Chapter 13
Mason
As I pulled up to Lila’s building, my attention snapped straight to her. Yellow sundress. Bare legs. Ponytail swinging against her neck. No heavy makeup, just her, looking effortless and stupidly hot on the sidewalk.
Last night she’d been all glammed up and sexy as hell. But this version of her? Casual. Soft. Dangerous. My dick noticed immediately, zero hesitation, zero respect for today’s plans.
“Hey there, handsome,” Lila said as she slid into the passenger seat, her smile lighting up the car.
“Hey yourself,” I said, aiming for casual and missing the mark. “Ready for your tour guide duties?”
She laughed, and I did a quick, idiotic blink because somehow her eyes were even brighter in daylight. “Prepare to be amazed by my extensive knowledge of Miami’s hidden gems.”
As we pulled away from the curb, I kept stealing looks at her like it was a bad habit. Last night’s kiss stayed stuck in my head, and my grip tightened on the wheel. How the hell was I supposed to keep my hands to myself all day?
I slid on my sunglasses. “So, where to first, Ms. Tour Guide?”
Lila tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Let’s start with Ocean Drive. You’ve probably seen it in movies, but it’s even better in person.”
With a little prompting, she launched into updates about her new project at work and her very pregnant boss, talking a mile a minute as we headed east.
When we reached the iconic street, Lila pointed out Art Deco buildings, boutique hotels, bustling cafés, and sun-kissed tourists as we cruised along. “This place is like a living postcard. Gorgeous, but also weirdly surreal. The nightlife in South Beach is next level, too.”
I watched her more than the view. She was in full tour-guide mode, lit up about all of it. The buildings could’ve been on fire. I wouldn’t have noticed.
“And there’s the famous Versace Mansion,” she added, gesturing to an ornate facade. “Did you know it’s a luxury hotel now?”
“Didn’t know that,” I said. “Want to park and walk around? Get a drink?”
She turned to face me fully, eyes bright. “Okay, here’s the deal: Miami is more than beaches and clubs. It’s got soul. And today, I’m your guide to that soul.”
Her passion pulled a grin out of me. “Alright. Show me this soul you’re talking about. I’ll try to keep up.”
“Perfect.” She clapped her hands together in a quick little burst. “Next stop, Little Havana. Time to give you a taste of Cuban culture.”
I followed her directions, heading west. After a few miles, she motioned for me to park.
The whole neighborhood had a different edge.
Louder in a rougher way. Less polished. More real.
The heat hit hard as we stepped out of the air-conditioned car.
It was mid-September, and still blazing, but I bit back any complaints.
She glanced over when I took her hand, her smile small but real.
As we headed down the block, we passed storefronts that smelled like cigars and sugar, salsa music drifting out of open doors and car windows.
We dodged a folding table set up right on the sidewalk, a bunch of old guys playing dominoes.
Tiles slapped down like it was a competitive sport.
Next thing I knew, she was tugging me into a tiny café, swearing it had the best cafecito in town.
The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans hit me, and I groaned. “Coffee? On a day hot enough to melt asphalt? You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
Lila rolled her eyes and strode to the counter, all confidence. She rattled off our order in Spanish while I stood there trying not to look impressed.
The barista, an elderly Cuban woman with gray hair and deep laugh lines, didn’t waste a second, already pulling cups and reaching for the machine.
“Prepare yourself,” Lila warned with a mischievous grin. “Two shots of caffeine heaven coming right up.”
A moment later, the barista slid two tiny porcelain cups across the counter, steam curling from the dark liquid inside. Lila picked up hers like she’d done it a hundred times, fingers curling delicately around the handle. I did the same, though I felt ridiculous handling something so dainty.
“To Miami’s soul,” she said, raising her cup.
We clinked. I took a sip. The flavor was intense, sweet, and concentrated. Pure liquid lightning. The caffeine punched through my system like a shot to the brain.
“Whoa.” I coughed, my voice cracking. “That’s… something else.”
Lila burst out laughing, her eyes dancing. “That’ll give us enough energy to stroll Calle Ocho. C’mon.”
Outside, the Miami sun was relentless, scorching my skin the second we left the shade. We wandered through bustling streets, palm trees towering overhead, their leaves rustling in the sweltering breeze.
Then we turned a corner, and I stopped dead.
There it was, looming over us. A billboard. No, a massive billboard featuring me in nothing but Apex Gear underwear.
“Holy shit.”
“Uh, yeah. There are quite a few of them around the city. Looks like you’re a bit of a local celebrity,” she teased, nudging me playfully.
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “I was hoping this wouldn’t follow me to Miami. The guys are never going to let me live this down.”
Lila tried to keep a straight face. She made it maybe two seconds before she cracked up. “I’m sure you’ll… rise to the challenge.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Wow. Someone thinks they’re hilarious, eh?”
She gave me a look that said she was enjoying this way too much. “What, you don’t enjoy being eye candy for all of Miami?”
“It’s all part of the job. But I didn’t realize that was part of the endorsement deal.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” She glanced back at the billboard, studying it. “Not everyone could pull off that pose.”
Her head tilted as she kept staring, which made me tug her hand gently to keep us moving. The sooner my two-story bulge was out of sight, the better.
“I’d rather just play hockey without all the extra stuff. That guy up there? That’s not me. I mean, it is me. It’s not photoshopped or anything.” I threw her a wink. She blushed and looked away. “But it’s not who I want to be. I’m just a hockey player.”
“Just a hockey player?” she shot back. “You’re one of the best defenders in the league!”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “And how do you know I’m one of the best defenders? I thought you didn’t know anything about hockey.”
Lila made a face like she knew she’d been caught. “I may have done some Googling after you mentioned being a hockey player. Turns out you’re a big deal. You seriously undersold yourself, Mason.”
I liked hearing that more than I should have. “Well, I’m not one to brag,” I said, brushing it off.
“Clearly,” Lila said, glancing back at the billboard. “But maybe you should start. It’s pretty… impressive.”
Next on her list was Wynwood Walls. We walked past murals the size of buildings, paint still smelling fresh in spots, tourists stopping every ten feet to take selfies. Then we ended up at Bayside, watching yachts drift through water so blue it looked fake while we had margaritas.
A seagull screamed somewhere above us, and the marina air carried that salty bite.
Lila got animated talking about her first paddleboarding disaster, hands moving like she was back on the water.
The sun hit her hair and she glanced over, catching me looking.
She tilted her head, smiling like she wanted to know what I was thinking.
“What?” she asked.
I leaned back in my chair, still watching her. “You.”
Her brows lifted.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, like it was obvious.
Her smile widened, cheeks flushing.
“Thank you,” she said, a little quieter. “You’re not so bad yourself, hockey star.”
The longer we sat there, the more I wanted to stay there. She was smart, funny, and way too easy to like. I was in trouble. For once, I didn’t care. It’d been a long time since I wanted someone this much.
“So, what do you think of Miami so far?” Lila asked, nodding toward the water.
I followed her gaze for all of two seconds, then looked back at her. “Yeah. I can see the appeal.”
Especially now.