Chapter 9
Levi
My gaze remains on Layla while she savors every bite of the apple pie. Her long dark lashes flutter as her eyes close, a low hum passing through her plump lips causing me to bite mine, fighting back a groan. Damn, she’s beautiful and I’m pretty sure she has no fucking idea.
Uncomfortably shifting, I attempt to redirect my thoughts. “So, since you don’t like baseball–”
Her body braces. “I never said I didn’t like baseball, but players are another story. At least when it comes to dating them.”
She’s said that more than once and it raises my hackles more every time, but not against her.
It makes me want to protect her from every man who ever wronged her.
Apparently her father takes the number one spot on that list, but I have a feeling it might be more than that.
I’m not sure she would be willing to share details for either story, at least not yet.
Either way, it makes for a higher mountain for me to climb to close the distance between us when every minute I spend with her only intrigues me more, urging me to get closer.
“Okay,” I start, dragging out the word, not wanting to hear her rejection. “I was just going to ask about your interest in working with the athletes at school. If you’re not into sports, it seems like an odd career choice.”
Her shoulders relax and she sets her fork down, wiping the corners of her mouth with a napkin and placing it on the empty plate. “Well, sometimes I think they took pity on me because I came home to help my mom when she was in an accident. I needed a job, and they hired me. Then, I just stayed.”
“Is your mom okay?”
A small smile curls her lips. “Yeah, she’s better now.”
“Good to hear. So going back to your job, I’m confused. Did you want to stay?”
She heaves a sigh. “Before coming home, I worked at an office not far from where I went to college. It was a good job, but I gave it up to come home. Here, I have my mom, my best friend, Chloe, and my brother comes home to visit when he can.”
That’s not really an answer, so I try a different approach. “Do you like working with athletes?”
“Yeah, I do. I’ve always enjoyed watching sports. It was all we had on in our house growing up, even when my dad wasn’t around. I would usually have a book with me, but I love a good game, or match, or meet, or race...”
“Even baseball?”
She giggles, the sweet sound making my hair stand on end. It’s a sound I want to hear again and again. “Even baseball,” she affirms. A small grin lights up my face, thinking about her watching me play, a wave of warmth rushing through me. “But I don’t need anyone’s help in getting a job.”
I flinch. “I’m really sorry.”
“No, I get it, but thank you for the apology.” Pausing, she holds my gaze and proclaims, “I forgive you, Levi.”
My heart squeezes. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear her say that. “Thanks,” I rasp, my voice like gravel. Clearing my throat, I redirect and tease, “I can work with that. So why physical therapy?”
“It always intrigued me, especially after the first time Gabe was hurt and couldn’t play.
But as we got older, my brother used to get mad at me when I would analyze how someone moved and told him what they should be doing so they wouldn’t get hurt, or what they could do to be a stronger and better player, especially him. ”
My eyes widen. “You can do that?”
She shrugs, her tanned cheeks heating. “Yeah, I guess, but most trainers and coaches can do that too. Right?”
“Yeah, to a point, but to do what you’re suggesting, it takes someone who’s not only smart but extremely perceptive, on top of knowing each sport.”
She shakes her head, like she’s diminishing what she can do.
“Anyway, I use that kind of thinking when I work with the kids at school too. I love being able to help them and hopefully prevent them from getting hurt in the first place. The coaches probably don’t like it, and sometimes act like I don’t know what I’m talking about, but it’s because they want everything to end with them. Most of them know better.”
“It sounds like you’re doing a lot of good.”
“Thanks. I try.”
“What did your brother think when you would tell him what to do?” I ask, a grin curving my lips.
A soft smile touches her mouth, her love for her brother obvious. “Gabe eventually appreciated it and sometimes he even listened.”
“I’m always willing to listen,” I insist, trying to catch her eyes.
She tilts her head to the side and takes a moment, staring at me before asking, “Are you sure about that? If you did, we might’ve actually made it to the end of our first date.”
I wince as she hits her mark. “Yeah, but if we did, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to convince you to go on a second date with me.”
“True.” She licks her lips and glances behind me as if searching for a way to change the subject. “You’re missing the sunset.”
Taking that as an invitation, I slide around the blanket, sitting close. I hear her quick inhale while her body stiffens, just like my cock. Readjusting, I lean back on my hands, one behind her. My eyes veer to the sunset, instantly returning to her. “Beautiful.”
She catches me looking at her out of the corner of her eye and attempts to hide it. Her cheeks darken. “Um, yeah, it is.”
Angling towards her, a sweet, citrusy scent wafts through my nose. “I’m pretty sure you know I was talking about you,” I confess, my voice low.
Ignoring my comment, she stammers, “You, um, you need to be careful. Leaning back like that will make your shoulder sore.” Her eyes roam, moving from my eyes to my lips, down my arm and back.
I’m not sure if she’s nervous about giving me advice, checking me out, or wondering about kissing me, but she doesn’t need to be uneasy about any of it as long as she doesn’t want to escape.
I like her looking out for me. She’s not afraid to tell me what I’m doing wrong.
Sitting up taller, I let my hand fall to her thigh instead, a soft gasp falling from her lips.
“Thanks, Layla,” I tell her, my voice catching unexpectedly. Looking into her eyes, the setting sun glows in her light brown orbs drawing me in.
“Levi,” she whispers, breathily. “I’m just trying to help.”
Nodding, I insist, “And I appreciate it.” Reaching up, my fingers trace her jaw, her skin velvety smooth beneath my touch.
Leisurely, my palm cups the back of her head, just beneath her ponytail, her silky hair caressing my skin.
Her breathing picks up its pace, racing to catch up to the rapid pounding of my heartbeat. “Layla,” I rasp, my voice rough, needy.
She whimpers, her gaze jumping from my eyes to my mouth.
The tip of her pink tongue juts out and disappears much too fast. No longer able to hold back, I gently brush my lips over hers.
Pulling back, I swiftly scan her features, searching for her assent and find what I’m looking for in her rapid breaths, flushed cheeks, parted lips, liquid gold gaze, and her body angling towards me.
Her head tips up to mine at the perfect angle, asking, begging for my kiss.
Goosebumps cover my flesh as I tilt my head down and seal my mouth over hers. My body instantly ignites. She gasps and take the opportunity to slip inside her hot, wet mouth. She meets me in the middle, tentative at first before her actions begin to mirror her confidence, giving in to the moment.
Her fingers weave into my hair, gently tugging, holding my head to hers as she kisses me harder.
The sweet taste of apples and cinnamon fills my mouth, her tongue tangling with mine in a tantalizing, slow dance.
A fiery moan leaves her lips, the titillating sound slamming into me.
My already hard dick takes notice, and swiftly goes rigid.
I want more.
Sliding my right hand down her neck, and over her shoulder, the back of my knuckles graze the side of her breast. Her breath hitches and my body vibrates with need.
I deepen our kiss, forgetting about where we are, Layla my only focus.
Gripping her hips, I lift her towards me, setting her in my lap.
She arches, grinding over my thick cock, straining behind the zipper of my jeans to break free.
Planting her palms on my chest, she sears my skin, a moment before she pushes me back. With her tanned skin flushed and her eyes full of regret, she scrambles from my lap. The look that crosses her face feels like a complete punch in the gut.
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I’m–”
“Don’t apologize for kissing me,” I interrupt, my chest irrationally tight. “There’s nothing about you or that kiss that I regret and it would kill me to know I’m the only one.” The words erupt before I have a chance to think.
Her eyes flicker with doubt, but she keeps her lips sealed tight, glancing away as the last of the sun’s rays disappear behind the horizon.
My heart drops and I clench my jaw. If I push, this woman could eventually have the ability to shatter me, but if I hold back, I may lose the first light I’ve seen in someone in years and I’m not willing to let that go.