Chapter 9 Layla
Layla
Is he out of his damn mind?
I have never ever been kissed in public—not even on the cheek—and today is not the day I planned to have it happen. Least of all in front of my skeezy ex-boyfriend and his glossy, probably expensive, definitely prettier-on-purpose girlfriend. Certainly not in front of a child!
Still, I’m being suspended above the ground in dramatic fashion, the grouchy, broody football player staring down at me as his strong arms lock me in like I’m weightless.
My headset falls off my head and onto the cold ground, but I ignore it. May it rest in pieces . . .
“Fielder,” I whisper-hiss, practically upside down. “What the hell are you doing?”
He grins, lips now near my ear. “Making that fucker jealous.”
Well.
I mean, what girl could possibly say no to that?
My fingers hook his jacket, and I tug, planting a flirty look on my face to replace the shocked expression.
Hayes’s full lips meet mine halfway.
Stubble brushes my cheeks. He kisses me like he means it—like we’ve been doing this forever and he’s just picking up where we left off. His mouth is warm, deliberate, not rushed. The kind of kiss that drags the rest of you along by the hair and has a girl getting . . .
Wet.
My knees forget what they’re for; good thing his arms don’t.
The festival noise blurs to white static.
I feel the low rumble in his chest before I hear it, a satisfied sound that vibrates against my sternum. I fist the collar of his jacket and pull, opening for him. He deepens the kiss, tilting me with effortless strength, showy as hell—putting on a show for his audience.
There are gasps. Someone wolf whistles.
“Dad! Holy crap!” Benny shouts, scandalized, from three feet away.
Hayes’s mouth curves into a satisfied smile against mine, pleased with the reaction. He takes one more slow sweep of my bottom lip, kissing me again. Sparks shoot down my spine and set up camp in my stomach.
“Dad, seriously.” Benny’s voice infiltrates the moment, both mortified and delighted in equal measure. “This is so public.”
He doesn’t let me go, grinning down at me. “Look away, kiddo.”
“I’m trying,” she says, not trying at all. “But, like—the drama.”
I smile against his mouth, breathless. Reckless. My ex is five feet away, frozen mid-sip with his drink in hand, eyes bugging.
When Hayes finally lifts me upright, my feet find the ground but my pulse doesn’t. As my heart beats a million miles a minute, Hayes keeps one arm around my waist, steadying me as if I might float off in front of the cider stand.
Paige tugs Blake’s sleeve because she wants to leave this conversation, so they say their goodbyes and do an awkward retreat through the crowd, Blake glancing back at us at least four times, eyes homed in on me.
Is that regret in his gaze? Embarrassment?
Hard to say, but I peel my eyes away and focus on breathing. Hayes’s palm is firmly planted at my waist, branding my skin even through the jacket I’ve got layered over a sweater.
“You good?” he murmurs.
“I’m—” Dizzy. Thrumming. Freaking out! “Fine.”
“Great.” He looks pleased in that silent, satisfied way of his, the scowl softened around the edges like it’s been warmed over a campfire. “That guy was the biggest fucking douche I’ve ever seen, and trust me when I say, most of the guys on my team are fucking douchebags.”
Benny pops up between us. “Guys. Now that we’ve humiliated me in front of thousands of people,” she exaggerates, “can Layla fly to Arizona?”
I cough on the surprise. “Can I what?”
“Come to Arizona,” she repeats, as if it were obvious. “Where we live. So you can see our house and my room and his grill and also my school during my volleyball tournament. You obviously like us, because you didn’t shove Dad away when he was violating your boundaries.”
My boundaries? I want to laugh.
No one is shoving her dad out of bed, let alone refusing to let him kiss her—but these are things we don’t say to a nine-year-old.
“It’s way too hectic to have this discussion, Benny,” Hayes says, releasing me from his hold. “And it’s rude to put Layla on the spot like that.”
I glance at the ground for my poor headset and spot it roughly ten feet away. Crushed into pieces. Shit. “Arizona is far.”
Benny rolls her eyes. “That’s why planes were invented.”
“Benny,” Hayes chastises. “We don’t pressure people.”
“I’m not pressuring. I’m inviting.” She bats her lashes as we trudge along. “Oh! They have hoodies that say Star Lake!” She gasps like she’s seen an actual treasure. “Can I get one, Dad? Please? I’m freezing and also I spilled cider on my sleeve and it’s sticky and I hate it.”
Hayes tips his head toward the stand. “Go. The victim of my boundary violations and I will be right there.”
Victim of my boundary violations . . .
I giggle to myself, crouching to assess the remains of my headset—one ear cup pancaked, the mic snapped like a wishbone.
“Sorry about that,” Hayes says, hands sinking into his jacket pockets. “I didn’t mean for your tools to get destroyed.”
“Pretty sure the manual doesn’t cover public make-out sessions,” I say, holding the busted pieces. “I have another one at the tent.”
“I’ll replace it,” he says immediately. “It’s the least I can do.”
“No worries.” I wave it off. “It happens.”
Not to me, but to someone.
I futz with the headset a little longer before tossing it into a nearby trash, meandering behind Hayes as we slowly stroll to the sweatshirt booth, where Benny is pointing to the baby blue crew neck she has her heart set on.
He clears his throat beside me. “For the record, Benny wasn’t wrong.”
“About the sweatshirt being cute? Absolutely.”
“About inviting you to Arizona. You’re welcome to visit.
” He shuffles awkwardly beside me, and for a second, it sounds like he’s speaking around chalk in his mouth.
“We’ve got a guest room, and the pool’s heated even though it’s still like, eighty degrees.
” He laughs. “Benny would live in the water if I let her. And if you came during her tournament, it would make her entire year.”
My brain says, This is insane.
My heart says, Say yes.
What would be the harm? It would be a reward to myself after these chaotic, stressful last few months of preparation and, of course, having to see freaking Blake and Paige in public since he cheated on me.
Jerk.
Looked so smug.
“I have a job,” I manage, pushing out a nervous laugh, rattling off excuses. “And tournaments to schedule and activities to put into the guidebook.”
I sound sooo pathetic.
“Totally up to you,” he says. “I know it’s a lot to throw at you five minutes after ambushing you with my face, but you’ve been so great with Benny, and I hate to admit it, but if you don’t come to visit her, she’ll never forgive me.”
Somehow, I doubt that.
“Just to visit her?” I tease, eyes trained on the back of his daughter’s head as she holds the sweatshirt up to her body to test the size.
“Yeah.”
Benny spins around, her final sweatshirt selection in her hands.
“Dad! They had navy, and it’s so soft—feel it.
” She shoves the sleeve at him. He taps it with two fingers, then gives her a noncommittal grunt that satisfies her.
She beams up at both of us. “We should all get one so we match, then get the same pajama bottoms.”
Her dad and I make eye contact above her head, and I give him a wan smile.
“I should . . .” My sentence trails off. “Get back to work.”
Tons to do. June is at the lumberjack show, running the log splitting, but I should head over and check on things.
Yup.
I should.
“Right,” he says, reading my vibe. The scowl slots back into place like a helmet, replacing the laid-back smile he’s been wearing for the past twenty minutes. “We’ll get out of your hair.”
Benny deflates. “Already?”
“Layla’s running a whole town,” he reminds her, dry. To me: “Where do you need to be?”
“Lumberjack arena. Only to check on it. I’m sure June has it handled far better than I could.”
But still . . .
Benny rushes to me, wraps her arms around my waist, and squeezes me tight. “Come to Arizona,” she whispers into my jacket, a conspirator. “Please.”
Her hug is quick and fierce, then she skitters back to her dad, who has already put a half step of space between us like distance equals control.
The crowd swallows me up—roasted almonds, wet leaves, and laughter linger in the air. Guilt taps at my ribs with steady knuckles. Not for leaving work . . . but for leaving them. For not staying long enough to be brave and tell him Yes.
Arizona Would be Magical.
Fun. A short time away.
I’ve never been; actually, I’ve not been many places. One or two family trips when I was younger. A cruise for my high school graduation, a bachelorette weekend in Cabo with my friends before a wedding.
I walk past the kettle corn vendor, the raffle-basket tent, the hay-bale-and-pumpkin photo area where teenagers are posing. In the near distance, June’s voice crackles from a volunteer’s radio—confident, capable. Of course she’s got it.
“She should have been in charge,” I complain. “Not me.”
Don’t look back at them. Don’t look ba—
I look back.
They’re headed the opposite direction, Benny bouncing, Hayes’s head bent so he can hear her when she talks, his hand hovering near her shoulder, not touching but . . . ready to pull her into his body. Protective.
His scowl is back in full force.
I put that there.
I pivot away and make myself cross the gravel. My phone buzzes in my back pocket.
Hayes:
If you change your mind about the headset, shoot me an email and I’ll send you cash for it.
Me:
Not necessary!
Three dots appear, disappear.
A beat passes.
I stare down at my phone when I should be Working! I am Working, dammit!
Still, I can’t resist flirting with this big, handsome, grumpy man who has the cutest, most adorable daughter.
Me:
If you plan to stick around for late lunch/early dinner, the vendor at the end of the row makes the good pot roast sandwich. Ask for extra jus. Delicious.
Hayes:
Yeah, I’ll definitely do that.
Me:
Enjoy!
Hayes:
Enjoy running your town.
I catch myself smiling like an idiot at my screen. Enough. Phone goes into the pocket. Both hands free. Eyes up.
You are not the kind of woman who gets derailed by a scowling running back with thick forearms and a cleft in his chin who could probably bench-press you. Who has a soft mouth and warm lips and—
“You are also definitely not the kind of woman who’s going to google flights to Sky Harbor Airport.”
Nope.
I am not that kind of woman.