Chapter 25
Hot Mama
Cole
“Did you kiss her under the willow tree like a proper gentleman?”
Maggie laughs and teases, her voice echoing off the barn walls as she hauls a saddle onto the rack.
The air here is thick with the familiar scent of leather, hay, and horse sweat—warm from the afternoon sun baking the tin roof overhead.
“It took everything in me not to,” I grunt back, hanging Buttercup’s saddle with more force than necessary. The leather slaps against the wood, dust puffing up in a small cloud.
My body still aches from holding back, her lips so close under those branches, body pressed against mine like she was daring me. I can still feel the ghost of her tongue on my ear from a few minutes ago, that little flick that had me hard in seconds. Friendly. Right.
“I can’t believe she’s offered to help us with Bella tonight. That’s so nice. Layla really is a sweet girl, Cole,” Maggie says while helping me hang up the saddles—her hands quick and efficient, the way they always are.
“I never said she wasn’t,” I say bluntly, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my arm. The barn smells like old wood and fresh straw, sunlight slanting through the open doors in golden stripes across the dirt floor.
Maggie comes over, puts her hand on my shoulder, warm and steady.
“I never said it’d be easy. Being friends is gonna be hard, but you can do it. If you really want her to get to know you, show her you’re more than just a grumpy cowboy. Be nice to her.”
I roll my eyes. What does she think I’m doing?
I’m literally doing that—leaving books on her porch, inviting her to ride, taking her to dinner like it’s nothing.
At some point, fear creeps in that Layla might think I just want to be friends and not want more than that if I keep turning her down every time she tries to kiss me.
Or hell, the way she was looking at me today, eyes dark, lips parted, whispering that line in my ear like she knew exactly what it would do to me.
I would’ve fucked her. I’d fuck her anytime, any day, anywhere.
Out in the open while everybody watches.
She just has to give me that look and I’ll do it.
And that’s what sucks right now because I can’t.
Because Maggie says I should be her friend first. And Layla…
Well, she said she needed time. She didn’t say she just wanted to be friends.
“You know, Maggie,” I say, voice low, “I’m worried she never told me she just wanted to be friends. She just told me she needed time. What if she thinks I’m not into her anymore?”
She laughs—short, knowing. “ My god. You sound like a girl,” She snorts. “I highly doubt that’s possible. The way you stare at her, the way y’all look at each other? It’s sickening. Sometimes you really should get a room. Now I know what that phrase is used for.”
Lanie yells for Maggie from up the hill, waving her down. She pats my shoulder one more time and passes by, running off with a quick laugh.
I need a nap before I handle tonight with Layla.
And maybe I should stroke my cock before I see her in a swimsuit—get it out of my system so I don’t lose my damn mind when she’s wet and laughing by the pool.
The thought alone has me half-hard again, jeans suddenly too tight.
I walk into the house and head up the stairs, boots heavy on the creaking wood, the house quiet except for the distant hum of cicadas outside.
Sheets still rumpled from this morning. I drop onto the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight, and stare at the ceiling fan spinning slow circles.
I wake to the sound of bass thumping and laughter, everyone’s partying outside—it’s dark now. Shit, how long did I sleep? Fuck, Maggie didn’t wake me up. I grab a T-shirt, the soft gray one from the chair, pull on my jeans, the denim rough and cool against my thighs and tug my boots on.
I head right outside toward where I hear the music coming from, the night air cool and thick with chlorine and grill smoke, crickets loud under the thump of country music drifting from the speakers.
String lights glow soft yellow across the yard, water shimmering blue in the pool, laughter bouncing off the surface like ripples.
There they all are, partying by the pool, ranch hands and their girls splashing, Luke and Steph tangled up laughing.
Layla’s holding Lanie’s daughter, Bella, dancing with her.
She’s got her propped up on her hip, singing along to “Neon Moon,” voice sweet and a little off-key but full of joy, hips swaying slow to the rhythm.
Layla knows that song? Seeing her like that—holding a little girl—she would be a beautiful mother.
To anyone’s children. They would be lucky enough to have a mother like her.
She deserved so much more in her childhood and I know that she'd do anything for her children to prove to herself that she’s a good mom, even though she wouldn’t have to.
The thought hits me hard, chest tight, imagining her round with my baby, soft belly under my hands, her laugh filling the house. Fuck. Stop.
I walk up to her and start singing along with her—low, rough, matching her word for word, the lyrics coming easy from years of hearing it on every ranch drive.
“I love this song!” Layla says, eyes lighting up, cheeks flushed from the heat and maybe a beer or two, braid loose and damp from the pool, strands sticking to her neck.
“I’m surprised you know it,” I say back, stepping closer, the chlorine sharp in my nose, her vanilla scent cutting through it.
“I’m from Seattle, not Korea,” she winks—quick, playful, that sparkle in her eyes that hits me low, making my pulse kick.
I laugh. “What?” I say, laughing.
“Just because I’m a city girl doesn’t mean I can’t like country music,” she says, shrugging like it’s obvious, hips still swaying with Bella.
She’s so pretty the way she talks and carries herself. Makes me want to pull her close and never let go.
“Can you hold her for a second so I can get in the water? She keeps pointing to the pool. So I want to get in with her. Let her get wet, poor thing is sweating out here.”
I smile. “Of course.” Grabbing Bella from her arms—small, warm, giggling as I dance and spin her around, her tiny hands grabbing my shirt, chubby fingers sticky from popsicle juice. The pool lights reflect off the water in blue ripples, chlorine sharp in the air, laughter echoing from the group.
I turn around and watch Layla walk down into the pool.
And my god in heaven. She’s in a bikini.
String bikini. Black, tiny triangles barely covering her tits, ties knotted at her hips, soft belly, full curves, hips swaying as she steps into the water, the water climbing to her thighs, clinging to her skin, droplets catching the light. My mouth goes dry.
“You’re drooling,” Luke says, snickering as he passes.
“Shut up,” I say, kicking him lightly as he walks by. He snickers harder. I watch him flirt with Steph—tickling her, then all of a sudden he picks her up and tosses her in the pool. Layla’s laughing at Steph screaming at Luke, head thrown back, the sound bright and free.
“You better get in now or she’s going to kill you,” Layla says to Luke. He does a cannonball right next to Steph. Steph rolls her eyes.
“Men.”
Layla laughs and comes over to the side where I’m standing with Bella.
“Okay, hand me the baby,” she says, reaching her arms out—skin glowing under the string lights, water dripping from her braid, beads trailing down her collarbone.
Bella goes right for her—little hands grabbing Layla’s braid, giggling as Layla lifts her close.
“Hey baby girl. You like the water?” Layla whispers to her and kisses her forehead—soft and tender.
Bella is splashing and giggling, tiny feet kicking water everywhere, droplets flying like diamonds.
I can’t wait to have one of those, Layla round with my baby, her body soft and full. A man can only dream.
“She’s so cute, isn’t she?” Layla asks me.
“She’s very cute,” I say back, voice rougher than I mean it to be, throat tight.
“I want one,” Layla says, kissing Bella’s cheek again—her eyes soft and her voice is quiet like a confession.
I bite my lip and inhale and exhale, deep, slow, trying not to think about making a baby with Layla. Trying to think of anything but making a baby with Layla.
“I wonder if you and I had a baby if it would have black hair or blonde hair?” she says—casual, like she’s wondering about the weather.
“Excuse me?” I say, voice cracking.
“Sorry I was just… thinking. That was weird. I’m sorry. I really don’t know why I—”
“Don’t be sorry,” I interrupt—quick, low, sitting up in my lounge chair.
She looks up from the pool at me smiling. I don’t know what she’s thinking but she looks beautiful thinking it—water dripping from her braid, skin glowing under the string lights, eyes wide and vulnerable, lips parted like she’s waiting for something.
“Alright you two love birds,” Maggie says.
I furrow my brows at her because what the fuck happened to friendly?
“Speaking of love birds… Did you ladies have fun on your… walk?” Layla says teasing Maggie.
“It was much needed,” Lanie says.
“Good,” Layla says with a big smile as Lanie takes Bella back from her.
“Thanks girl,” Maggie says to Layla and walks Lanie and Bella back to the truck.
“Wanna play chicken?” Luke hollers at me.
“Me and Steph against you and Layla.”
I see Layla’s face—hesitant, cheeks pink, arms crossing over her chest like she’s shielding herself.
“Ohh, I don’t know,” Layla says shyly.
I know why she has that look. She thinks I can’t hold her.
That she’s too heavy. I could bench her.
I already toss her around really good in bed—this will be nothing.
I take my shirt off—fabric peeling away damp—strip down into my boxers and hop in.
The water’s cool, shocking against my heated skin, rippling out in circles.
When I come up Layla is right there in my face—eyes wide, breath quick, water beading on her lashes.
“Are you sure about this? I’m a little heavier than the average lady–”
“Stop playing and get on,” I tell her—voice low, commanding, leaving no room for doubt.
She bites her lip and nods. I go under and her thighs slide right onto my shoulders, so soft, strong, warm against my neck. I stand. She’s light. Perfect. Her hands grip my hair—fingers tight, tugging just enough to make my dick jump again.
“Alright, are you ready?” Luke says.
“Ready,” Layla says.
“Ready to get your ass kicked,” Steph says to Layla.
“Ha! In your dreams,” Layla says.
“3… 2… 1… Go!” Luke shouts.
Layla’s hands are on Steph so fast—they’re both struggling, twisting, laughing.
Steph almost gets Layla but then Layla is on her and Steph is down.
I shout, rubbing it in my brother’s face.
Layla falls back into the water. The girls are laughing.
Layla is laughing—bright, free, the sound hitting me square in the chest.
A few minutes later, it gets quiet. Steph and Luke start wading in the pool, holding each other, kissing. Layla is sitting on the pool stairs staring up at the sky—stars sharp overhead.
So I come and sit right by her, water lapping at our legs, cool against my skin.
“You can see everything out here,” she says—voice soft, almost lost under the music.
“Don’t have stars like this in Seattle?” I smirk.
And she bumps into me—shoulder against mine—letting out a chuckle, skin warm where we touch.
“They’re cute together,” she says, looking at my brother and Steph.
“Yeah, they’re great,” I say.
She looks over at me.
“I miss you,” she says—soft, almost lost under the music, eyes vulnerable in the low light.
“I’m here,” I say—voice rough, heart slamming against my ribs.
I miss you? She misses me? I miss touching her, cuddling her. Being inside her. I should kiss her right now. But is that what she truly wants? I told her I wanted her. Told her to stay. What more do I say? What more do I do?
She smiles—looking up at the stars one last time, before saying “I’m going to go to bed.”
She stands up, grabs her things, beer in hand, droplets trailing down her arms and walks out of the gate.
“Follow her, you idiot,” Luke whispers from the pool.
I shake my head.
Jumping up from the pool and not thinking about anything, I run to her.
She’s already inside so I open the door, she’s standing right there in the foyer, water still dripping from her bikini, skin glowing under the porch light spilling through the open door.
So I walk up to her, grab her face, thumbs on her cheeks, skin warm and damp from the pool, her breath hitching.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” I say to her and then I kiss her, tongues tangling, her moan into my mouth soft and needy, hands fisting my wet hair.
I grab them, her small hands in my palms, fingers lacing tight, her body pressing against mine, wet bikini soaking my shirt.
I break away, breath ragged, lips tingling, the taste of her still on my tongue.
I smile big.
“Good night, Layla Lou.”
I say before walking out her door—heart pounding, lips swollen, the taste of her still on my tongue, every step away feeling like pulling against a current.