Fuck me. I’m gonna regret this.
Eight
Layla
I’m back at work after the trip to the garage, and I can’t stop grinning. Sure, I compromised and let Blake negotiate my rental. But really, it was Jonah who hooked that up. It shouldn’t make a difference, but it does. It feels less dependent. I mean, if anything, I’m helping him and Raven out by using a car that would be collecting dust. Yeah, that makes complete sense.
What doesn’t make sense is that for a brief moment behind Blake’s car, I allowed myself to consider what it would be like to be kissed by him. At one point it seemed like he might try, but all I could think was that Raven might get jealous and do something crazy like poke holes in my gas tank. It wasn’t until later I realized what an idiot I was for assuming that Blake was having some sort of a sexual relationship with Raven, when she’s Jonah’s wife. My cheeks burn at the memory.
The shame of accusing Blake of two love affairs with two different women made me acquiesce and accept the help. Those moments of weakness were totally worth the full-blown euphoria of driving that Camaro—windows down, music up, and the roar of the engine vibrating my vital organs. Invigorating would be an understatement. I’m watching the clock, eager for the chance to get back into that thing. Tonight I’m taking the long way home.
I’m straightening up my desk, preparing to leave for the night, when the phone at my desk rings. “Taylor Gibbs’s office, this is—”
“Layla, it’s Xavier.”
“Hey, Z. What’s up?”
“I need your signature on a few things. You want to come down to my office, or should I come to you?”
I check the clock. Almost five. “I’m on my way out. I’ll come down.”
“Great.”
Grabbing my things, I head to his office. Luckily, the room is at the opposite end of the locker room from the showers, or coming down here would make my job very uncomfortable. Pushing the door open, I keep my eyes to the ground and make a beeline to the back room.
His office door is open a crack. I knock lightly and push my way in.
He’s sitting behind his desk. “Layla, that was fast.” Papers rustle as he slides them into his top drawer.
“Oh, yeah. I’m in a rush to get home.” Not really, more like a rush to drive the kick-ass hot rod that’s waiting for me in the lot.
He sorts through a short stack of papers, pulling out a few and handing them to me. “Just need a signature on these treatment forms.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Routine red tape.”
I grab a pen off his desk then flip through the papers, giving each a brief scan. Pharmaceutical orders. I’ve seen similar order forms before, and even recognize the company logo belonging to of the big pharm companies that’s putting the smaller ones out of business. It was a topic I heard about often in my old life. The thought gives me the creepy crawlies. I sign quickly and drop the pen. “That it?”
He looks them over. “Sure is. Thanks.”
After a smile and a friendly good-bye, I leave the office. I keep my head low and make my way back through the locker room, using the tile on the floor and my peripheral vision to find my way. I’m halfway to the door when I slam into a solid wall of muscle.
I throw my hands up against a knotted abdomen covered in a cotton T-shirt. Thank God, I didn’t run into one of the guys naked. “Sorry. Shoot, I’m so sorry.”
“Why?”
I swallow a breath at the familiar voice. Blake.
“I stepped in front of you.” The rolling bass of Blake’s words draws my gaze up.
His stare is severe, despite his blank expression.
I take a step back and drop my hands. “Hey.”
He lifts his chin in greeting.
“Listen, I uh… didn’t get a chance to thank you properly at the garage. You’re right. I need to be better about accepting help. So…” So what? How do I thank him? A handshake seems too formal. A hug?
He stands still, his eyebrows raised.
I awkwardly open my arms. “Um…” I push up to my tiptoes and move in for a hug.
He leans back fractionally, and, in a moment of terror, I wonder if a hug is too personal. Too late now.
Even on my tiptoes, my arms don’t reach his thick, corded neck. I lock my hands at his nape and pull him in. He leans down, the raw strength of his powerful arms wrap around my waist and tug me close. I’m practically lifted off my feet as he holds me to his body. His firm chest presses against mine, the heat of his skin penetrates my thin sweater and coils deep in my belly.
The safety of his strength and the warmth of his touch, combined with the clean, spicy scent of his skin, would be any girl’s happy place. With my cheek pressed to his shoulder, I bite my lip against a moan. How something can feel so good and be so, so bad, I’ll never know.
I pull away, and he releases me easily. “Thanks.”
His eyes do that thing where they travel from my lips to my hairline. Like he’s looking at a steak and doesn’t know which bite to take first.
A slow shiver crawls down my spine.
“Your place.” His strange statement has my cheeks burning.
My place. As in… no, that’s not what he means. Is it? What would I do if it was? “What?”
“Your address.” He doesn’t take his eyes off mine. “For tomorrow.”
Uncomfortable laughter shoots from my lips. “Yes. Of course.” I dig in my purse looking for a piece of paper and a—oh, found a pen. “One second here. If I could just find something to write on.”
He puffs out what sounds like an impatient breath. With one yank, he has the pen in his hand, and one move later, my hand is in his. “Text it to me.”
A little buzzed from the combination of his big hand consuming mine and the subtle forest smell I’m beginning to associate with only him, I bob my head affirmatively as he scribbles something on my palm.
He drops my hand and pops the pen into my purse. “Eight AM.”
“Um… eight, that… good. I’ll uh…” I struggle to get the words out, but he’s already turned and disappeared behind a row of steel lockers.
What the hell was that? One minute the guy treats me like a friend and the next a burden. And the almost kiss behind his Jeep today is the whipped topping on this mind-fuck sundae.
I shake off the awkward exchange. Whatever is or isn’t happening between us isn’t worth my overthinking. His actions prove he’s a friend. That’s enough for me.
Blake
It’s late, and I’m still up. I read the text that came in a few hours ago one more time.
237 N. Tulum Dr. #290 See you in the a.m. Layla
Shortly after I added her number to my contact list, right below Lanette and above Leah, I punched her address into MapQuest. She’s in one of the worst neighborhoods in Vegas.
If I was a good guy, I’d drive over there right now, pack up all their shit, and take them to a hotel until they find somewhere safer. I groan and rub my forehead, my brain feeling like a party mix of compulsion and annoyance.
Something ain’t right. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to tune this girl out. I’ve done it countless times in the past. All I have to do is decide not to care. But no matter how many times I make that decision, Layla Moorehead continues to grate against my determination.
Fuck. I push up from the lounger on my patio and head back inside. My back is completely numb now from the good doc’s cortisone injections, but I don’t want to take any chances. I grab a Gatorade from the fridge and throw back a handful of Doc’s prescription holistic crap.