Chapter 14 Layla
Layla
It may be time to tell my best friend, Faith, I’m in Arizona.
With a man.
It’s one thing for Annabelle to know, because she can relate; it’s another completely for me to be here without informing the human closest to me I threw caution to the wind and—
I snuggle into the guest bed and stare at the ceiling, burrowing into the crisp white sheets that are hotel quality and smell like detergent with a hint of cedar.
“Mmm.” Cozy.
My body is deliciously loose, my lips perfectly used, and somewhere within the large house, the dishwasher hums a lullaby while the oven cools. So satisfying.
“This better not be you calling to tell me Maddie changed her mind about the bachelorette venue” are the first words out of Faith’s mouth.
“Relax.” I smile into the nothingness. “Your Jamaican vacation is safe. This is a different kind of emergency.”
“An emergency? Pray tell.”
Let’s see, how do I put this? “Today I hopped a plane and flew to Arizona, and I’m at a man’s house.”
A beat. “I have no idea what to say to that.” Pause. “What man? Who is it?” She’s shouting now, and I imagine her out on the balcony of her lakeside cottage, sipping a hot mug of tea the same way she likes to do every night to settle in.
“Well. You know that football player we had at the Fall Fest?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s him.”
Another long stretch of silence goes by before she says, “Are you shitting me right now?”
I shake my head. “No, I am not shitting you.” I’m laughing. “I’m telling you in case I get murdered, although that’s very unlikely.”
“Pause. Hold up. My brain is freaking the fuck out right now. I can’t . . . What . . . How . . .” She exhales. “Start talking. I need details.”
Of course she does.
I give her the highlights I failed to give her already for fear of getting her excited: bumping into Blake and his new girlfriend, Hayes fake kissing me for show, Benny inviting me to visit, how Hayes paid for my flight, the kiss we shared in the pool.
I edit liberally around most everything that requires too much explanation. “Tonight he and I baked muffins, and by ‘baked,’ I mean . . . we made out covered in sugar.”
“I’m shook,” Faith whispers. “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around this.” A long sigh. “Hayes Fielder is so hot.”
He is.
“What’s he like?” she goes on.
“He’s not like they present him in the media. He’s an amazing dad and very thoughtful and—” I stop myself short. “Not that it matters, this is a weekend thing. He’s him, and I’m a nobody from Star Lake, Washington.”
“You’re not a nobody.” I can hear Faith scowling through the phone. “You’re beautiful and sweet and funny.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh yeah—that makes me a huge standout among all the pretty women vying for his attention.”
“Please.” Faith snorts. “If pretty was the only requirement, every plastic, Botoxed face in the US would be married to an NFL player. He invited you into his home to spend time with his child, made you snacks, wants you to relax, and can’t keep his hands off you.”
I chuckle at her fervor. “You’re biased.”
“Obviously. But look—just because it was impulsive for you to go there and impulsive for him to ask—that doesn’t make it less real or mean that he can’t catch feelings. Enjoy it while it’s yours. Be present. Don’t narrate yourself out of the moment.”
I stare at the slice of moonlight on the wall. “He is such a good kisser.”
“God, don’t give me any details. Clarke has been gone on that dumb fishing trip for seven days, and I’m so horny I wore out the batteries in my favorite vibrator.”
That has me giggling. “Then I shouldn’t tell you how we were dry humping against his counter and he came in his pants?”
My best friend gasps. “Layla Monroe, When Were You Going to Tell Me This?”
I laugh again. “I’m telling you now.”
She groans. “Clarke is getting a strongly worded text. Also: proud of you. I want to bring dry humping back in a big way. It’s so underrated as foreplay . . .”
“Please don’t embroider that on a pillow.”
“Think of how many I would sell.” Her tone is wistful as she imagines all the imaginary pillows she’d sell with her dry-humping quote stitched on it. “Did he act normal afterward? Or was he a dick about it?”
The look on his face looms in my mind. The embarrassment, the blush on his cheeks. “He excused himself and cleaned up but was joking about it.” No stamina. Too much excitement.
“Dang. If he came in his pants, I wonder what his sex life is like.”
I wonder that, too, trust me.
“It either means he’s chaste as a monk, or touch starved. Or maybe he takes too many supplements, if you catch my drift. Or the chemistry the two of you have is lethal—imagine bringing a man like that to his knees . . .”
We both sigh.
There’s a soft bloom in my chest at the memory of his sheepish smile, the way he’d tapped the doorframe of the guest bedroom, looking in on me before closing the door and giving me privacy.
Not making a move.
Not inviting me to his room.
Not asking to join me in mine.
“Are you planning on fucking him?” Faith cuts into my thoughts.
“I haven’t thought about it.”
“Oh my God, you’re such a liar!” she shrieks.
“I have not thought about it!” I protest weakly, which is exactly what a liar would say.
“Puh-leaze. You’ve absolutely thought about it.” Faith rustles on the other end of the phone. “You’ve probably been doing nothing but since the second you saw him ride into Star Lake.”
I mean . . . no. “In my wildest daydreams, I would never have thought a man like that would put his mouth on me. Ever.”
“So . . . do you want to? Fuck him, I mean?”
“Faith! Could you not?”
She scoffs. “Give me a break. You’re in his guest room, he’s down the hall, his tongue was in your mouth. Don’t lie there and tell me you’re not thinking about him railing you.”
Heat detonates under my skin. “I—”
“Exactly,” she purrs. “Your pause said yes in five different languages.”
“Fine. You’re right, I haven’t stopped thinking about it.” His body is perfect. His pecs and abs and . . . I can’t stop thinking about how hot his skin felt beneath my roaming palms.
“I knew it.” She sounds smug enough to bottle. “Am I allowed to alert the group chat?”
I shake my head, though she can’t see it. “Not yet. I don’t need everyone talking about it, only to me returning home and being embarrassed it was just a short fling.” I am horrified at the thought. “Swear to me you’ll keep this between us until I say otherwise.”
She sighs, long suffering. “Ugh, fine. I’ll put my megaphone away. But for the record, I expect highlights later. Moaning, how hard you came, what his morning voice sounds like.”
I roll my eyes. “Uh, I think we’re forgetting there is a child in this house?”
Faith scoffs. “Big deal. My sister has four kids, and she and Dan are constantly going at it—you get creative, trust me.”
“He did not invite me here to have sex with him.” The kisses in the kitchen were a fluke. The kisses in the pool were flirting—nothing more.
“Tomorrow night, if you call me instead of riding him like a mechanical bull, we’re fighting.”
I do not need that visual in my mind before I try to rest my eyes. “Noted.”
“Also—don’t pretend the kid factor is the reason you’re not in his room right now letting him go down on you. You’re nervous.”
“Of course I’m nervous!” I admit in a whisper hiss. “He’s . . . Hayes Fielder is . . .” I search for the right words and land on the true one. “A lot. I don’t want to treat it like a notch.”
Faith softens. “Aww, there she is. My sentimental little bestie.”
“He scares the shit out of me,” I say quietly. “You should see his body, Faith. It’s . . .” Carved out of marble. Perfect. Sexy. Firm and taut and solid.
I’m soft and have flab and dimples in my ass, and my stomach isn’t flat, and—
“Hey.” Faith’s voice interrupts my musing, and she’s using the soft one she saves for when I’m spiraling. “We are not doing this tonight.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re lying there going over your mental checklist of imperfections.” She lets that sit. “Your body is beautiful. It’s the place you live. It laughs loud, floats in pools, dances in kitchens, and tonight it made a very large man lose his mind on a countertop and blow his load inside his pants.”
A startled laugh escapes me. She’s not wrong.
My eyes burn. “What if I like him more than he likes me?”
“Let’s not borrow a heartbreak you haven’t earned. Let him show you who he is. And let you show up as you are. You’re not dating him, hmm? You’re having fun.”
True. So true.
I’m not dating him.
The subject of relationships hasn’t even come up. I have no idea what his thoughts are on marriage or more kids or what he’s looking for in a partner.
“You are thoughtful and funny and loyal and brave enough to fly to Arizona on a feeling.” Her smile is in her voice. “If you want this, take it one honest step at a time. We already know his body is attracted to you.”
“Would you please stop making logical sense?”
Silence hums between us, warm as a blanket. Somewhere down the hall a floorboard pops, and I imagine him turning off a light, doing one last check of the house before going to his own room.
“I can’t. It’s my literal job as your friend.” She sniffs. “Now say three nice things about yourself, or I’m hanging up.”
She is so ridiculous. “Faith—”
“Aht! Do it.”
I swallow. “I’m fun. I’m good with kids. And I have great boobs.”
“Way to rally,” Faith says, pleased. “Add: You’re generous to a fault, and you give the best gifts. And not only do you have great boobs, but your legs are great and so is your ass.”
A laugh snags in my throat. “I accept those compliments.”
“You’re welcome.” She pauses. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
She yawns. “Now try to get some sleep.” Pause. “Or give yourself another orgasm before bed. Whichever.”
We both laugh as we say more goodbyes; I promise to keep her updated with pictures before we disconnect the call. Then I set my phone on the nightstand next to the bed and lie here, palm resting on my stomach, feeling the flutter settle into something else.
Nerves.
Hope.
Desire?
I pull the hotel-white sheet to my chin, smile into the dark, and let myself believe I’m worth being looked at the way he looked at me.