Chapter 19
19
ARCHER
W ell into the next afternoon, Felix’s words are still haunting my head. It’s doing wonders for my shitty mood.
Is he right, though?
Am I going to make this one-sided crush worse by pretending to be in a relationship with Layla?
I’m already borderline obsessed with the girl. Can things actually get worse for me?
I’m trying to distract myself with busy work as I stock shelves near the front of the hardware store. But whenever Layla’s within earshot, I can never fully be focused on the task at hand.
She’s been helping a customer at the register for the past fifteen minutes, and I swear the dude is just taking his sweet time because he wants to chat it up with my fake girlfriend.
She’s nearly done ringing him up, when she calls out to me. “Hey, Archer. Can you do a price check on a driver bit set? The 100-piece? It’s not marked.”
“Check for a sticker,” I grumble back from where I’m stacking paint cans across the floor. “It should be marked.”
“I already checked. It’s not marked,” she repeats. I can hear the annoyance in her voice, but she tries to keep smiling. She’s so much better with customers than I am. She’s a natural at this business thing.
“You check the bottom?” I bite back. Normally, I try to have a better handle on my grumpiness, but I’m in a funkier funk than usual, I guess.
She sighs. “Yes, I checked the bottom. It’s not marked .”
The customer pipes in, uninvited. “Well, the old owner used to just come up with a fair price if something wasn’t marked. He sure knew how to keep his loyal customers coming back all those years.”
The fuck?
Layla grinds out a tight smile, trying not to roll her eyes at the asshole. “The sets are on aisle three. Can you pop over and double-check for us?” She exaggeratedly bats her lashes at me. “Please?”
I’m reluctantly climbing to my feet as I bite back the complaint on my tongue and give the man an ugly stare. I march on past him, heading to aisle three. I confirm the cost, bark out the price to Layla and stand nearby with my arms crossed, watching as she rings him up once and for all.
“Good riddance,” I mutter when the jerkwad customer finally leaves.
Layla turns to me after the door swings closed. “Y’know, if you don’t stop growling at me all the time, nobody’s going to believe that we’re actually dating. Or fake-dating. Or whatever.”
Grabbing the crossword section of today’s newspaper, I turn and head toward my office. “So, how exactly should I be around you?” I ask, not sticking around for her answer.
Of course, she follows me.
“How should you be? How about nice ?” she suggests tauntingly. “And playful? Oh, and I don't know…flirty, even?”
A deep frown pulls at my face. “I don’t like PDA.”
Layla shakes her head at me. “Do I need to remind you? This fake-dating thing was your idea. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Are you serious?” I grouse. “You announced to my entire family that you were my wedding date!”
“And afterwards, I was willing to come clean to your mom and apologize for the whole thing. It was your idea to keep the lie going.”
I shake my head. “I can’t believe you’re going to try and pin the blame on me. Like we didn’t make this mess together.”
Layla sighs. “Fine. You’re right. Finger-pointing solves nothing. The point is, we’re stuck in this thing now. We’ve got to see it through.”
“Right.” I mumble.
She smirks playfully while making a slow approach to where I’m standing at the side of my desk. I freeze, watching her glide closer.
She snatches the newspaper from my hand and tosses it onto the desk next to us. Then she reaches her hand out and lightly grazes her fingers down my chest.
I literally shiver at her touch.
“My, my, what big muscles you have, lover man,” she says, her voice lowering as she continues to run her hand over my chest.
Shit. Touching me like that—is she trying to kill me?
I can’t help but make a face. Layla dramatically rolls her eyes at my discomfort, giving my shoulder a little shove.
“Come on. A little flirting never hurt anybody. Why are you so uncomfortable?” she probes.
Her words light something within me. In a flash, I grab Layla’s soft waist, spin her around, and pin her to the side of the tall filing cabinet.She gasps.
Leaning closer, I bring my lips to her ear. “Is this playful enough for you, Layla?”
She doesn’t respond. She’s shocked speechless. Her breathing becomes louder. Harder.
“A little flirting never hurt anybody?” I repeat. “Really? Because I can assure you that I’m hurting , Belle. I’m hurting real bad.”
I press up fully against her body, so she can feel my throbbing erection. So she can feel the not-so-harmless effects her flirting has on me.
A quiet moan escapes Layla’s lips. She grips the front of my shirt, as if her hold on me is the only thing keeping her upright at the moment.
My eyes fall to her full mouth. To her heaving chest. I’ve never wanted to kiss someone as badly as I do at this very moment. But I have rules.
Layla makes me want to break them, though.
The front door jingles in the distance, and I’m too lost in Layla’s big brown eyes to care. But then I hear footsteps approaching my office and then a loud, surprised, “Oh!”
Fu-u-uck. It’s my parents.
Layla gasps loudly, and we guiltily jump apart.
Mom and Dad share a knowing look. Meanwhile I’m smoothing out the wrinkle in the front of my shirt, where Layla crumpled the fabric in her fist.
I can’t decide if my parents’s crappy timing is a blessing or a fucking curse.
My mother grins merrily. “Oh, sorry to interrupt, kids.” She doesn’t look sorry at all.
My dad raises an eyebrow. “Not like this is a place of business or anything, right?”
“Hey, leave the two lovebirds alone,” Mom says, swatting at Dad’s arm. Then she turns her bright smile on Layla. “I was just on my way to check out what’s new at Daphne’s boutique. Would you like to join me?”
Eyes wide, Layla starts to stutter. “I-I’d love to. I was just about to, um, take my lunch break, so that works out perfectly.” She rips off her apron and snatches her jacket from the hook like the store is on fire.
She gives me a fake smile and a big wave—yes, a wave —when she’s already halfway out the door. Oh, jeez. Talk about a proper goodbye for your fake boyfriend.
Layla and I? We’re nailing this faux-dating thing. Clearly.
Dad turns to me with a shake of his head. “Anyway, I’m looking for pipe fixtures,” he says, giving me whiplash with the sudden change of subject. “What do you have for me?”
He marches off toward the plumbing aisles. I trudge along after him, still trying to wrap my head around the current state of my life.