Page 29

She nudges me with her elbow, but I catch a smile from her.

“I guess somewhere along the way, I became a people-pleaser, because that’s what I was best at.

I’d disappointed my parents with all my shortcomings, but at least I wasn’t rebellious.

The opposite of that, actually. I’m the yes-girl.

Dutiful .” She scoffs at that word. “They’ve never heard me say no in their lives. ”

There’s a brokenness in her words that makes me want to hold her, to piece her back together.

And, maybe, one day she’ll let me. But for now, I lean in and say, “I’m sure you know this, but every time you say yes when you should’ve said no, you’re not only hurting yourself, but you’re hurting the people around you.

And, most of all, you’re hurting your future self.

” I reach across to tug a strand of hair that’s escaped her vice grip of a ponytail.

“And, call me selfish, but I’m starting to really care about your future self. ”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she says, her voice a little choked.

I shake my head. “Just you, Blue.”

She clears her throat, shaking her head. “Hey, you got any Dr. Pepper stashed in your pocket somewhere?”

I laugh. “Nope,” I say, wondering how she’s seen me do that—I guess I do it more often than I realize. But when I glance over at her, she’s got a strange look on her face—as if she’s said something she’s not supposed to.

She quickly changes the subject in her fast-talking, spastic kind of way that I’m growing very fond of.

“What’s a pro football player even know about saying no, anyway?

You’ve probably never had to fight to say no in your whole life.

You can say whatever you want and people will bow down before you. ”

“You know, there’s one administrative assistant I know that might be exempt from that rule.” I give her a knowing look and when she bites her lip, holding back a smile, it takes everything in me to not lean in and kiss her. “You want to know the truth?” I sigh and look away.

“Always.” Her small voice cuts through my chest—and I know there’s something about Lyla that makes me want to lay it all out, to let her know the real me, without any embellishment.

So I do.

I tell her about growing up in a chaotic family that often left me behind, struggling to be the best at something—and still not feeling like it was enough.

My family gave me boundaries in high school and college that kept me more or less safe, but once I got to the pros, all bets were off.

I sought recognition, attention—and, when that failed to satisfy me—oblivion, everywhere I could.

At some point while I’m talking, Lyla slips her much smaller hand in mine. I feel her intently listening, taking it all in, but there’s surprisingly no judgment there. At various times during my story, she squeezes my hand—almost like she’s telling me that she sees me, too.

I tell her about the DUI that turned my life upside down a year ago.

When I got suspended from the NFL and then eventually benched and traded.

I tell her about rehab, the friends I made there, and how it changed my life.

There’s a part of me—a small part—that wants to tell her about the girl I met a year ago, Red.

I’m not sure why that feels relevant to my story, but it does.

I think because Red gave me a glimpse of hope for another way of living.

However fleeting that was, there was something about Red that was so pure and lovely that I felt that I could be those things too.

It’s kind of how Lyla makes me feel.

But I don’t tell her about Red, mostly because it’s embarrassing that I never even knew the girl’s real name—and it’s kind of taboo to talk about another girl when you’re trying to get the one in front of you to fall in love with you.

“So, maybe I don’t have a hard time saying ‘no’ to other people—it’s more about saying ‘no’ to myself. To my own selfish desires, so that I can have actual relationships with people and not just use people to feel fulfilled.”

“Hmm.” She squeezes my hand once more and I suddenly want to keep talking so that she doesn’t pull her hand away. I want to keep it. “Thanks for sharing all of that with me, Drake.” Her voice is so sincere, it almost breaks my heart.

I suddenly find myself at a loss for words. Mostly, I just want to kiss Lyla. Is it too soon for that? All of my past experiences with women have ruined my ability to judge what’s appropriate right now.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I almost miss when Lyla says, “You know, if we’re so busy saying no to everything, what are we going to say yes to?”

“Love.”

“Love?”

“Always, love.”

She glances up at me, her blue eyes searching mine behind her glasses.

Those darn glasses. Always in the way, always making her look like she’s trying not to be seen.

As sexy as she is with them—I want to see her without them.

They dominate her pretty face, like she’s wearing them to hide her true self from everyone who’s looking.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, I reach for them.

My fingers get to the black rims before she catches my wrist in her hand.

She doesn’t push my hand away, but she’s not letting me take her glasses off, either. We’re in a stalemate.

“Why do you always want to take my glasses off?” she whispers.

“I don’t want anything hindering my view of you. I want to see you, Lyla. All of you.”

And then I see it—the moment her eyes flick to my lips. Her hand still grips my wrist, but her gaze is locked on mine—and something electric passes between us, silent but sure.

Forget the glasses, I’m going to kiss Lyla Smith.

Well. I did promise resuscitation.