What's your lucky number?
Lyla Wilder is done being the shy, chemistry nerd extraordinaire. While every other college student is out having fun, Lyla is studying. With her cat. Well, she's played it "safe" quite enough, thank you. So she creates a "College Bucket List"―with item #7 being a night of uninhibited, mind-blowing sex...
But she needs some help from her man-whore best friend.
Hockey player Beck Davenport thought Lyla's transformation would be subtle. Man, was he wrong. With every item she ticks off, Beck finds himself growing seriously hot for his sweet, brainiac best friend. And if he's not careful, he'll end up risking their friendship in order to convince Lyla that he might just be her lucky #7....
The music grew even louder as we stepped inside, and the buzz of simultaneous conversations mixed in. People crowded the center of the space, dancing to the beat. Pairs, large groups, smaller groups, the wallflowers—they were all here, spread throughout the room.
“Lyla?”
I pulled my attention off the gyrating bodies and turned to Beck, who was gesturing me in the other direction. My ankle wobbled slightly, and I inwardly cursed the heels. Careful of where I stepped, I followed Beck’s familiar hat through the crowd. There was a large table in the corner covered in alcohol.
“Hang tight. We’ll start with something that tastes better and will get you buzzed fast, and then we’ll work up to the keg stand.”
The smile, combined with the hand on my back and a whiff of his cologne sent a flutter through my stomach.
What the what? First the strange reaction in the car, then thinking about his eyes and his scruff, and now I’m getting butterflies? Don’t go doing that to me, body.
“Sounds good.” Clearly, my senses were in overdrive or something. As I watched Beck move over to the table, I tried to think if he’d ever touched me so often before.
No, because we’re usually sitting on his couch eating ice cream and watching movies. And before that we mostly studied. But he usually opens doors for me when we go places. Maybe I’d just always worn too many clothes to notice his hand on my back. Either way, I knew better than to get flutters over Beck Davenport. The guy had longer relationships with cereal boxes than girls, and I wouldn’t even be on his radar in that area, looking for only temporary fun or not. We were just two chemistry nerds who’d built a friendship out of our mutual love of effortless hangouts involving movies and food—he was a closet nerd, whereas I let my love of science hang out there for the world to see.
But not tonight.
“Hey,” a guy near me said, and I looked to my right and then my left. There wasn’t anyone else super close by, and the few who were near us were involved in other conversations.
“Me?” I asked, still not quite trusting he was talking to me.
One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Yeah, you. I’m CJ. I saw you across the room and had to come and say hi.”
“Oh. Thanks. Cool. Lyla. That’s my name.”
He seemed to be waiting for something else, and I kicked myself for not looking up good party conversation starters. Finding it hard to meet his steady gaze, I glanced down and noticed some gray and white cat hair on my shirt. I wiped at it. “Sorry. My cat, Einstein, always sheds. Not that I’m a crazy cat lady or anything. I’ve just got the one. I mean, I had two when I was in junior high, but they both died. Not at the same time, or that would’ve been awful. It was still pretty sad. But now I have Einstein, and he’s super mellow, not to mention, like, the cutest cat ever.”
CJ nodded awkwardly, and I knew I should’ve stuck with keeping my mouth shut. After another weird beat where he just blinked at me, he walked away. Beck was standing off to the side, two red plastic cups in hand.
“Dead cats? You said you had a hard time talking to guys, but shit, Debbie Downer, I had no idea.”
My spirits sagged, taking my confidence along with them.
“Don’t worry.” Beck held out a cup to me. “The good thing about parties is there’s always another opportunity waiting around the corner. But let’s get you loosened up a bit before we try again.”
Cindi Madsen is a USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance and young adult novels. She sits at her computer every chance she gets, plotting revising, and falling in love with her characters. Sometimes it makes her a crazy person. Without it, she’d be even crazier. She has way too many shoes, but can always find a reason to buy a new pretty pair, especially if they’re sparkly, colorful, or super tall. She loves music, dancing, and wishes summer lasted all year long. She lives in Colorado (where summer is most definitely NOT all year long) with her husband and three children.
