Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Thanks, Raven,” I say. “Some winner will be very lucky.” Then I turn to the audience and prompt. “A round of applause for our contributors.”
That takes the spotlight off Miami.
At least for now.
But when we head offstage, Raven turns to me again. “I did listen to your speech. It was stellar. No wonder Layla raved about it.”
“Speaking of raving,” Layla cuts in, setting a hand on Raven’s arm. “I want to special order a dress just like this.”
“Of course. You know where to find me,” Raven says, and I exhale.
Layla helped deflect. Which was brilliant. Unfortunately, I want to thank her with my mouth on hers.
As we circulate once again, making small talk with guests and contributors, I fight off the desire to set a hand on her back, to look at her the way I want to. To be by her side.
As I smile, I’m just pretending.
By the end of the night, this inn has me feeling claustrophobic. I’ve said goodbye to the last of the guests, and I’m eager to leave and do… something. But it’s my job to settle up with the event coordinator.
I barely have time for a cursory goodbye to Layla as she leaves with her friends. I catch snippets of plans to hit the town and wince at the idea of them hitting the dance clubs. I’m annoyed because she’s going out. She’s having fun. She’s dancing without me. But I haven’t earned the right to be invited.
By the time I’m done, it’s late, but I call David to check in and ask about Cynthia.
“She did great,” he says, clearly relieved. But tired too. “I’m glad I made it here. She asked for me after.”
My heart expands for him, for all the emotions he’s feeling right now. For the love, I think, that’s blooming between them. “I’m glad you could be there too.”
When we say goodbye, everything’s clear. I’m not going to wait till tomorrow night to tell Layla how I feel and what I want. You never know what might happen.
I know, too, that Finn is dead wrong about one thing.
I can’t stop seeing Layla, but it’s because I don’t want to. I want to be the one who’s there for her.
After a quick Google search for the nearest club, I call a Lyft.
I’m tired of waiting for the right time.
Now is the only time.
35
ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING
Nick
Twenty minutes later, the car drops me at The Wave, the nearest dance club to the inn, according to Google. It’s on the beach with indoor/outdoor dancing.
I pay the entry fee, and go inside the dark club, with purple smoky lights sweeping across the dance floor and bass thumping in my bones. I scan the packed house for the woman.
She’s not by the bar.
She’s not on the dance floor.
She’s not by the stage.
With nerves strung tight and unraveling, I march to the door leading outside to the beach. The late summer night air warms my face. Music blasts and bodies grind, and tequila flows. Ignoring the scene, I hunt for Layla, but I don’t see the beautiful blonde who owns my heart.
I spot Harlow in the middle of the dance floor, bumping hips with Ethan. I weave through bodies, stalking over to her right as the music downshifts at the end of the tune.
“Where’s Layla? Is she here? I have to see her.”
Fuck tomorrow.
I need tonight.
Harlow must sense I’m not in the mood for games. She rises on tiptoes and shouts in my ear. “She went home. She wasn’t up for dancing. We offered to go with her, but she insisted we stay. But I should warn you, if you’re going to break her heart, you need to tell me so I can be there for her.”
Damn. She does have amazing friends.
“I don’t ever want to break Layla’s heart. I’ll protect her. I promise,” I say, then with an honest smile, I make the request of my heart. “Can I have the address, please?”
I could get it from Layla, but I have a different plan.
Harlow tells me, then I thank her and leave, and once I snag another ride, I have the driver take me to Layla’s home. When I’m a mile away, I call her. I can’t bang on the door at night uninvited.
She answers with a tentative, “Hi.”
She sounds sad, and I’m sure it’s my fault.
“You left something at the hotel,” I say.
“I did?”
“I have it. I’ll be there in three minutes,” I say. It pains me to fib, but I also won’t tell her the truth on the phone.
This is not a phone call conversation. This is a face-to-face conversation.
When the car arrives, I thank the driver, then race up the steps two at a time. I rap on the door, and in seconds, I hear movement. She’s probably turning off the alarm, unbolting the lock.