Chapter 2: Lila

“A Heineken, please.” Climbing onto a bar stool, I drop my oversized bag to the floor. Obviously, I overpacked, but that was a given. 

“Here you go.” The bartender places a pint of Heineken on a coaster next to my hand. 

“Thanks.” I push a twenty-dollar bill across the bar and take a large gulp of my beer, the lager cool and refreshing. 

Glancing at my phone, a Snapchat from Mia pops up. Clicking on her handle, MammaMiaP, her face appears with a giant cone of gelato, bits of cream evident on her face. “Nice.” Muttering to myself, I snap a photo of my Heineken, and send it back. Caption: gearing up for sexy surfers. 

“Mind if I join you?” 

Swiveling on the bar stool, I lock eyes with one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen. My fingers grip my Heineken. It’s the gorgeous guy who checked me out at the gate. Hard. Having his intense eyes scan my face was unnerving; it’s like he could see into me, strip away layer by layer, from the moment our eyes met. 

And now, here he is. 

And wow, he is all the things. 

Towering over me, his hard muscles bunch and roll as he shifts his weight.  Rich and creamy skin, a shade lighter than cappuccino, dark curls cropped short, nearly to his scalp, and a jawline like a razor’s edge, he’s got swagger. A confidence that is more than just his looks. 

Awareness hums in my veins, warming my blood. Tearing my eyes away from him, flustered by his interest in me, I nod. “Sure. You get bumped as well?”  

“Something like that.” He lowers himself onto the barstool and a shiver skates up my spine. His eyes are dark gray, heady and expressive, like a thunder cloud in the moments before a rainstorm. Real talk: they’re sexy as hell. He’s sexy as hell. He must be an athlete. Regular college dudes don’t look like this guy. Hell, underwear models don’t look like him either. 

The space between us charges with an electricity that wasn’t there before and I bite the corner of my mouth, hyper aware of every swivel he makes on the barstool. “What’re you drinking?” His voice is rough and raspy, and it drags over my skin, like wet sand mixed with gravel. 

“A Heineken.” 

“I’ll have the same. Thanks man.” He says to the bartender, shifting his weight on the barstool like it’s uncomfortable, like it can’t support his giant frame. His hands are splayed flat on the bar’s surface, the blunt edge of fingertips tapping softly. 

Leaning forward, his biceps ripple underneath his dark gray T-shirt and a pair of dog tags swings forward. He looks away as he tucks them back into his shirt, his shoulder blades stiffening. 

“Cheers.” He holds his pint up to me when his beer arrives. 

“Cheers,” I echo, clinking my glass against his. 

“It’s pretty good.” He clears his throat, surprise coloring his tone. 

“Not normally a Heineken drinker?” 

“Nah, more of a Guinness man. But I’m pleasantly surprised.” 

“It’s the smiling E’s.” 

“The what?” He chuckles, tilting his head to gage if I’m playing with him. The corners of his mouth tick up and I grin, way too eager to make this man smirk. Or laugh. Or anything, really. 

“The smiling E’s.” I point to the three e’s in Heineken. “See how they’re sort of winking at you?” 

He studies the lettering, his expression growing thoughtful even though a smirk still hugs his lips. “Yeah, I see it,” he admits, a laugh wrapping around his words. “So, what, these smiling E’s elevate the beer’s taste?” 

“Totally.” I take another pull from my glass, smacking my lips together. “Their presence makes everything better. Rounds it all out.” 

Hottie with the body snorts, swiveling on his barstool. Our knees tap once, twice, three times as he twists back and forth and a zing sparks through me, my head buzzing from his proximity. “Are you a beer guru or something?” 

“Nah. I don’t even really like beer.”

“Then why’re you drinking it?”

“Because of the e’s.” I lift my chin at him, widening my eyes like my reasoning should be obvious. “A few years ago, I went to Amsterdam with my brother. We did the Heineken Experience. I loved it so much, I sort of became a brand loyalist.”

Angling his body closer to mine, his expression is a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “Okay. I’m gonna go with it; I feel your logic.”

Swiping my tongue across my upper lip to catch the foam, I introduce myself. “I’m Lila.” 

“Cade. Good to meet you.”

“You too. Cade,” I add, rolling his name around in my mouth, hoping it’s one I repeat in the future. 

“You going back to school?” He kicks lightly at my bag on the floor. 

“Eh, kind of. I’m doing an internship through Astor for the semester. I really go to college in Philly.”

He studies me for a moment, rolling his lips together. “Your version of study abroad?”

“Yes. What about you?”

“I’m a student at Astor. A senior.”

“Oh my God, really? Me too. I mean, I’m a senior. I just thought you were older. Maybe in grad school or something.” 

“Nah. Twenty-two.”

“You got me beat then. I’m still twenty-one.” 

“Old enough to drink. And not just in Amsterdam.” 

“Thank God for that.” 

“Kind of tough to miss a semester of your senior year, isn’t it?” he asks, raising his beer to his lips. 

And wow, to be just one little drop of Heineken in this moment… 

“Yeah, I guess so. Although the timing worked out. Two of my best friends left campus for the semester. Mia landed in Rome a few days ago to study abroad and Emma took an internship on Capitol Hill in D.C. Poor Maura, though. She’s all by herself on campus, cursing the rest of us.” 

He glances at me from the corner of his eye, nodding once. “Yeah, that would be tough. Maybe she’ll visit you?” 

“Or I can visit her. That’s why I took the plane ticket. I’m sure I’ll want to come back sometime during the semester for a visit.” 

“Makes sense. So, you’re from around here?”

“Sort of. I was born and raised in Massachusetts, but my family moved to New York a few years ago. So, I guess this is home now. What about you?”

“New Jersey. Born and bred.”

“A Jersey boy, huh?” I croon the lyrics to “Walk Like A Man” by The Four Seasons. 

Cade chuckles. “You know, a few years back, everyone had jokes because of Jersey Shore. You cracking on me because of Jersey Boys is actually a relief.” 

Grinning, I reach out and squeeze his wrist. Electricity explodes in my fingertips from where my skin grazes his, traveling up my arm and through my body like a live wire. Pulling my hand back, I cover up my reaction with a snicker. “My mom dragged me to see Jersey Boys on Broadway, like, three times,” I admit, my mind still caught on how much Cade affects me. How one tiny touch feels so intense, so overwhelming. 

“Well, I’m completely tone-deaf so don’t get any ideas.”

“Noted.” 

“Do you know anyone in your internship program?”

I sigh, wrapping my fingers around my pint glass so I’m not tempted to touch him again. “Not yet. It’s like freshman year all over again. Jitters and orientation and a new roommate.” 

“Seriously? You’re a little badass.” He bumps his shoulder against mine and places his beer on the bar, his eyes narrowing in on my lips. “I’ll give you my number before we board. I can introduce you to some people on campus. And my house has parties all the time, so you’ll have to come by and kick it.”

“Your house? I didn’t peg you as a frat guy.”

Cade tips his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing with laughter. A low, lazy rumble works its way up from his chest as he shakes his head. “Hell no. Nothing against Greek life but it’s not my scene. I play football. A bunch of us live together so the house is a guaranteed good time.”

Whoa. An Astor football player. Those guys are like campus royalty. Or deities. Take your pick. “Oh, wow, you must be pretty good then.” 

“Why do you say that?” His eyes glimmer and I can tell he’s sucking in a grin, knowing damn straight that Astor only recruits talent.  At least, that’s what my brother Brandon told me when I accepted the internship. 

“Weren’t two players from your team drafted at the end of last season? And one of them was only a sophomore.” 

“Yep. Samson and Hux. So, you’re a football fan then?” 

“The same way I’m a beer drinker.” 

He grins, amusement rippling over his face. But curiosity flares in his dark eyes, his elbow glancing off my forearm as he leans closer. “Who’s your team?” 

“The Patriots.”

“What?” he groans. “It’s because of Tom Brady, isn’t it?” 

Breathing in the spice of his cologne, I hold it in my lungs, let it unfurl in my veins and travel through my body like smoke. Cade’s presence is heady, and I could easily get drunk off his company, beer or no beer.  Shaking my head, I point a finger at him. “That’s an unfair assumption.” 

He holds his hands up in surrender, but I don’t buy it for a second. His eyes gleam, brightening a shade to pewter, silver ringing the outer edges of his irises. “Alright, tell me why you chose the Patriots then?” 

“I used to watch them with my dad,” I admit, the memory slicing at something in my chest. Picking up my glass, I take a long drink, the tang of beer distracting me from the operative words in that sentence: used to. 

Sensing the change in my mood, Cade shifts, his arm brushing against mine. “I like your answer better than Tom Brady. Even though I can’t fault the guy.” 

“No one can.” I scan his broad chest, noting how his biceps bulge like two watermelons. “Football suits you a hell of a lot more than Greek life.”

His easy grin is back as he lifts his chin in my direction. “That’s a relief to hear.” 

I smile. 

“So, since we’re going to kick it in Cali, we may as well celebrate the start of senior year together. We’ve got…” he pauses, checking his watch “…two more hours to kill.” 

“Done,” I accept, twisting my bar stool even closer to his. “What are you thinking?”

“Two shots of Patron, please,” he calls out to the bartender.  

“Tequila’s my favorite.” 

His eyes flick to mine again, dropping to my lips and staying there longer than necessary. Heat crawls up my neck at his intensity and the space between us crackles with awareness. 

“Mine too.” His words are soft, fluttering across my skin on his breath, as if he is sharing something greater than his preference for mezcal. 

The bartender pours two shots and pushes over a saltshaker and some limes. Licking my wrist, I shake on some salt. 

“Welcome to Astor, Lila.” Cade raises his shot glass.

“Happy senior year, Cade.” 

We clink our glasses together and lick the salt from our wrists. Our eyes catch and the heat that flares in his does things to me, things that normally don’t happen. My skin grows hot under his gaze, flushed. My breath sticks in my throat, causing me to cough on my tequila shot.

Reaching out, Cade swipes his thumb over the corner of my mouth, brushing away some salt. Still, I lean into his touch, drawn to him way more than I should be. Way more than this casual exchange calls for. 

I focus on the storm brewing in his stare, my lips automatically parting for the lime he holds up to my mouth.Biting into the wedge, the tangy sour taste bursts, and my mind latches onto it, so I can lose myself in this memory again and again.