Infamous (Beautiful Idols 3)

As if sensing her thoughts, Mateo looked up in surprise to find she was there. He called to one of the instructors to take over, then made his approach. With his feet carving into the sand, he tugged the zipper of his wet suit and peeled it down low on his torso, easily proving he was still one of the most beautiful specimens Layla had ever seen.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to lift her gaze.

“I hear congrats are in order,” he said as she tossed him a towel and watched as he rubbed it against his hair. It was a well-choreographed move they’d practiced countless times in the past. Only back then, Layla had given it little notice, or worse, felt resentful of the amount of time he spent in the water. The idea that it was most likely the last time they’d enact such a moment left her feeling bittersweet.

“I could say the same.” She nodded toward an ocean full of kids who, thanks to the foundation Mateo had started to help at-risk kids, were learning to surf.

“It’s pretty great, isn’t it?” He beamed with pride, though Layla was quick to note that the pride was reserved entirely for his students. It was a complete lack of hubris that proved she’d been right all along. He really was too good for her.

“Still, it’s not quite the same as a big book deal. And last I heard, a movie deal too?”

He looked genuinely impressed. But compared to what Mateo had built, she wasn’t sure she deserved his praise. Writing what was hyped to become the hottest new teen thriller was one thing, saving lives was another.

“Are you going to write the screenplay?”

“They agreed to let me take a stab at it,” she said. “But most likely they’ll fire me at some point and turn it over to someone with more experience.” Mateo looked as though he was about to disagree, but Layla stopped him and said, “That’s how it usually works, and I’m fine with it. I figure I’ll learn a lot in the process.”

“And school?” His deep brown gaze rested on hers.

“School is still happening. Not sure if I’ll go for a journalism degree, but I have time to decide.”

“So how is it in New York? Are you happy?”

Was she happy? She gazed at Mateo and thought of all she had lost the moment she decided to leave. Then she nodded and said, “Honestly, I love it.” Her enthusiasm for the city was undeniable. “But sometimes I miss it here. You know, mellow moments like this—hanging on the beach and watching you surf.”

Mateo laughed. “No, you don’t.”

She laughed too. She kind of did, but she recognized those feelings as more a nostalgia for a past she could never reclaim than a wish for her future. “Maybe not. But sometimes I do miss other things, you know?”

He held her gaze, letting the moment stretch and float. His voice wistful, he said, “How’s H.D.?”

Layla smiled. “Happy. Dating. Did you know he’s running the VIP room at the Vesper when he’s not painting? He seems to love it.”

“And your mom?”

Layla closed her eyes and sighed. “We met for coffee. She might come to New York for a visit. We’re taking it slowly. And Valentina?”

The grin that lit Mateo’s face was like the sun peeking out from the clouds on an overcast day. “Fully on the mend. She’ll be twenty-one any day now, just ask her.”

Layla sighed. There was so much to catch up on—so much he deserved to hear. After the scene at RED, she’d holed up at home with her dad for a really long time. Hadn’t spoken much to anyone until months had gone by. She’d needed the time to process and heal, but now she realized there might be a price to her silence. “Mateo . . . ,” she started.

He leaned toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re good,” he told her, and in that moment she knew that they were. Mateo had always been a man of few words.

She watched as a beautiful girl made her way toward them. Her long black hair hung to her waist in soft waves, and she held tightly to a little girl’s hand. When she came to stand beside Mateo, Layla got the sense they were dating, and her first instinct was to instruct the girl on just how special Mateo was—that his heart was not to be messed with—that she’d better not even consider treating him the way Layla had.

She was just about to introduce herself when Mateo nodded and said, “Looks like you have a visitor.”

Layla glanced behind her to find Tommy.

She turned back to Mateo, wondering why she suddenly felt so guilty. She was happy. Mateo was happy. So it had all worked out for the best, hadn’t it?

Tommy slipped his arm around Layla’s waist and planted a light kiss on the side of her cheek.

“Are you Tommy Phillips?” The little girl gazed at him in awe.

Tommy grinned and bent down to her level.

“I am,” he said. “And you are?”