32. Layla
LAYLA
Exhaustion isn’t the word for how I would describe myself right now. Blake and I made so many cardamom pear and almond cream pies today for this week that I could deal with never seeing sliced almonds or pears again in my lifetime.
However, it didn’t stop me from meeting Briggs for dinner.
I ran home, showered and changed, then met him in a reserved little spot in the corner, away from anywhere in town.
It didn’t stop the curious glances and stares, but Briggs and I nestled up in the corner, had three different appetizers, steak, and a delicious chocolate cake with cherries and whiskey chocolate topping.
When we were finished, he walked me home—the restaurant is literally a block away from my house—and he ordered me to sleep.
I argued.
It was his last night in Magnolia Ridge, and I didn’t want to spend it sleeping.
But he insisted, and I scowled.
He kissed me goodbye, all tongue, lips, and pleasure that coiled and settled into my stomach when he left, and I went back to pouting.
When sleep would’ve sounded good hours ago, it lacks right now with my knowing he’s not going to be here in the next twenty-four hours.
I didn’t ask when his flight left because I know that’d give me anxiety. I don’t want to count down the hours and minutes to when I won’t be able to enjoy the time I have left versus the impending doom of his departure.
It’s maddening.
And it’s impossible to stay in my house, alone, while thinking about it.
So, to say I’m sleeping anytime soon is a joke.
There’s not a sleeping pill in this universe that would stop my brain from going around in constant circles.
I’m fully aware his leaving is going to make me cry, which is why I need to spend every minute I can with him not crying because… well, I want to.
With my stubbornness fully intact and now in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, I drive the ten minutes to Briggs’s house on an excited high.
All my windows are down, my music is turned all the way up, and I hit the driveway made of dirt while I pull up the fifty yards to the estate.
But then my headlights catch his truck’s tailgate down, and the driver and passenger doors open, packed with suitcases and bags.
My stomach drops, not because he’s packing up early, but because the truck is on.
He’s leaving.
And he’s leaving now.
Quickly parking next to him, I put my car in park and slip out. My heart is going a hundred miles an hour as I stride up into the garage, and that’s when he walks out the door, leading out to it, with a backpack slung over his shoulder and his baseball cap thrown on backward.
When he sees me, he frowns, and a heavy sigh leaves his body because he planned this.
He intended to leave without saying goodbye, and I don’t know if I should feel loved by the sentiment or extremely pissed because he’s done this before.
He’s left Magnolia Ridge without a word, and I had to chase after him.
At least he told you this time.
“Layla Jean,” he drawls as he approaches his truck. “I thought I told you to get some sleep.”
“Why?” I shoot back angrily. “So you could slip out in the middle of the night and not be here in the morning?”
I follow him as he tosses his backpack in the backseat and shuts the door.
Then he turns to meet me head-on. “I can’t say goodbye to you, alright? I don’t want to see you cry again.”
“Who said anything about cryin’? I was plannin’ a party, and now I have the wrong date.”
His face lifts because he knows damn well I was not, but I’m being a smartass. “Cute.”
“You can’t keep doing this,” I argue. “It’s not fair, and it certainly isn’t how people do things like this.”
“I’m not people. And nothing about this is fair, Short Stop. Leavin’ you behind is hard enough for me, so maybe I was doing us both a favor in not makin’ this suck any more than it does.”
“And how were you going to break the news to me? Was I going to have to show up here again—”
“I was going to text you on the plane before it took off. I didn’t do this to upset you. It’s just…fuckin’ hard.”
It is.
But I still hate that he was going to leave without saying goodbye to me. That I wasn’t going to, at least, hug him goodbye and give him all the positive vibes for when he goes back.
“Go home,” he commands me. “I’ll call you when I land.”
“No.”
His brows collapse together. “Layla, there’s no point in you getting worked up about it—”
“Seems like you’re gettin’ more worked up than I am.”
He bores daggers into me with a glare. “Fine. It’s hard for me. Now, go home.”
“Say goodbye to me first.”
Briggs immediately moves forward and cups my arm, gently guiding me around the front of his truck and back to my car, but then I move my butt in front of the door handle so he can’t just shove me inside.
“Layla,” he warns. “Quit fuckin’ around.”
“Say goodbye.”
His fingers wrap around the back of my neck, and he drags me forward before his lips plummet and crash wildly into mine.
Briggs doesn’t allow me a breath as he kisses me with a primitive nature that has me clutching onto the waistband of his jeans.
I want so much for the moment never to end; however, I know he has a job to do, and I’m fully aware he’ll do it well.
It’s the little sneak-offs that I’m not going to tolerate anymore moving forward.
His tongue lashes out to taste me and tangle up with my own as he pushes my spine against the cool metal of my car.
And then it’s game over after that.
I begin unbuckling his jeans while he shoves the cotton material of my sweatpants down my ass. His cock springs free within seconds once I get it past the opening of his boxers, and that’s when Briggs breaks the kiss and spins me around.
Moving me to the side, he bends me over the hood, and then, without hesitation, thrusts himself inside me.
I groan not at how sore I still am, but how he can just take me because he can’t help himself. There’s no teasing about it, Briggs just continues to fuck me raw with one arm wrapped around my waist to keep me grounded to him and the other with his palm splayed domineeringly across my spine.
The fresh air mixed with the acres of land where no one can see or hear us makes it so much more freeing. Briggs lightly kicks one of my shoes to get me to spread my legs wider, and when I do, he groans and hits a new angle inside me.
“Fuck…” he mutters, pulling me against him tighter so he can hit every inch of me, every single time.
There’s a ferocity and anger in this that explains everything he couldn’t tell me.
He doesn’t want to leave.
He doesn’t enjoy how things are.
He’ll miss me.
And I’m the common denominator in this scenario.
Everything that we have and haven’t been rides on the here and now. Athletes, if lucky enough, have support from all angles—family, friends, and fans.
Briggs has the latter all day, and his sisters love him, but his father has been a blank space, and we’ve been on the outs for about two years now. His career could be so much brighter with having that anchor, and I feel guilty for not trying harder than I have.
I don’t want Briggs to leave, but that’s for selfish reasons. I have a life here, a business, and Uncle Ben.
But why can’t I have it all?
Briggs would drop everything, be out possibly millions of dollars for me. However, there’s no outlet after that besides me.
And, as much as I love this man driving me crazy with how passionate and confident he is, I’d like to see if there’s another side I can get to open up for him.
With impatience, Briggs drags me backward by my shirt, pulling me flush against his chest before his face nestles into the crook of my neck.
Still rocking his hips into me, he begins to press hard and long kisses along the column of my neck, making a mess with his tongue when he goes to a different spot just to come right back where he was.
A deep sound reverberates in his chest as he makes out with my throat, cupping his fingers underneath my skin to keep me exactly where he wants me at all times.
And it’s easy.
The flutters in my stomach.
The way my skin burns under his touch.
Standing perfectly still so he can take what he wants, how he wants, and at any pace he sees fit.
This is his goodbye.
For now.
And I quickly fell into how I could get used to this.
All of this.
Nonetheless, when we’re not together every day, in every second, moments like this feel even more unsuppressed and desperately needed.
Briggs’s arm wraps around my waist, his fingers descending between my legs before he starts playing with me there.
A delirious moan escapes my lips when Briggs turns my head and crashes his along the base of mine. His devilish tongue works around mine, coaxing every stimulated nerve in my body to combust and break apart.
Sex with Briggs has always been amazing.
But sex with Briggs after the last two years, when he’s about to leave, is indescribable.
It’s a variety of emotions, unspoken desires, and a full-body experience. Because my brain can not keep up with the functions that keep me alive.
His mouth mixed with the way he’s stretching me out has me recording this moment in my head to replay for later.
Because I’m definitely not going to be forgetting this any time soon, and I most willingly will drive him insane with lust just to get him back here as quickly as possible.
Briggs drags my lower lip down with his thumb, biting down on it softly before he does this thing with his next thrust that has me immediately crashing downward into a spiral of pleasure.
He doesn’t stop, not for a second, as I ride out of my orgasm and he pumps into me over and over again just to keep it going.
When I’m finally able to stop, I try to catch my breath, but Briggs is still making out with me like he can’t bear to cease or leave me alone.
His fingers are still on my now sensitive clit, working me to obtain his own release, but I can feel him grow harder inside me, and when I push back on him, he shudders and groans.
His harsh exhales brush across my lips as he goes back to kiss me again, hurling through his own climax, and I give back what he’s giving, wanting him to experience everything I just did with mine.
Perfect.
Euphoric.
Definitely doing again.
After about a minute, Briggs pulls out of me and wipes me off with something soft. When he pulls it back, it’s a red handkerchief, and the move isn’t lost on me.
Not only was it sweet, but I have this feeling he’s going to be keeping that for later because he’s a behind-the-doors freak like that.
Adjusting my sweatpants to wrap back around my waist, Briggs does the same with his jeans as he gingerly turns me around to face him.
He places one more kiss on my lips before muttering, “I need you to go. I love you. I’ll call you when I land, okay?”
My brain and heart agree that it hates this at the same exact time.
My stomach, which just had the most amazing feeling, drops and twists uncomfortably to the formidable reality.
I hate this.
But this is what we have right now.
And I don’t want to make this harder for him by arguing or making him stay so he misses his flight. He needs me to be strong, and he deserves that.
“Don’t forget,” I whisper, kissing the corner of his lips, which has him chasing me for a real one.
He devours me for another minute, taking his time as he squeezes my hip, but then he pulls back and puts a bit of space between us.
Reaching for my car door, he opens it and forces me around it to get inside.
For a split second, I want to hug him and keep him present for a few seconds longer, but again, that’s being selfish.
I’ll hold things down here while he clutches that playoff spot.
“Drive safe, Short Stop. Text me when you’re home.”
I bob my head because I don’t trust the next words out of my mouth not to be desperate.
Softly, he closes the door, and I force myself to start my car, but not without pressing my palm against my window in another silent goodbye.
Briggs mocks my actions, pressing his hand against it for several seconds before dropping it and taking a step back.
Throwing my car into reverse, I maneuver it so I can get out of the driveway more easily.
And, when I cruise toward the lonely country road, I can’t help but look in my rearview mirror, watching him watch me as I go, not knowing the next time I’m going to see him again.