Page 21

Lyla

“ H ey Katy Cat,” Drake says, leaning over the counter. “Can I have your number?”

I suppress an eye roll. This guy can’t even be bothered to use my real name. He probably doesn’t even remember it. I’m sure he just slaps nicknames on every woman he meets like he’s running some kind of weird Oprah giveaway. You get a nickname! You get a nickname!

“No,” I say, proud of myself because like Hazel always says, ‘ No’ is a complete sentence . Sure, it’s not one I’ve used, like, ever. Except, wait, I just used it! Ha. Take that, serial nicknaming bozo.

“You don’t even know why I’m asking for your number.”

I snort in a very ladylike way. “I have an idea.”

“They say don’t judge a book by its cover.”

I stand up, hands on my desk, nose-to-nose with Drake. “Yeah, except this time, I know the book. I’ve read the first few chapters—heck, I even skipped to the end. And I decided it wasn’t for me.” Whew, I don’t know where Lyla went and found her sass, but I am. Here. For. It.

“That’s the thing about skipping to the ending, though,” he says, his voice rough and low in a way that makes my toes curl. “You think you know what it’s all about. But you don’t.”

I grit my teeth, not backing down. “I know you, Drake Blythe.” I tilt my head back, giving him a full view of me—willing him to remember me.

Why does it bother me that he forgot me?

Probably because that night was so memorable for me—so out of the ordinary. A shooting star.

And yet, I remain forgettable.

It’s a tough pill to swallow.

He’s clearly studying me, so I take my time and study him right back—his gray eyes that make him look more serious than he really is, the stubble that seems to be perpetually taking up residence along his razor-sharp jaw.

Those lips that always quirk up at all the wrong times.

Even now, while I’m seething at being forgotten, there’s a spark there—the same spark I felt when we first met. Drawing me in.

Remember me, jerk face .

For a moment, I think I see a glimmer of recognition.

Something shifts in his eyes. He opens his mouth— say it, say it —then closes it again, shaking his head.

I feel myself fracture, just a little. Forgettable after all.

After a moment, I flop down in my seat with a sigh.

“I’m not giving you my number, Drake.” I try to hide the defeat in my voice, but I fail.

Drake crosses his arms and gives a little smirk. “Fine, then, I guess I won’t forward you Dan Marino’s number.”

I jump out of my seat, my chair flying backward. “You got Dan Marino’s number?”

“Yeah, but this baby is only for girls who don’t judge books by their covers.” He’s full-on grinning now—like he’s got me.

But he underestimates how much I need that number—and also, all the anger he’s stirred up in me.

“I’m not a girl,” I say. I lean in, letting him think he’s got the upper hand.

He doesn’t. I know exactly what I’m doing.

His eyes go right to my lips as I say, “I’m a woman,” and pluck his phone out of his unsuspecting hand.

I quickly retreat behind my desk, pulling up his contacts and Air-Dropping Dan Marino’s number to me.

I expect Drake to come after me, to wrestle the phone from me—it obviously wouldn’t be much of a contest there.

But he simply laughs and shakes his head.

An idea forms, and I angle the phone away from him, searching his contacts for my number.

It’s not there.

Which means, he probably never put it in his phone. He either threw that napkin away the moment I jotted my number on there, or he carelessly lost it like it didn’t mean a thing to him.

“You, uh, done there, Katy Cat?”

I drop both phones onto my desk and then quickly shove his phone in his direction. “Can we be done with that nickname?” I snap.

“Why? You want a different one?” He scratches his jaw with his fingertips. “Hmm, ‘gorgeous’ is too standard. I don’t think you’d let me call you ‘baby girl.’” I scoff as confirmation. “What about Blue? For those baby blue eyes of yours?”

I suck in a frustrated breath. The very first nickname he gave me was Red—for my red lipstick that he wiped off of me like I was a toddler with her mom’s lipstick. Now he’s going to name me another color?

The nerve of this guy.

Behind Drake, Josie walks in wearing a pink shirt.

“What, you going to nickname her Pink? Or maybe Cathy will be Yellow today? Just be careful, or you might run out of Crayola basics and have to resort to Magenta or Eggplant! ” I’m breathing hard.

Why am I yelling about crayons? I take a step back, running a hand down my blouse as Drake eyes me with amusement.

Great, now he thinks I’m crazy too.

Maybe he won’t forget me this time.

“Nah,” he says casually, like I didn’t just have a complete breakdown. “No one else gets a nickname, just you, Blue.”

A new color. A new name. A girl he doesn’t remember, but still wants to rename. I sigh despite myself.

He reaches for my glasses again—like he’s trying to figure me out by rearranging my face. I swat him away, scowling. He chuckles, holding his hands up in innocence as he walks away toward the lounge. I watch him go, heart hammering in betrayal.

The worst part? I don’t even know if it’s from rage or something far more dangerous.