carry me to my room tonight, Lyla. Make sure to take advantage of me.” He laughed, and I shook my head, laughing, too.
Maybe having the perfect boyfriend who got you and your humor, was happy about a long-term relationship, and gave you so many orgasms you could barely move afterward was a myth. Maybe you had to choose one or the other. A guy who wanted to be your boyfriend but was slightly boring or licked your chin, or the no-attachments guy with the sizzling physical chemistry.
With Beck moving closer, his hand sliding over the curve of my butt, I’d have a hard time saying which I wanted more—my hormones were screaming too loud to consider the safe boyfriend option.
So maybe I’m learning I’m more of a relationship person than a no-strings sex buddy, but I can hold back my expectations and that longing for more for a little while if it means more time having this.
Besides, the safe choice failed me before. Might as well know the danger before it unexpectedly dumps me on my butt.
“You know why else I wanted to come here with you?” Beck asked.
I looked up into his half-lidded eyes and then went ahead and ran my hand down his cheek the way I wanted to. “Why?”
“This is my last season of hockey, and I wanted to celebrate the end of the regular season right. Our regional matchup is against a tough team with a better record, and honestly, it could be my last game ever.”
My heart tugged at the sadness weighing down his words. “Wait? What? Why wouldn’t you play hockey next year?”
“Family stuff. I might need to stay in Canterbury. Start learning more of the business.” He wound his fingers through my hair. “I’ll miss you if that happens. You’re the only person I can really talk to. Around you, I get to be just me.”
So much of what he was saying confused me, but that last line hit me hard. He was the only person I got to be just me around, too. Whether it was the cat pictures, chemistry jokes, or the hidden side of me that I’d never shared with anyone before—the side that wanted to conquer my fears and be bolder. To embrace my sexuality and experience all the things I had with him. Because of him, really.
So instead of holding back and questioning if it broke the rules of our arrangement, I tipped onto my toes and pressed my lips to his. As he drew me closer and deepened the kiss, I closed my eyes and melted into him until the music, the crowd, and all my worries and cares faded away.