23. Briggs
brIGGS
Eight years ago…
He won’t stop holding her hand and, when he brought it up to his lips to kiss it, I almost jumped my lunch table and tackled him to the floor.
I’m extremely irritated that he won’t let her be. That he’s up her ass every two and a half seconds whenever he can, and they don’t have a class together to make it known they’re together.
That they’re dating.
That, in the eyes of everyone in this dumbass school, Layla Jean Melrose belongs to Cruz Weston.
Not with me.
I’m elbowed by Tucker, one of my teammates who plays first base and is the only player on the team who connects with me spot-on. I can whale a ball at him from anywhere on the field, and he’ll catch it.
I wouldn’t say we’re best friends, but we’re close enough.
“Stare a little longer,” he utters under his breath as he pops another french fry in his mouth. “It’s not noticeable at all.”
Alright, so I’m not so subtle about it anymore.
Why should I be when Layla belongs to me? When we’re doing this stupid fake-dating bullshit, and she’s breaking all the damn rules I laid out.
No touching.
No kissing.
No looking.
No holding hands.
No blow jobs.
No fucking.
No falling in love.
No sucking anything.
No hickeys.
No marks.
No secrets.
No sneaking away.
No skipping class with him.
No poster signs of his name on it.
No matching.
No wearing his number.
I’m sure there’s more that I can’t think of right now, but she’s already broken the no looking, no hand-holding, and no touching bit.
She breaks one more, I’m going to bust Cruz’s head open.
“You’re freakin’ people out,” Tucker alleges, like I give a fuck. “People are startin’ to stare.”
“Then maybe they’ll start puttin’ two and two together,” I deadpan, watching Layla bounce her head back and forth with a smile as she chews.
“What are you doin’?” my not best friend asks, like I’m really going to have a wholehearted talk with him about it. “Don’t start anymore bullshit on the team than you already have with Weston. He’s not worth it and, honestly, dude’s a waste of space.”
“Let’s end him then.”
Tucker doesn’t reply, probably because he doesn’t know how to. Not with his good-ole-country-boy ass.
He has a family and a mother and grandmother who love him. He doesn’t need a dad. They’re worthless anyway.
“Eat,” Tucker orders with another annoying nudge to my arm. “Practice is gonna be brutal today, and you need all the energy you can muster up.”
I don’t need to eat. I have enough pent-up aggression that’ll keep me aiming my balls at the plate and right at Cruz’s jaw.
Nonetheless, to keep Tucker from moving his all about, I pluck up a few fries and shove them in my mouth.
“Ketchup.” Tucker tosses a few packs my way. “And salt and pepper because you’re a freak.”
“I like my shit seasoned, Tuck. Not like your mama’s chicken.”
I don’t get a light elbow next, but a full thrust into my ribcage for dragging his mother into my inner turmoil.
“You better shut it, Kerrigan,” he grounds out. “Or I ain’t invitin’ ya scrawny ass to no more meals.”
I smile, glance over at him, and say, “Promise?”
“Hi, boys,” Layla Jean’s voice singsongs cheerfully, triggering into my orbit and headspace like a truck barreling into the side of the fruit stands, sending everything flying everywhere in disarray. “Fries again?”
Tucker is quick and easy to get his head screwed on straight because he answers, “It’s a food group, Layla. Been tryin’ to tell you that for years now.”
“Haven’t taken food and nutrition yet, have you?” she retorts with amusement.
“I did,” Tucker confirms. “And barely passed it. Zoe saved my ass with it, though. Girl’s a smart one.”
“How about you stop usin’ her for exams and your crammin’ and ask her out on a date?”
Tucker scoffs haughtily as if he’s too good for her when, really, it’s the other way around. “Zoe ain’t my type, Layla Jean. She snorts Magnolia Ridge for breakfast.”
“Maybe you should snort some of her good graces because she has connections in this town. I’m sure your mama would like that.”
“No, thanks.” He pushes his chair back and stands, hinting that he’s giving me some space with my obsession. “You two weirdos have a nice conversation. I’m going to go eat my fries in peace and quiet and without judgment.”
He didn’t need to leave.
It’s not like Layla, and I can make out at the lunch table because she’s off-limits to me in a setting like this, and that constant reminder is starting to piss me off.
“Hey,” Layla says again, stealing Tucker’s seat and turning her body to line up with mine. “How are you?”
“Great,” I grind back. “I have a perfect view of Weston kissin’ your hand and you two lookin’ all lovey-dovey over there.”
I see Layla’s body deflate out of my peripheral. “Briggs, what do you want me to do? It’s either this or—”
“I want you to break up with him. Even if you don’t tell your Uncle Ben, I am completely fine with that, but not him. For the love of God, Short Stop, it’s like watchin’ a car wreck.”
“Gosh,” she drones. “It can’t be that bad when he doesn’t kiss me every five seconds.”
“He wants to, trust me. However, he’s within reach of me, and I will—”
“Focus, Kerrigan.” She snaps her fingers, but it doesn’t snap me out of it. “I get to see you every day at school, my uncle hasn’t threatened homeschool in a while, and I’m—”
“There is no homeschoolin’ here, Layla Jean. No one’s got any time for that bullshit.”
“Then no parties. No seein’ you at bonfires and—”
“Your friends go,” I argue.
“Not all the time. Zoe is pressed with a project, and Fallon is datin’ Cody Tyler.”
I make a face, but I don’t say anything about that weirdo. The last time I saw him, he was staring at a wall.
With nothing on it.
“You need to stop obsessin’ over Cruz,” Layla drawls. “And pay attention to the pros here.”
“I’m not going to stop obsessin’ over the fact that another man is touching my girl.”
Layla’s palm falls on my thigh from underneath the table, and my cock twitches in my jeans. “He doesn’t bother me. I only look forward to seein’ you. That’s all.”
I rest my hand on top of hers and squeeze. “Yeah, I know, Short Stop. You can make it up to me later.”
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “How?”
“I dunno.” I send her a teasing smirk. “You think I’m going to do all the work for you?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”
“Then promise me forever then. And I’ll take that as a win.”
“It’s definitely going to be forever,” she replies with a smile. “Besides, you already know too much. If we don’t work out, I’d have to kill you.”