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Lyla & Drake

Lyla :

I put one foot in front of the other, navigating through the gardens.

I walk down a tree-lined path, passing under a stone archway with exquisite detailing.

Vizcaya is a whimsical place that makes you feel like you just traveled back in time to a more beautiful, luxurious existence.

The surroundings make me stand up a little taller, press my feet into the ground a little more confidently.

For once in my life, I don’t feel like I have to blend in. I don’t have to hide. And I can accept who I am—flaws and all— while relishing this moment. I feel beautiful. I am beautiful. I am strong. I am falling in love with Drake Blythe.

The wind lifts my hair, tickling my neck. I look around, seeing other party goers, but not finding Drake.

I walk through the gardens, passing moss-draped statues and coral stone benches nestled among thick hedges.

The scent of jasmine mixes with the salty sea breeze, the perfect cologne for a night like tonight.

I barely register the sounds around me—gurgling fountains and the light chatter of fellow guests—with my heart hammering so loudly.

By the time I reach Biscayne Bay, I have to take a deep breath to calm my nerves.

I see the gazebo now, with Drake only a faint outline inside of it.

I walk on trembling legs, the ocean air rustling my curls.

He sees me now—and steps out of the gazebo.

His eyes catch mine, pulling me in like some kind of homing beacon.

I see him mouth the word, “Wow.”

The way his eyes dance over me, somehow both serious and playful—I bask in it because I’m no longer afraid of what he’ll see.

Because he sees me .

It’s as if the walk to Drake somehow takes a millennia and no time at all. There are a few steps up and then down that lead into the gazebo. I take them on shaky legs as Drake reaches out a hand to steady me. I take it.

“It’s you,” he breathes out, pulling me toward him as his other hand cups my face. “I’ve been looking for you, Red.”

Drake

When I first saw Red walking down the path toward me, I thought I was hallucinating—until I realized it was Lyla .

And Red.

It’s her . The miraculous blending of the two women who have made me want to be better—who have given me hope that I can be the man I want to be.

And heaven help me, I cannot keep my hands to myself. I can’t decide where I want to touch Lyla more—right now, my hands are on her face and in her hair, but her waist and hips are calling to me, her exposed shoulder tantalizing me. I skim her cheekbone with my thumb, taking her in.

She’s not hiding anymore—she’s not hiding behind her glasses, and she doesn’t have a wall slammed down between us anymore. Her blue eyes glance up at me, vulnerable yet true.

I lean my head down, pressing my forehead against hers, wanting so badly to kiss her—but unsure if I should. If I deserve that.

Until Lyla lifts up onto her tip toes, crashing her lips against mine. The movement ignites fire in my veins—like they’re made of pure gasoline and Lyla just lit a match. I am consumed by her.

Those lips, that a year ago I so badly wanted to kiss but never did.

Her body, perfectly pressing into mine.

But more than that, it’s the goodness that radiates in her and through her that I’m drawn to—if I could pull Lyla into my soul and make her a home there, I would.

Barring that, I wrap my arms around her, skimming a hand over her hair and down to her waist. Her fingers tug at my shirt, pulling me as close as possible.

I tilt my head, deepening the kiss until I can taste her. She’s sweet and pure, like coming home.

I never want this kiss to end, and yet we both pull away to catch our breath. My hands never leave Lyla, though.

“I wanted it to be you,” I confess, my hands tangling in her hair.

“I wanted you to remember me,” she whispers, her eyes on me, full of raw beauty and goodness.

“I never forgot you,” I tell her as I run a hand across the smooth skin of her bare shoulder, down her arm, intertwining my fingers with hers. “I never forgot you,” I say again.

When her eyebrows raise, I clarify, “I may have forgotten what you looked like—”

She scoffs and makes to pull away, but I wrap an arm around her tiny waist and tug her against me, right where I want her to be. She doesn’t fight me, and after a moment, she sinks in to me, her body melting into mine.

“I lost the picture of your face,” I tell her. “—but I never lost the way you made me feel. The way you made me hope. I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like you were forgettable. You weren’t. You aren’t .”

Her eyes search mine, like she’s trying to parse through my words for the truth. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“That was the night I got arrested.” I grimace. “When they took all my belongings, they took your number and when I got my stuff back, your number was gone.”

“Oh.”

“I paid an administrator at the police station a hundred dollars to search for your number. She never found it.”

Lyla seems to recover her confidence in me and she looks up at me with a smile.

“Is that what my number was worth to you, Drake Blythe? A hundred dollars?” She fiddles with a button on my shirt like she’s going to unbutton it and I’m momentarily distracted by the gesture, my mind jumping ahead to places it doesn’t need to go.

I clear my throat, covering her hand with mine.

“It’s hard for me when you do that,” I say, my voice rough.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, but she seems confused—like she doesn’t quite know what she’s apologizing for.

“I want to do this right with you, Lyla. I want to treat you the way you deserve. I’m really trying, but I have to undo a whole lot of bad habits.

A whole lot of wrong thinking. And when you do that, it makes me want to jump five hundred steps ahead.

” She stares up at me, wide-eyed. “But I won’t.

I won’t.” I shake my head, needing to convince myself as well as her.

“I want all the firsts with you, Lyla Smith. And I want them to come when they’re supposed to come—I don’t want to rush them, I want to savor them.

Because you—you deserve to be adored. Savored.

You deserve everything that is good and right—because you are good and right. ”

Lyla’s hand lifts to cup my face. “So are you, Drake.” I shake my head.

“I’m really not.”

She grabs my head with both of her hands, giving me a little shake. “You really are. A good guy wouldn’t show up for LJ the way that you are. Or come talk with the kids and sign jerseys after a horrible loss the other day—”

“It wasn’t that horrible.”

“It was horrendous,” Lyla says with a smile. “And you wouldn’t be patiently pursuing me the way you have been if you weren’t a good guy.”

“Maybe you’re making me want to be good.” She presses her hands against my chest, the heat from her palms searing through my shirt.

“You were already on that path without me.”

“True, but a good woman can be a strong motivator,” I say with a cheeky grin, leaning closer to her, already caught in her current.

“Shut up and kiss me, Drake Blythe,” she whispers against my lips.

“Yes ma’am.”