5. Briggs #2
But it’s the long curly hair that gets my brain to register Layla immediately.
She uses her foot to keep the door open, balancing two pies and maneuvering herself so that she doesn’t drop one.
It’s a balancing act.
One I’ve seen her do plenty of times before.
Holding the door open for her from over her head, Layla steps inside, and instantly stops when she registers it’s me holding the thing open for her.
“Good evening, Mrs. Kerrigan,” I greet, my voice this deep and insatiable octave that has been burning a hole in my throat for years. “Can I help you with that?”
“Oh, for the love of God,” she grounds out, her nose wrinkled in sheer annoyance at my presence. “What are you doing here?”
“You’ve asked me that question already today.”
“And I’m gonna ask you agai—” Her hazel eyes suddenly bulge, and she looks toward the hallway I just came from. “Did Uncle Ben see you?”
“Yes.”
Her body immediately deflates, and she aims her displeasure right back at me. “You did it on purpose. You know he comes here every Wednesday.”
“Does he?” Her pupils narrow so sharply that I’m surprised she can still see me through them. “Oh, right. Card night.”
“And how did you manage to get into it? It’s a private card game.”
“There’s nothing private in Magnolia Ridge, Mrs. Kerrigan. No matter what your Uncle Ben wants to believe—”
“Stop callin’ me that.”
“You used to like it.”
“I’m not an idiot anymore.”
“The jury’s still out on that.” Layla lifts one of her pies, and I know, with everything in me, she wants to slam it in my face. “Careful, Short Stop. Uncle Ben warned me to stay away from you.”
She promptly steps to the side so I can leave through the door. “Then by all means…”
Yeah, right.
A moment alone with Layla, I’m never going to pass that up in a million years, and I know she misses the shit out of me.
Crowding her space, I force her up against the wall without needing to touch her because she’s got her hands full, and mine aren’t full.
Yet.
“When are we gonna stop this bullshit back and forth? You know I’m tired of it.”
“When you stop stalking me. Do we need to have a talk with Dodger about restraining orders and harassment? You’re borderlining crazy.”
“Maybe it was that one hit to the head last year.”
Her nostrils flare, but she doesn’t ask me any questions. And, surprisingly, it wasn’t by Cruz himself, but a stray ball that I do believe was an accident.
Still gave me a concussion, though.
“Unfortunately, for you, it didn’t knock the memories of us out.”
“And why would I want it to do that?”
She loves me. She doesn’t love me.
She doesn’t know how to go up against her Uncle Ben. Then she does…secretly.
Layla is a bit of a whiplash sometimes. This woman is hot and cold. She cares about me, but then she wants nothing to do with me.
I know a lot of it is my fault and the issues I’ve had to work through.
However, she didn’t play by the rules we both laid out.
“You don’t keep up with me, Short Stop? I thought you’d know about all that.”
My girl tenses up a bit, but it’s barely noticeable when she lifts her head like it doesn’t matter if she does or not. “Not like I used to.”
“And why’s that?”
“Why should I when you’ve been nothing but disappointing, Briggs?”
That’d hurt if I hadn’t heard it a million times before.
“I could think of a handful of reasons why,” I quip. “Should we start with the most important one? Or did you want me to give you the small ones first?”
“How about you go bother someone who wants to see you?”
“I am.” My chest lightly presses into hers, and she extends her arms so my body doesn’t touch her pies. “You just won’t admit it, and honestly, Short Stop, sometimes I don’t blame you. Other times, I do.”
“Keep doing that,” she urges me, keeping her hazel eyes on anything other than me. “Then maybe you’ll move on.”
“Now, where’s the fun in that when no one compares to you?”
She scoffs. “I think your girlfriend would have something to say about that.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Her focus slices over to me, written with murder all over it. “I thought you didn’t follow up on me.”
“I don’t.”
“Then you’d know gossip columns aren’t always the most reliable source around. Besides, she was launching her reporting career and needed a boost. Dragging my name into it only helped her get to where she was.”
“You come up with a fake-dating agreement, too?”
“Did I like the last one?”
I don’t get a response to that either; however, I didn’t need her to answer.
Her solution to seeing me when we were in high school was to fake-date Cruz Weston because it was the only boy her Uncle Ben seemed to like.
The golden boy.
The charitable, church-going, fake-as-fuck golden boy who was selfish, self-serving, and petty as hell.
Her Uncle Ben didn’t know that his handpicked option for his niece was just looking to fuck her to say he had. That he had agreed to Layla’s proposal, while she helped him pass chemistry in return, was just to get under my skin for two years.
And beyond.
Layla continues to stare up at me and, fuck me, I missed her. Happy, mad, sad, irritated, excited, all of it. I missed every emotion illuminating from her eyes and her in my damn arms.
In my damn bed.
“Your boy is allegedly coming back to town,” I divulge in warning.
“Your uncle will be ecstatic, I’m sure. However, you’d better keep me occupied, Short Stop.
” I lean in, smelling sugar, and my cock instantly hardens in my jeans.
“And it better be good. Because the first moment I see him…I’m bashing his head in until he understands that there was never a point in time when you belonged to him.
You belong to me. You still do. And nothing and no one is going to change that for me. ”