“You okay?” Lucky’s squatting down beside me now. “Can you get up?” His hands are hovering over me like he can’t figure out if he should touch me and if so, where.
Rolling a little to my left, I’m able to get my right arm out from beneath my back. It hurts, but nothing like my ankle.
“My ankle.” I wince as I attempt to move my foot.
“He stepped on your foot as you were going down.” That comment is from Deena, who’s standing over me, twirling her hair around with both hands and biting her bottom lip. That’s her tell that she’s nervous. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”
I don’t know why, but her words make me crack the heck up. I mean, I need to laugh at this or else I’ll cry. Especially since the party has essentially stopped and everyone, and I meaneveryone, is now standing around me in a giant circle, staring.
“What the fuck, Becks?” And there he is. My brother, Joe. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Ignoring him, I lift my arm out for Deena to help me up, but I get Lucky instead. “Come on. Let me help you up.” I take his hand in mine, and I feel those tingles like they talk about in my favorite books. It’s happened anytime I’ve accidentally touched Lucky.
He pulls on me until I’m sitting up. He slides his hand around my back and pulls us both up to our feet. The pain hits me like a ton of bricks.
“Down,” I whine. “Let me sit down.”
“No.” Lucky growls. That’s when he does the impossible. He slides his other arm beneath my knees and lifts.
To say it’s embarrassing is an understatement because I hear several mutterings from the peanut gallery. Things like “Whoa, that dude isstrong” and “He’s gonna throw out his back.”
Ignoring the comments, Lucky’s focus is on me. “Time to go home, Becklyn.”
“Put me down,” I snap.
“I’ll put you down in the car.” He looks over at Deena. “You drive here?”
“Nope.” She shakes her head while still messing with her stupid hair. “Walked.”
“Joe.” He looks to his left. “Grab my keys.”
I try another route, because this is beyond embarrassing now. “You shouldn’t drive. You’ve been drinking.”
“No. I haven’t.” Lucky isn’t looking at me. I guess he’s got to pay attention to where he’s walking. I turn and see he’s making his way to the front door.
“I can walk.” I really can’t, but him carrying me is humiliating. For him.
“I’ve got you.”
“I’m too heavy.” I am.
“You’re fine.” He looks down at me quickly. I swear I glimpse a tiny smile. “You stink, though.”
No wonder; I’m also wet. My back is, anyway, thanks to all the green beer that saturated the carpet and is now soaking my top and jeans.
“I bet,” I grumble. “You guys need to get a Rug Doctor in there.”
He snorts. “Probably right.”
Probablyright?
* * *
“You need to ice that ankle.”Lucky has just set me on my bed. He drove us back to the dorm, carried me to the elevator that took us up to the fifth floor, down the hall, and into our room. After Deena unlocked the door, he stepped into the tiny box of a room and asked, “Which one is yours?” I point to the bed with the baby blue comforter and way too many pillows.
Our room is really cute. Sure, it’s tiny, but we’ve done our best to set it up the most efficient way. Deena’s bed is lofted so there’s room for a sofa beneath it. My bed sits atop our dressers, so the rest of the space is used for our desks and our dance parties.
“You got any ice?”
