Chapter Ten - Lucky #2
She nods in Jan’s direction, her cheeks pink. “Of course,” she manages, though her words are a little too high-pitched.
Jan arches a brow, the corners of her mouth lifting in a knowing smirk.
“Mmhmm. Like I said, just keep it down, okay?” She bustles back out into the hallway.
“If you need anything, I’m in the bedroom off the kitchen.
In the morning, I serve fresh coffee and muffins, but you’re on your own for meals other than that.
The bathroom is right down the hall. Sleep well, dears,” she says, shutting the door behind her.
Becca hurriedly steps out of the circle of my arm. “Seriously, Lucky? You are ridiculous.” She says it in a joking way, but I notice the space she puts between us.
“What?” I say, feigning innocence. I have no idea what to think about what just happened, so it’s probably better if we just pretend it didn’t happen . . . right? “I was just letting the nice old lady know we won’t be a problem, that’s all.”
“Yeah, but you let her believe . . .” Becca rolls her eyes. “Never mind, let’s just go to bed.”
“Whoa, Holly G. At least buy me a drink first.” I hold up my hands in mock offense.
She snorts. “You really are an ass, you know that?”
“Yeah, it’s part of my charm.” I wink, crossing the floor to open the door. “I’m gonna go grab my stuff.”
I hurry down the hallway, blowing out a low breath. Things seem normal . . . ish between us, and that’s good. So, why do I feel like I’m on a roller coaster, flying down the biggest hill right now?
Outside the air is still hot, despite the fact that the sun has been down for hours.
I walk over to the car and open the trunk, pulling out our suitcases.
My head is still throbbing, but the image of that single bed flashes in my mind, and all I can think about is how incredible Becca’s body felt pressed up against mine.
The way her soft pink lips parted, caught off guard.
And the way she looked at me? God, it was like all the gravity in the room turned off and she was the center of everything, pulling me in.
“What the hell, man?” I hiss, focusing on the bags. “Stop thinking about how much you want to—”
“Who are you talking to?”
I jump a little at the sound of her voice. Becca is standing on the porch, looking at me with an eyebrow raised.
“Oh, nothing, just making sure my girl is alright out here on her own.” I run a hand along the top of the car.
“How considerate.” She smirks. “And they say chivalry is dead.”
“Aw, shucks, ma’am,” I lay my accent on a little thicker. “My mama would be real proud to hear you say that.”
She laughs, and the sound sends a thrill through me. DUDE. I say to myself, but then I wince as another sharp pain lances through my temple.
“Your head still bothering you?” Becca asks, stepping off the porch toward me. She notices the look that must have crossed my face.
“Yeah, but I’m fine. It’s not a big deal.” I stuff my hands in my pockets. “I get them a lot since . . .” I trail off. The words stick in my throat.
“Since your accident?”
It doesn’t surprise me that she knows about the accident. Everyone knows. But only a few people know the whole story.
I nod. “Yeah.”
I don’t elaborate. It’s not the easiest for me to talk about.
Becca crosses and takes her suitcase, walking back up to the porch. “How long has it been?”
I hesitate. I haven’t really talked about it that much with anyone, not even my own brothers. But this girl that I barely know? Something inside me wants to open up to her.
“Twelve weeks.”
Becca sits down on the top step and watches me. “I saw . . . the video. Well, I saw that it’s still on your accounts. I didn’t watch it, though.”
“Well, you’re the only one then.” I try to make the words come out like a joke, but they’re not funny to me. So, instead, they come out flat, utterly humorless.
I frown. I want to tell her everything, to finally get the words that have felt engraved into my very being off my chest, but they stay put, refusing to let go and release me.
Becca studies my face. “I can’t quite figure you out.”
“What do you mean?” I plop down next to her on the step.
“You’re this wild, funny guy who made himself famous by doing some of the dumbest crap out there.” She tilts her head. “Yet, you’re not what I thought you’d be. You’re not obnoxious or arrogant. You’re not loud or at least not always loud. And you’re not, well, an ass.”
Her words surprise me a little and I laugh. “You literally just called me that not even ten minutes ago.”
“You know what I mean,” Becca says with a shrug.
“Is that what you really thought I’d be like?” Most people assume things based on my content, and in a way, the assumptions aren’t always wrong, but hearing them from Becca makes me feel . . . weird. Frustrated, even.
She gives a sheepish little smile. “Yeah. I guess I just thought you were the type of guy who never took anything seriously. That’s why I was initially upset about being paired up with you.
” She sighs. “But I see now that there’s more to you than meets the eye.
I’m sorry for how I acted when we first met. ”
“Oh, you mean when I nearly killed you with my skateboard?”
She knocks her shoulder into mine, sending a zing through me. “Yeah, then. And after. I just . . . I really need to win this competition.”
Her words are soft, but there’s pain in them, and it makes me want to wrap an arm around her and pull her close again. I almost do.
She continues. “Were you scared? When the accident happened, I mean.”
I let out a low breath. “Yeah, I was.” I press my lips together and wait for the inevitable questions I know will follow, questions that will lead to my secret, the truth that I don’t want anyone to know.
If she asks me outright, I’m not sure what I’ll say.
The pain in my head intensifies, and I press a finger to my temple to massage it.
“My mom always says that a glass of water and a good night’s sleep do wonders for a headache,” she finally says.
I look at her, surprised she didn’t ask me more questions about the accident, but at the same time, I’m relieved. “Your mama sounds like a real smart lady.”
“She used to be,” Becca says dryly, standing up. “But if anyone knows how to tackle a headache, it’s her.”
Her eyes are tight with emotion, and I wonder what she’s carrying, what’s weighing her down. If it’s anything like my accident.
For a second time, I feel the urge to touch her, to comfort her, or at least show solidarity. I almost reach a hand out, but I grab my suitcase instead. “Ready to head back in?”
She looks at me for a moment and then nods.
Back in the bedroom, Becca claims the right side of the room, parking her suitcase along the wall and pulling out her phone charger and some clothes. “Think we should post something tonight?”
“Nah, we just got our video up a few hours ago. I think we’re good to go for now.”
“Good,” she looks relieved. “Because all I really want right now is a hot shower and to wash my face.”
She grabs her clothes and one of the towels from the stack and heads for the bathroom. I hear the door click shut and the water turn on a few seconds later.
I drop onto the corner of the bed and run a hand down my face.
My brain feels muddled, and there are a dozen thoughts zipping through my mind—things that I don’t want to think about.
Sighing, I distract myself by checking my phone.
A few minutes of responding to comments and DMs has me feeling more like myself.
I’m digging in my bag for some shorts to sleep in when the door opens.
Becca walks in wearing purple pajama pants and a t-shirt. Her hair is wet and pulled up in a loose bun. A few stray wet pieces are sticking to the side of her neck. The sight of her makes my throat tighten.
She smiles and hands me a glass of water. She then fishes two white tablets out of her pocket. “Here,” she says, “Jan has some basic first aid supplies in the bathroom.”
I take the Tylenol and toss it back, washing it down with a sip of water. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She moves past me, and I get a whiff of her shampoo, light and floral. It floods my nostrils, and I hop up. My stomach is doing that flip-flop thing again.
“I . . . uh,” I stammer, grabbing my shorts and my spit kit of toiletries. “My turn.” I throw a thumb up, indicating the bathroom, and I’m out the door before she can reply.
“She’s your teammate,” I mutter, reminding myself as I turn the shower on. I step in, sighing as the hot water kneads the tense muscles in my shoulders and back. “Stay focused on the Challenge. You can’t afford distractions.” I stand under the spray until my focus is back where it should be.
After I’m finished, I throw on my clothes, brush my teeth, and walk back into the bedroom.
Becca is already curled up on her side, facing the wall.
I put my stuff away and peel back the covers on my side of the bed, slipping in carefully so as not to disturb her.
I click off the lights and lay there, letting my eyes adjust.
“Hey, Lucky?”
The mattress dips as Becca rolls over to face me. I can just make out her face in the darkness.
She takes her fingers and draws an imaginary line down the middle of the mattress. “Cross that line, and you die. Got it?”
There’s not an ounce of amusement on her face, and I’m glad. We have to stay focused on the Challenge. There’s no room for messiness between us.
“Got it,” I say, just as seriously. “This is my dance space, and that’s yours.”
“Wait, you’ve seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and now a Dirty Dancing reference?” Becca lets out a chuckle. “Who are you?”
“Lucky DeLucca at your service, ma’am.” I tip my imaginary hat.
“Mmhmm,” she says, rolling back over. “Night, Lucky.”
“Night, Holly G.”