Chapter 22 Layla
Layla
We barely slept at all.
Every time I drifted, he’d breathe against my neck and the hand resting on my boob would feel me up, and that greedy dick would get hard again—what’s a girl to do but roll her hips so he’d wake up, and suddenly we’d be having sex again.
My thighs ache in a way that makes me feel smug. Alive.
I count the orgasms in my head, beginning with his head between my legs: One. Two. Four.
Beside me Hayes lies on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, mouth curved into a satisfied smile, and I wonder if he’s sleeping or awake.
“Good morning,” I murmur into his shoulder, kissing his warm flesh.
He groans. “Morning.” He moves his arm, cracking his eyes, bending his arm to check the watch encircling his wrist. “Seven o’clock.”
“Ugh.” So early?
He drags his palm over my stomach, thumb brushing the underside of my breast because we’ve already established that he loves my boobs. A lot.
Goose bumps cover my flesh when he murmurs, “You sore?”
I nod, rolling toward him. “In the best way.”
“Want me to make it better with a little bit of vitamin D?” he counters, tugging me closer. His morning wood nudges my calf, needy as a golden retriever. “It’ll only take me three minutes.”
That makes me laugh. “Wow. What a lucky girl I am.”
Before he can negotiate for four, a sound from somewhere in the house has him pulling away. A door. Feet.
“Or not.” He swears softly, affectionate. “Anddd that’s my cue.”
“Dad duty,” I say, trying to sound breezy and not like a person whose heart is currently beating out of her chest. “Go be a hero.”
He kisses my forehead—a sweet, unguarded press that hits too deep—and swings out of bed. He yanks on his sweatpants and a tee, gives me one backward look that’s a promise and a question and a thousand things I’m not ready to name, then pads into the hall.
I grin into the sheets. Exhale.
The grin slides away. A thought, clear and cold as a lake, floats up and sits on my chest: I need to leave.
It’s not that I don’t want to stay. It’s that I do. Way, way too much.
The wanting—I’ve always been good at ignoring it. Pushing it down until it evaporates. But he makes it easy to want. Easy in a way that feels dangerous for my heart.
Leave Before It Hurts, my brain is screaming.
Leave Before You Accidentally Fall In Love.
Leave while I can still call what’s happening between us delicious and not a huge mistake I’ll carry around like a tender bruise.
He is a dad.
A Dad!
That fact sits like a lighthouse in every room of this house.
Little shoes by the door, tiny socks inside the couch, pencil-smudged worksheets under a TV remote.
Everything tidy and a little chaotic, exactly the way love is when it’s lived in.
He doesn’t get to make reckless choices just because I want to be reckless with him.
And I do.
Faintly from the kitchen, I hear the sound of his voice blending with Benny’s—a low rumble, a bright chirp.
I catch fragments: “want waffles” and “did you finish the packet,” then “you said I could wear the K-pop sneakers,” followed by a young girl’s groan.
I smile. They’re both so freaking adorable.
They are a team. Hayes and Benny against the world.
My heart aches even as my ears strain to hear more of their conversation. A pan hitting the stove. A cabinet opening and closing.
Yes, I need to leave tomorrow.
But first: I should call Faith.
Closing myself into the en suite bathroom, I sit on the closed toilet and hit FaceTime. An early riser, she answers as she stuffs the first bite of a breakfast sandwich into her mouth, hair knotted on top of her head.
“Thank God you answered.”
She rolls her eyes. “I always answer.”
“Well, this is a crisis.”
Faith studies me through the screen, eyes scanning my face. “Why are you whispering?” she stage-whispers.
“I’m not whispering,” I whisper.
She takes another bite of the sandwich. “You are.” Looks closer at the screen. “Are you hiding in a bathroom?”
“Affirmative.”
“Why?” Pause. “Did something happen? Do I have to fly to Arizona and help you bury a body? Please say yes.”
I giggle. “I’m just in my feels and wanted to talk through it.”
“Let me get comfortable, hold on.” Faith walks with her phone to the small balcony outside of her kitchen, and plops down on the wicker sofa she has out there. “What’s going on?”
I sigh. “I’m going to leave tomorrow. I thought this was going to be fun and casual, but it’s gotten complicated.” Too complicated.
“How so?”
“Because I slept with Hayes,” I say, words tumbling out like I tripped over them on purpose. “A lot. Like, I’m walking crooked, and his daughter told her friend’s mom that I’m going to be her mom, and the pressure is just like—” I make an exploding sound to punctuate my sentence.
“First off, you slept with a guy you like, and now your heart is freaking out because it’s been a minute since you’ve connected with anyone. Can we agree this is totally normal?”
I nod. “Yeah?”
Faith goes on, gentler. “Second . . . a little kid said a big thing out loud. That doesn’t mean anyone is owed a wedding.
It means she likes you an awful lot. That’s what kids do—they daydream.
” My best friend pauses. “Once I was babysitting for my niece and nephew, and I asked them what they’d done over the weekend, and Cara told me they’d gone to Disneyland Paris when I knew for a fact my sister hadn’t taken them. Cara was manifesting.”
We both laugh at that.
“I don’t want to mess up their little world.”
“Layla, you are not a wrecking ball.”
I nibble on my lip. “I know, but Faith—I can’t stay here. I have to leave eventually. This was just a quick trip, and I feel like Benny got the wrong idea.”
Faith’s smile is wry. “Maybe. But Benny will be all right. Distance doesn’t cancel feelings; it just means you two need a plan.”
“A plan,” I echo.
“Single parents love plans,” she says with authority, as if she’s dated plenty of single dads. “Just say, ‘Hey, I need to get back to Star Lake and am going to leave tomorrow, but I want to keep seeing you. Can we talk tonight?’ Boom. Grown up, no pressure.”
My shoulders drop an inch. “That sounds so sensible.”
“Because it is.”
I wiggle on the toilet seat cover, shifting from one ass cheek to the other. “If I say it out loud, though, that makes it real. It sounds like I want more.”
I don’t want Hayes to think I’m making demands of him. Or being presumptuous.
“You do want more,” Faith says, not unkindly. “Why are you afraid to tell him that?”
“He and I haven’t known each other long. Who am I to throw that out there like that?”
Faith exhales as if growing exasperated by the conversation. “Layla. Wouldn’t you rather know if he never wants to see you again so you can go home and not dwell on it if he wanted casual sex?”
Yes.
No.
“And speaking of sex . . .”
I groan.
Faith’s brows rise, a sly grin creeping in. “How was it? And don’t you dare give me some vague ‘it was nice’ answer. I want adjectives, Layla. At least three.”
Hot, intense, orgasmic.
“Which time?” I ask in a cocky, boastful tone.
“How many times was it?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Four? I’m sore.” So sore . . .
Faith makes a strangled sound and practically falls sideways on her couch. “Four? I hate you!”
I laugh. “Beard burn is real, and I love it.”
The spot between my legs aches from having them spread for so long, and I glance at the shower; it would probably feel so good right now, and Lord knows I need to rinse off . . .
“Oh my God, Layla! You’re walking around stiff and sore while I sleep next to a Squishmallow when Clarke isn’t sleeping at my place. Do you hear the jealousy in my voice?”
I do hear the jealousy in her voice but remind her, “It’s not like we have tons of single dudes in Star Lake.”
Faith pulls a chunk off her sandwich savagely with her teeth. “Do you know how long it’s been since someone made me sore in the fun way? Ugh! You’re living my dream!”
“Sorry?” Not sorry.
“Don’t apologize. Tell me more. Is he . . .” She lowers her voice dramatically. “A dirty talker or no?”
I tilt my head back and forth. “Eh. Sort of? Yes. But not really.” He was more of a moaner. Loud groans, gasping. Not that I’m going to tell her that; she might be my best friend, but some things are meant to stay private. “He wasn’t exactly quiet.”
“Layla, I swear to God, if you don’t marry him just so I can live vicariously through you, we are officially fighting.”
“You are so dramatic!”
“So?” She shrugs. “You’re glowing, you’re sore, and you’ve got beard burn between your legs and on your face.
What I wouldn’t give to be over here sexting random strangers on dating apps who I’ll probably never meet because we live in the middle of freaking nowhere.
” She grumbles. “But no, I have Clarke.”
I laugh until my stomach hurts. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Find the lie.”
We laugh together until Faith sighs, licking her fingers. “Well. You’ve been holed up in that bathroom way too long. He’s going to send a search party.”
I nod. “Yeah. I should go—I have to rinse off.” Pause. “Thanks for letting me vent.”
She gives me a patient smile. “That’s what I’m here for—pep talks and the occasional inappropriate question.”
I grin. “You nailed both today.”
“Damn right I did.” She leans closer to the camera. “And Layla? Don’t talk yourself out of this before you even give it a chance. You like him. He clearly likes you. See where it goes—don’t assume it won’t go anywhere.”
Right.
I can do that. “I’ll think about it.”
“Uh-huh. You do that. Love you.”
“Love you more.”
We hang up, and I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror for a beat, heart thumping. Then I turn toward the shower and turn the water on, needing to clear my head. And needing the courage that comes after.