Chapter 8
Layla
LAYLA’S LIFE LIST
Have a water fight
I’m wearing Kieran Ashford’s clothes.
Correction.
Kieran Ashford’s clothes are wearing me.
His large six-foot-three frame swallows me up when he stands beside me.
I practically get a kink in my neck every time he does it, too, but this is ridiculous.
I’ve had to roll the sweatpants six times, and they still keep falling down.
Growling under my breath, I kick them off completely. “I’m just going to have to do without.”
The hoodie swims on me anyway, coming to rest just above my knees, and I only need to wear it until my jeans are dry. Thankfully, his washer and dryer are already hooked up.
Walking back to Emmy’s room, I steel my spine, preparing myself for his comments and flirty winks but stop short when I hear him making explosion sounds, followed by loud splashes.
Emmy laughs hysterically, and before I know it, my lips are tugging up into a smile.
I turn the corner, finding him playing with the fish toys I picked out.
The sight is more than adorable…until I realize he’s pretending to blow the fish up with bombs.
“Are men incapable of playing without blowing stuff up?”
Kieran’s already smiling as he turns to me, but the humor in his eyes suddenly vanishes. His tongue darts out to lick his lips as his gaze trails over my body ever so slowly, and I swear I can feel it along my skin like a phantom touch.
Emmy squeals as she throws a plastic fish into the water. It splashes over the tub and into Kieran’s lap.
That certainly snaps him out of it.
Shaking his head, he moves to grab the fish. “I do, actually. I tried to play mermaids with her but she wasn’t interested.”
“You tried to play mermaids?”
“I grew up in a foster home with lots of girls. I was forced to play mermaids more times than I can count.”
My heart pinches.
The more I learn of Kieran’s childhood the more I want to wrap him in a blanket and give him a hug for all the times he wasn’t given love.
With the tension now lining his shoulders, I move the subject along, taking a seat on the toilet lid. “Queen Emmy doesn’t like mermaids? But what about the mermaid princesses?”
She scrunches her nose at that, still keeping a firm press on her lips. She hasn’t uttered a word since telling me her name.
“Queen Emmy is going to turn into a fish herself if she doesn’t hop out soon,” Kieran declares. “Her hands and feet are pruning.”
Tapping my chin, I land on a plan before gasping dramatically. “Emmy, have you seen your new bed?” At her head shake, I stand, walking to the bathroom door and letting out an excited squeal. “Emmy! Oh my gosh, it’s so pretty! I want one exactly like it. Can I have yours?”
She all but scampers out of the tub to try and get to the door, shaking her head aggressively.
“I can’t have it?” I ask as Kieran wraps her in a bath towel.
The second he’s got her bundled she’s off like a rocket, running past me to throw herself onto her bed.
“Genius,” Kieran mutters. “It took me over an hour last night to get her out of the tub.”
“Two words, Ashford: bribery and imagination.”
“And when that fails?”
I pull a face as I move to grab her pajamas. “Prepare for a tantrum.”
An hour after walking me through Emmy’s routine, Kieran pauses at the bottom of the stairs and groans softly, his eyes closing after taking in the carnage of his living room.
The furniture’s in disarray. I must have been too preoccupied with Kieran and Emmy when we came in earlier to notice.
“I’ll help you move everything into a normal spot,” I offer, already grabbing a piece of furniture when Kieran’s hand darts out, gently capturing my wrist.
“We’ve done enough today. I’m dead on my feet so you must be too. Let’s just sit on the couch and order food while we go over my schedule for the next week.”
His hand is still wrapped around my wrist, his calloused skin sending a tingle of awareness through my body.
“I love that idea, Kieran, but…”
“But?”
I wince. “The couch is in the kitchen…and in separate pieces.”
He throws his hands in the air. “Fuck it. We’re sitting on the couch in the kitchen then.” He stomps over toward the cushions. “Surely this is a first we’re ticking off on your list?”
“On the list, no.” I practically moan as I flop down on the sectional. “A first, yes. My god, Kieran, where did you get this couch? It’s like a cloud.”
He takes a seat beside me because it’s either that or the small square on the other side of the living room where we would have to yell to hear each other. The sectional piece is large but not large enough that we can sit without touching.
My breath freezes in my lungs as his legs brush the bare skin of my thigh, and it takes everything in me not to shiver at his heat. He changed into dry clothes, opting for black shorts.
“Worth every penny,” he utters as he spreads his legs farther, having no qualms about touching me as he gets cozy.
Of course he doesn’t care about leg touching, he’s no doubt done everything under the sun with women.
His features soften and relax, his eyes closing as his body practically melts into the couch.
“Do you want to do this another night? It looks like you’ve reached your quota for the day.”
Kieran opens one eye. “Are you telling me I look exhausted?”
Folding my legs so my knees are pressed together, I prop my head on my fist. “No, I just think it’s been chaotic for you.”
“It has been but being around you doesn’t tire me.”
“It doesn’t?”
He shakes his head before pulling out his phone. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Oh, I can eat anything.”
“I know, but I asked what your favorite food is.”
I huff out a laugh at his stubbornness. “Pasta,” I admit. “I’m a sucker for pasta and garlic bread.”
“Pasta it is,” he declares with a lopsided grin. “Want to help a guy out and let me know what type of pasta?” He hands me his phone, a delivery app open on a local Italian restaurant.
Our fingers graze as I take it, that odd tingly sensation running up my arm again.
Swallowing thickly, I avert my eyes to the phone, not entirely aware of what pasta I pick because I can feel his gaze on me like a hot brand. You can never hide from Kieran Ashford; he sees everything, and right now, I’m holding his attention.
Kieran’s fingers linger as he takes the phone back as slowly as he can, his knee still pressed against my thigh.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I peer over my shoulder at the living room, giving myself anything else to think about besides the wildly attractive hockey player watching me as I sit on his couch in nothing but his oversized hoodie.
I knew all about Kieran before I met him. Saw the many posts and rumors spread from puck bunnies. He’s the most infamous on the team for how he only spends a single night with women, and yet it only takes a night to get them hooked.
I looked at photos of him, but it wasn’t until I met him that day at the adoption event that I truly understood why women throw themselves at him.
It wasn’t just his looks, it was the air in which he held himself, that cocky and yet downright playful personality.
The charisma that rolled off his tongue, the way his eyes, as deep as the Atlantic Ocean, seemed to sparkle as he stared through me, all the way down to the trenches of my soul.
Bella teased me endlessly about my firecracker side, as she called it, that came out around him. He pushes my buttons, yes, but if I’m honest with myself, it’s because I’d be like every other girl and fall for his charm if I let him in and I don’t want to be.
I don’t want to be a single night.
I don’t want to be a notch on his bedpost.
Not when it leads to heartbreak. Not when it will leave me feeling used and discarded.
“Layla?”
His soft voice draws me away from my thoughts. “Hmm?”
He pauses before asking, “Do you want to go over my schedule?”
Our gazes lock and hold, his trying to peer through my soul, mine trying to keep my walls high. Nodding, I pull out my phone, opening up my calendar and shaking off the feeling of my heart getting far too excited.
Forty-five minutes later, with one jam-packed schedule noted, emergency contact numbers exchanged, routines written down, and an extremely hefty salary spoken into existence, Kieran and I are devouring pasta and garlic bread.
I moan around my spoonful. “My god, is this good.”
Apparently, I picked well while in my Ashford haze.
I never would have been able to eat this last year, would have had to excuse myself and leave early to eat the extremely bland, anti-inflammatory meal I ate on rotation.
Food is the one thing I am endlessly grateful I don’t have to stress over anymore.
I don’t have to wake up in the middle of the night cupping my extended stomach through scream-worthy cramps.
Kieran turns to face me fully, his bowl of pasta resting on his knee.
“I was thinking that you should come with me to Emmy’s first speech therapy session.
You’d have to wait outside for the majority of it, but when it comes to the end, I’d love for you to be there to hear what the therapist thinks is the best approach for her. ”
Kieran’s eyes never once leave my lips as I chew my penne, and they seem to flare more as I lick them.
“Of course, I think that’s a great idea. I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing and have her regressing.”
His lip twitches. “Good. I’ll text you the details when I book it.”
He continues to stare, not eating, and I finally ask, “What? Do I have sauce on my face somewhere?”
“No, it’s just—” He stops abruptly, chuckling.
“What?” I whack his shoulder as he continues to laugh. “Stop laughing at me!” I wipe at my face despite what he said, and my fingers come back with no sauce.
He bites his bottom lip. “I’ve just never seen someone love pasta so much.”
“Oh.” My cheeks flame and I can’t help it, my eyes dart away, a flurry of embarrassment and insecurity swarming me.