Standing in the kitchen, I look around my condo. The lights of the Las Vegas strip blaze in the distance. The floor-to-vaulted-ceiling windows do nothing to ease the feeling of being shrink-wrapped in my own skin. I’m edgy, ticking, and on the verge of explosion.
Just like my dad. Pissed off, irritable, ready to take on the world with my bare knuckles.
Maybe it’s the fight coming up. That has to be it. I can’t stand to entertain the alternative. But the possibility lingers.
And for whatever reason, Layla’s presence in my life seems to aggravate the situation. Holding her in my arms, her fragile little body pressed in close from chest to hip. Vanilla spice curling through my senses and practically dropping me to my knees. Fuck. I was a half a second away from pushing her back against a wall and tasting that sweet mouth.
My words from the night before come flooding back. Good for him for getting the fuck away from you.
She’s too fragile. Broken in a way that makes a guy like me Riddex to my emotionally fractured Mouse.
Attacking Layla’s weak spot at the club, reeling her in just to kick her in the gut, was a typical Duke Daniels move. And as desperate as I am to avoid becoming even a shadow of a man like that, it’s out of my control. I’m furious at how easily I become what I hate the most.
And I’m bitter as hell that there was someone in my life who should’ve protected us, but didn’t. If only my mom would’ve done her job as a parent and left his ass in order to protect us from the verbal abuse. But no, it was me who protected her. Always. She was so damn weak.
My head pounds. This feeling-sorry-for-myself shit has got to stop. I move through my living room and down the hallway. Stopping at the only locked door in the house, I reach up and pull down the single key hidden on top of the doorframe.
I unlock the door and push into the dark room. It’s windowless and soundproof. Without turning on a single light, I know where everything is. My mind has memorized it. I move deeper inside, allowing the scent of maple, rosewood, and mahogany to soothe my damning thoughts. Ready to purge the negative shit coursing through my veins, I take a seat and let the tension melt into the floor.
There in the dark, hidden from even myself, I drown in the one indulgence that has never let me down.
Layla
“Ouch, shit.” I shove my finger in my mouth, cooling the burn from the toaster that I just stuck my finger in to fish out my breakfast. That’s what I get for being in a hurry.
Blake will be here to pick me up at eight, and I want to make sure I’m ready. He’s going out of his way to help me out, and the least I can do is be waiting when he gets here.
After the way he acted in the locker room yesterday, I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes up with an excuse to get out of taking me to work. Flat tire. Out of gas. Sleepover guest he’s not ready to kick from his bed. Lucky girl.
The thought brings me back to our talk at his Jeep, his big body hovered over mine. How the smell of his skin seemed to heighten my senses. I was acutely aware of the heat rolling off his body and the muscles balled up tight beneath his tan skin. And so close… so, so close to—I shake free the images of what being with him would be like.
It’ll never happen, not even for one night. Why would a young, handsome guy like Blake go for a woman like me when he has his pick from all the available girls in Vegas? What I’d assumed was flirting was probably nothing more than a bad boy with a hero complex. Maybe doing a good deed for a person down on their luck helps him justify his less-than-respectable lifestyle.
“Hey everyone, it’s take the poor single mom to work day,” I say in an affected voice while slathering peanut butter on my half-burnt toast.
Why he’s helping me out is irrelevant. He’s doing me a huge favor, and rather than dissect his motives, I’ll focus on being grateful.
I shuffle back to my room, dragging my sock-clad feet against the linoleum. Damn nightmares kept me up most the night, and the lack of sleep is doing nothing for my hustle. If Elle hadn’t popped in to say goodbye before she left for school, I’d probably still be asleep.
Back in my room, my phone is lit up with a new text.
Leaving now. Be there in ten. BD ;)
“B.D. and a winkie face. Look who’s back to being Mr. Funny.” I place my phone on the bathroom counter. I’m still smiling at his silly text when the first part of it sinks in. Crap. Ten minutes?
I race around my room, throwing work clothes on the bed and doing my best to keep a steady hand while doing my face. Running a brush through my semi-dry hair, I snag a bra and pair of panties from my drawer and toss them on the bed to join my work outfit. “Shoes.” I whirl around to my closet and—the doorbell rings.
Shit! Has it been ten minutes?
Even though I’m no longer in a hurry, I fly down the hall and fling the door open like there’s a Publisher’s Clearing House check the size of a small car waiting on the other side.
Nope. Not that. What’s waiting on the other side of my door is way better.
Blake. He’s wearing a black, zip-up hoodie and a pair of worn-out denim jeans that hug his muscular thighs just right.
“Mornin’, Mouse.” He holds up one of two insulated cups. “Thought you could use a coffee.”
I blink at his words. Then, remembering my manners, I step back to hold the door open. “Thank you. Come on in.”
He stares at my feet, and I realize I’ve been so concerned with what he’s wearing, I didn’t think about what I’m wearing. Shit.
Suddenly my threadbare T-shirt and fleece shorts feel indecent. But that’s not where he’s looking. He’s studying my feet, or rather my oversized, very pink, scrunched-up socks.
“What the hell you got on your feet, Mouse?” A crooked smile plays at his lips.
“Socks.” I tuck one foot behind my calf.
“Yeah, I got that. But you’re in Vegas. Those things were made for a snowstorm.”
“My feet get cold.” I step back, trying to hide my feet behind the open door.
His eyes swing up to mine, his near-smile wiped clean. “Huh.”
“Come in.”
He steps past me, his scent dragging by in a brutal tease.
I take a deep breath of the cool air from outside before I shut the door, locking myself inside with him and his mouthwatering smell. “I’ll be out in a minute. Let me finish getting dress—”
“Mouse, sit.”
I turn to see Blake in my kitchen, motioning for me to sit at the table. “We should probably get—”
“We have time.”
“O-Kay.” I sit down at the tiny two-seat table, across from him. The room seems to shrink to half its size with a man like Blake in the room. I pick up the coffee in front of me and take a sip. Mmm, so good. It’s been so long since I’ve indulged in the expensive coffee shop stuff.
Blake leans back in his seat, his head tilted to the side, observing. I sip my drink, the uncomfortable silence tingling my skin.
“So this is where you live.” His casual statement matches his body language.
I look around, ashamed of our meager home. “Yeah. For now. I’m hoping to get some money saved to move to a better place.”
He looks around the space, then back at me, his expression blank. “How long?”
“Until we move?”
He nods.
“Six months? Nine? Depends.”
He drums his fingers against the tabletop. “On what?”
“My paychecks.”
The beat of his fingers gets louder. “What about Axelle’s dad? You’ve got to be getting some child support or—”