Lucky Number Eleven

Chapter Two

Chapter 2

Layla

"How ya doing over there?" Poppy Quinn wrinkles her perfect button nose at me from the driver's seat. "That face isn't my favorite on you."

"Um, I only have one face."

"That would be incorrect," she says matter-of-factly, turning her gaze back to the winding road ahead. "You have a bunch of faces and that one, the one you're making right now, makes me feel like downing a shot of tequila."

"Everything makes you feel like downing a shot of tequila."

The scenery turned green at some point over the last hour, the greyscale of Chicago washing away with the vividness of lush grasses and dense forests as we head south. I've taken this trek countless times to the little cabin my parents purchased on Lake Michigan when I was a baby. My older brother, Finn, and I spent every summer up here until we moved out and went to college.

Glancing at Poppy's furrowed brow, I sigh. "I'm fine. I promise."

"It was the song on the radio, wasn't it? You were fine until it came on."

"I am fine," I insist, sitting up a little taller in my seat. "I'm on my way to my favorite place in the world with my favorite person in the world," I say, laughing as she dramatically places a hand on her heart.

"That's so touching. Hits me right in the feels."

"What's there to be upset about?" I forge on. "Just that my ex-boyfriend is on a vacation to Tahiti, one that I was supposed to be on with him, that I planned, mind you. Instead, he's with Carly Mathewson, the model he's probably been cheating on me with. No biggie."

Fists clenched at my sides, I imagine Callum Worthington with that blonde bimbo in the perfect over-the-water bungalow that I picked out.

My feelings about him are all over the place. I had myself convinced I was in love with him, but I'm too not upset about not being with him anymore to have really loved him. My anger isn't even from losing him. It's from feeling like I was a little placeholder in his bed until he was ready to move a new body into my place.

The fact that she's a freaking model is just icing on the cake.

My mom says mistakes aren't mistakes unless you fail to learn from them. I definitely learned from this Callum ordeal—most of all that I'd be capable of setting my morality aside if the situation were right. I'd have no qualms about going all Misery on him if I could get away with it. My conscience is eased by the fact he'd probably like the attention. Second of all, I learned to trust my gut.

I was at a football game with a friend that interviewed players for a pseudo-sports blog. Callum and I started talking while she was finishing up with the coach, and when I looked up, it was a year later and he was telling me he didn't want to see me anymore.

My gut told me that day to stay away from him. I was turned off by how much he talked about himself and found some of the simplest things annoying. Still, his charm could be turned on and his gestures grand when he wanted them to be and it was enough for me to consider I was just being picky.

I should've been pickier.

"You know," I say, "I just wish I knew why."

"Why what?"

"Why he bothered to lead me along if I didn't matter . . . and I obviously didn't matter. Did he love me? Did he cheat on me with everyone I suspected?" Looking at Poppy over my shoulder, I shrug. "It just hurts my feelings."