I was talking with Niqua and Seraph when Miles came and scooped me up, kissing me all over, tickling my cheek.
One second I was doubled over laughing at something stupid Niqua said, the next I was airborne. Miles's arms hooked around my waist like I weighed nothing, and a surprised yelp ripped out of my throat.
"Miles!" I shrieked, my voice half-annoyed, half-giggling as he spun me away from the bonfire.
He buried his face in my neck and planted a quick, warm kiss just under my jaw, his stubble scratching lightly against my skin. A shiver shot straight down my spine.
"Put me down!" I smacked his shoulder, but my hands lingered a little too long on the hard curve of his muscles.
Behind us, Seraph whistled. "Okay, main character energy, I see you!"
Niqua's cackle followed. "Yup, that's your man. Don't even deny it."
"He's not my—" I started, but Miles cut me off with another kiss on my cheek, softer this time, his breath hot against my ear.
"Keep lying to yourself, princesa," he murmured, low enough that only I could hear.
My cheeks burned. I could feel eyes on us from all over the beach—the seniors, some juniors, random faces from school we'd only met this week. Waves crashed somewhere in the background, but all I could hear was my racing heartbeat.
"Miles, people are staring," I hissed as he finally set me down, my feet sinking into the cool sand.
He shrugged, not even pretending to care. "Let them. I'm busy." His fingers slid down my arm, finding my hand and threading our fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.
My body betrayed me, leaning into him. I caught Seraph's eye over his shoulder; she lifted her brows like, Girl, we are so talking about this later.
"Don't you have grown-man things to do?" I muttered, trying to sound unimpressed. "Bills to pay? Back pains to complain about?"
He smirked, dimples flashing. "I'm twenty-three, not eighty. Chill." His eyes dragged over my dress, slow and deliberate, taking in the blue bikini under the sheer fabric, the gold starfish belt, the gloss on my lips. Heat rose under my skin. "And for the record, you threw a party and forgot to invite the man who carried your drunk ass up two flights of stairs."
The memory hit me like a slap and a caress at once—my hands in his hair, my lips on his neck, my whispered promises he'd had the decency to ignore.
"Shut up," I mumbled, staring at a random shell near my toes.
He tipped my chin up with his knuckles. "Why? Embarrassed?"
"Obviously," I snapped, swatting his hand away. "You didn't have to remind me I was out here begging."
His gaze softened, just for a second. "You weren't begging. You were hurting. There's a difference."
That stupid warm feeling tugged at my chest. I hated that he could flip the script that fast.
"Besides," he added, that cocky twist returning to his lips, "if I wanted you, I wouldn't need you drunk to get you."
I choked on my own breath. "You're so full of yourself."
"And yet," he said, leaning closer, "you keep looking at me like that."
"Like what?" I whispered before I could stop myself.
He smiled, slow and dangerous. "Like I'm your favorite bad idea."
A burst of laughter from the bonfire snapped the moment. Someone turned the music up, bass thumping through the sand. Seraph jogged over, her red dress swishing around her legs.
"Lovebirds, are you coming, or are we just background characters in your Wattpad fanfic?" she demanded, hands on her hips.
"First of all," I shot back, grateful for the interruption, "if this was a fanfic, my life would be way less messy."
"Second of all," Miles added, slinging an arm over my shoulders, "she'd definitely still be obsessed with me."
"I will drown you in this ocean," I threatened sweetly.
"Romantic," he said, completely unfazed.
Seraph snorted. "Save the murder flirting for later. Shots are lined up and everyone's asking where the birthday girl is."
"It's not my birthday," I protested.
"It's your Brooklyn birthday," Seraph insisted. "Your first real night here as queen of the senior class. Come on."
She grabbed my free hand and tugged. Miles tightened his hold on my shoulders possessively.
"You can share, macho man," she told him. "I'm just borrowing her. You can have your little telenovela moment after."
We made our way back to the bonfire, the sky above ink-black and speckled with stars. The fire threw golden light over everyone's faces—people dancing in the sand, some sitting in tight circles, music blasting from portable speakers.
"Jayla!" someone shouted. "Speech!"
"No speech!" I yelled back on instinct.
"Yes, speech!" the crowd chanted, a ripple of voices that made my stomach flip.
Niqua shoved a red cup into my hand. "Say something before I start roasting you publicly, bestie."
I climbed up onto a flat rock near the fire, my dress brushing against my thighs, the heat kissing my skin. Miles stood at the edge of the circle, arms crossed, watching me like he was the only one there.
I cleared my throat, pushing my hair back. "Okay, um… hi."
A few people cheered just at that. I laughed, the nerves loosening.
"So… four days ago I was still unpacking, crying over my old life and certain this place was going to suck," I said honestly. "Today, I'm here, on a beach in Brooklyn, with people I barely know but already kinda like." I shrugged, smiling. "That's crazy."
Someone yelled, "We're iconic, that's why!" Laughter erupted.
"I'm not gonna lie," I continued, glancing quickly at Niqua, then Seraph, "this month has been trash. Like, straight-up novela drama. I lost people I thought would be in my life forever." My voice wobbled, just a little. "But I also found new people who… showed up when I really needed them."
Seraph pressed a hand to her heart dramatically. "Is that my cue to cry?"
"Shut up," I said, fighting a grin. "Anyway, tonight is about forgetting the crap for a few hours and just… being young and stupid and happy. So, if you came here to start drama, to gossip, or just to be weird…" I paused, scanning the crowd until my gaze locked on Makayla hovering near the outskirts, her eyes shiny in the firelight. "…you can take that back to wherever you came from."
A low murmur rippled through the group. Makayla looked away, jaw clenched.
"But if you came to dance, to laugh, to eat all the snacks I paid for with my stepdad's money… then welcome to the best night of senior year." I lifted my cup high. "To the class of 2026."
"To the class of 2026!" everyone echoed, cups raised.
I downed a sip of my drink—just soda this time, my head still remembering the hangover. Around me, people clinked cups and broke into a new wave of conversation, music surging louder.
As I hopped down from the rock, Miles was there waiting, reaching out without a word. His fingers brushed my waist, steadying me when I stumbled.
"Nice speech, princesa," he said. "Very inspiring. I almost cried."
"You don't cry," I scoffed.
"Not true. I cried once."
"When? When your barber messed up your fade?"
He smirked. "Touch my hair and see what happens."
"Oh, I already know what happens when I touch you," I blurted, then froze.
His eyes darkened, the playful light shifting into something deeper. He stepped closer, crowd and music fading again, like the universe kept putting us in our own little bubble.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "You do."
My heart slammed against my ribs. I could smell his cologne—warm, a little spicy, threading through the salty air.
"Dance with me," he said suddenly.
"I don't dance," I lied.
"Funny," he replied. "Because last time I checked, you were upside down on a table screaming Miley Cyrus at the top of your lungs."
"That was different," I protested. "That was Seraph-pressuring-me energy."
"Then blame her again," he said, taking my cup and setting it on a nearby crate. His hand slid down my arm, finding my fingers and tugging me gently toward the edge of the firelight. "Come on."
A slower song had slipped into the playlist, the beat soft but thick with emotion. Around us, people swayed together, some couples pressed way too close for school standards.
I hesitated, then stepped into him. His hands settled on my hips, fingers splayed against the sheer fabric of my dress. My arms crept up around his neck almost on their own.
"See?" he murmured. "Not that hard."
"Says the guy who probably came out of the womb dancing reggaeton," I muttered.
He laughed, chest rumbling under my palms. "You think you're funny, huh?"
"A little," I admitted.
We swayed slowly, side to side, the world reduced to his heartbeat against my cheek and the distant crash of the waves. Every time his thumbs brushed the strip of skin where my dress didn't quite meet my bikini bottom, my stomach flipped.
"You keep doing that," I warned, my voice coming out breathier than I wanted.
"Doing what?" he asked innocently, thumbs circling again.
"That."
He leaned down, lips close to my ear. "Pretty sure you like it."
"Pretty sure you talk too much," I muttered, but my fingers were already playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.
He exhaled sharply, his breath fanning across my jaw. The air between us tightened, charged.
"Jayla," he said, lower now. "About that boyfriend of yours…"
"Ex," I corrected automatically. "He's my ex." The word felt weirdly good on my tongue, like setting something down I'd been holding too long.
"Ex," he repeated, satisfied. "So you're not taken anymore."
"I'm not a prize on a shelf, Miles," I said, pulling back to look at him. "I'm not just… available because you want me to be."
His eyes held mine, serious for once. "I know that. That's kind of the point."
"Then what is this?" I asked, gesturing weakly between us. "Last night, the party, you acting like you own the place and me with it…"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached up and tucked a loose curl behind my ear, fingers lingering against my skin.
"This," he said slowly, "is me trying not to screw it up with the one girl in this entire messed-up city who actually makes me want to be less of a disaster."
My breath caught.
"And failing miserably," he added with a crooked smile.
I laughed despite myself. "Yeah, you suck at this."
He grinned. "But you still let me hold you." His grip on my waist tightened, pulling me a fraction closer.
"Maybe I'm the disaster," I murmured.
"The cutest one I've ever seen," he said, like it was obvious.
My heart did that stupid flip again. I hated that he could do that. I kind of loved it.
"Look," he continued, voice dropping, "I know I fight in those dumb underground rings, I drink too much, and your mom still thinks I'm some saint because I carry groceries."
"She really does," I muttered.
"But with you…" He searched my face, like he was trying to find the right words. "With you I don't want to be the guy everyone bets on to lose his mind first. I just… I want to be the guy you choose. Without the alcohol. Without the drama. Just me. Just you."
Something in my chest squeezed so hard it actually hurt.
"That's… a lot," I whispered.
"I know." He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. "So I'll say it simple." His forehead rested against mine, our noses almost touching. "I like you, Jayla. Not just your body or your pretty ocean eyes. I like your mouth when you don't let anything slide. I like how you protect your people. I like that you dragged half the senior class to a beach just to prove to yourself you could start over."
My throat felt tight. No one had ever seen me like that—not even Dan. Not really.
"So," Miles finished, voice barely louder than the music, "if you tell me to back off, I will. For real this time. I'll be the annoying big-brother figure your stepdad thinks I am and nothing else. But if you don't…" His fingers pressed into my hips, a silent question. "Then I'm going to keep kissing you until this whole beach remembers exactly who you belong with."
My brain short-circuited for a second.
Belong with.
Old Jayla might've run. Might've thought of Dan, of Makayla, of how everything blew up last time she trusted someone with her heart. But new Jayla—the one with sand between her toes and a whole city daring her to live—lifted her chin.
"First of all," I said, my voice steadier than I felt, "I don't belong to anyone."
"Fair," he murmured.
"Second…" I rose on my tiptoes, brushing my lips against his, just barely. Electricity shot through me. "If I decide to kiss you, it's because I want to. Not because you claimed me in front of a bonfire like some caveman."
He smiled against my mouth. "You done lecturing me?"
"Maybe," I breathed.
"Good," he said, and then he kissed me.
It wasn't like last night's messy, half-sad, half-drunk kisses. This one was deliberate. His hand slid up my back, anchoring me, while his other stayed firm on my hip. Our mouths moved together slowly at first, testing, then deeper, heat rushing to my cheeks.
The world went quiet. No music, no waves, no whispers—just the soft drag of his lips, the faint taste of cola and salt, the way his chest rose and fell against mine.
Somewhere behind us, I heard Seraph scream, "Finally!" and Niqua yell, "About damn time!"
We broke apart, breathless and grinning.
"You're insane," I told him, heart racing.
"You like me that way," he shot back.
"Maybe I do," I admitted.
His smile widened, bright and boyish in a way I'd never seen before.
"Come on," he said, taking my hand again and lacing our fingers. "Let's go show this city what a real Brooklyn story looks like."
As he led me back toward the fire, my friends waiting with smug smiles and open arms, I glanced at the dark stretch of ocean beyond us. For the first time since leaving my real home behind, I didn't feel like I was running from something.
I felt like I was running toward it.
And maybe—just maybe—Miles was part of that new horizon, messy edges and all.