Page 107 of The Tryst

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.

She opens it, and I waste no time. “I was wrong. I was the one who left something at the hotel.”

I’ve confused her even more. “What did you leave there?” she asks.

“You,” I say emphatically, standing in the doorway. Then, because I have to earn her, because you should always earn all the good things in life, I stop saying things likewe can’t do this again, and I start sayinglet’s give this a chance. “I want to be with you for real,” I say without any finesse, just speaking the truth of my heart. “I don’t want to stop. And I don’t want to sneak around anymore. I don’t want to slip out of your home before the sun rises. I don’t want to walk around an event pretending I feel nothing for you, when I feel…everything.”

Her smile can’t seem to contain itself. It’s instant, a star lighting up the whole night sky. “Everything? That’s a lot, Nick.”

There she goes. Teasing me, like she did the day I met her. It feels so right.

“I feel absolutely everything for you, Layla Mayweather and Lola Jones,” I say, still completely serious. I have to be. I’m the one who has to make this choice and hope she’ll go along with me.

“I need to tell David about us,” I say. “I was going to ask your permission to tell him as soon as I could do it in person. I was going to say all this to you tomorrow, but I can’t wait any longer. My heart hurts when I’m with you but notwithyou.”

Some of the tension leaves me—the stress of holding the door closed on my emotions. In its place comes a new, hopeful tension as I pray she’s willing to take the risk with me.

Layla doesn’t make me wait. She reaches for my tie—the ruby red one I wore tonight—and tugs hard on it. “Get inside.”

Leaving all the tension behind, I kick the door shut behind me. “I won’t say a word unless it’s okay with you. But I couldn’t wait any longer to tell you. I would have told you this morning, but then—”

“Oh, shut up. You found what you left behind.”

She kisses me, and it feels, at last, like the start of something.

It feels like the start of everything.

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