5. Layla
layla
. . .
Reed coasts into a gravel driveway tucked deep into the hills. I hold on tighter than I mean to, not ready for the ride to end, not prepared to lose the steady warmth of him against me.
He cuts the engine, and the sudden silence is almost deafening. Crickets take over as the wind rustles through tall grass, the faint creak of trees shifting against the night.
I slide off the bike, legs shaking, my pulse still pounding in my throat. He hops off after me, and with just a tilt of his head, he grabs my duffel from my grasp and guides me forward.
We walk in sync as I take in my surroundings.
His house rises in front of me, half-hidden in shadow, but even in the dark, I see it’s nothing like the sterile glass condos of LA. It’s rustic, built from weathered timber and stone, the kind of place that looks like it’s been here forever, rooted into the hillside itself.
Huge windows span across the front, tall panes catching slivers of moonlight and reflecting it like water. Even from the porch, I can see straight inside. Warm lamps softly illuminate his living room, the edges of the leather furniture softened by the spill of light.
The porch stretches wide, framed by dark beams and hanging Edison bulbs that sway in the night breeze. They cast everything in a soft, golden hue, transforming the space into something comforting and inviting.
I grip the sleeve of my sweater, my chest aching because this house is so Reed—rugged, scarred, and yet beautiful.
All I can think about is the ride here. My arms around him.
His voice, low and steady, telling me to hold on.
The way he called me sunshine. I can still feel the vibration of the engine in my bones, the press of his body against mine.
I’m spiraling, tumbling fast into places I have no business going.
I tug my phone from my bag, fingers moving before I can think.
Layla
Staying with the girls.
The lie tastes bitter, but I send it anyway.
His reply comes instantly.
Brian
I don’t fucking care.
Ew, fuck him.
Just get your shit together, Layla, then we can leave him.
Even though I’m mentally checked out, my throat still tightens, and tears prick hot at the corners of my eyes. He’s an asshole, sure, but when you give every piece of yourself to someone you thought was your soulmate, it hurts.
And the thought of leaving isn’t as easy as you think it is.
I shove my phone back into my bag as I lift my chin, putting on a fake smile, and follow Reed up the steps to his door.
As the twinkle bulbs flicker above us, casting him in amber, I think if I’m not careful, this house, this man, might undo me completely.
He steps in front of me quickly, grabs his keys, and unlocks the front door, ushering me inside.
The door swings open with a low creak, and I step inside before I can second-guess myself.
His house smells faintly like oakmoss and sandalwood, that rugged mix of wood and warmth that makes you want to breathe deeper.
The first thing I notice is the light. Those massive windows I saw outside also stretch across the walls here, flooding the living room with natural light. Even at night, with only a few lamps turned on, the space feels expansive, as if the darkness itself can’t quite intrude.
His living room centers around a large dark brown leather couch, positioned opposite a brick fireplace with a wooden beam atop it.
A pile of split logs sits in a metal bin nearby, a small detail that feels intimate and personal. The wooden mantle above is empty, except for a couple of framed photos that are too far away for me to see clearly.
Wide-plank oak flooring runs through his home, covered in a simple rug that softens the center, with muted yellow hues woven into geometric patterns. Shelves run along one wall, sparsely filled with old books and a few records.
I stand just inside the door, my heart racing as I take it all in because it feels like him, and I don’t know what to do with that.
He places his keys in a small dish on an end table near the door, but he doesn’t look at me right away, and maybe I’m grateful because I’m not sure I could handle the weight of his gaze while I stand here, drowning in the feeling that I don’t belong.
Brian’s words—I don’t fucking care—still sink their poisonous claws into my mind. I want to crumble. To let the tears out. But instead, I straighten my spine, paste the smile back onto my face as if it’ll keep me from falling apart.
“This place is…” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat, forcing it steady. “It’s beautiful, Reed.”
He finally looks at me, his green eyes soft in the dim light. And for the briefest second, the heaviness inside me lifts, like maybe I’m not carrying it alone.
Reed moves further into the house, and I follow behind him, my sneakers whispering over the wood floors. He flicks on a lamp in the hallway, casting saffron rays that spill over the simple lines of his space—clean, uncluttered, yet heavy with the feeling of someone who lives alone.
He pauses at the end of the hall, his hand resting against the doorframe of a bedroom. “So...” His voice is low and rough, like gravel being turned over. “I only have one bed.”
My heart flips.
He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes fixed on the floor as though the grain of the wood is suddenly fascinating. “You can take it. I’ll crash on the couch.”
I shift on my heels, my pulse pounding in my ears. The thought of him giving up his bed for me, the idea of him lying awake on a couch while I stretch out in his space, it tightens something in my chest.
“Reed, I don’t want to—”
“It’s fine,” he cuts in, still not looking at me. His voice is steady, but his jaw flexes. “I’ve slept on worse.”
The silence stretches awkwardly, and suddenly every inch between us feels significant.
I finally risk a glance at him, the flannel stretches across his broad shoulders, the reflection of his glasses catching the lamplight—the scar tissue stark against his cheekbone.
My fingers itch with the urge to touch, to reach out, to close the gap, but I curl my fingers inward, my nails biting against my palm.
“It’s late,” I blurt out nervously. My smile wobbles, and I force it wider. “We can talk about the content ideas tomorrow.”
He finally looks up, those fiery eyes pinning me in place, softer now but still sharp enough to make my stomach flip.
“Looking forward to it,” he says quietly.
The awkwardness transforms into something else, something dangerous, a hum under my skin like static ready to spark.
He steps aside, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, before gesturing me in. I swallow hard, taking my duffel from his hand, and slip past him into his room.
I look over my shoulder, whispering, “Goodnight, Reed.”
“Goodnight, Layla,” he says, a small twinkle in his eyes.
He closes the door softly for me, the sound of his footsteps retreating into the living room.
I let out the breath I was holding, my gaze sweeping over his room.
It feels… intimate.
His space is simple but deeply personal, the kind of room that carries a man’s weight in its silence. A king-sized bed sits against the far wall, sheets dark and crisp, tucked with military precision. A heavy, worn quilt lies folded at the edge of the bed.
There’s a nightstand with only the essentials: an alarm clock, a small stack of books, and a half-empty glass of water. One wall is bare except for a large window that lets in the night, moonlight spilling in silver streaks across the floorboards.
Faint traces of bourbon and vanilla waft up, smelling like him.
My stomach twists into knots. It feels too much, stepping into a place that holds his sleep, his quiet, his solitude. I shouldn’t be here, but I have this strange sensation of not wanting to be anywhere else.
I slip into the small adjoining bathroom and turn on the light. The mirror shows my flushed cheeks and wild hair from the helmet. I splash cool water on my face, scrubbing until I feel more stable. My makeup smudges into faint shadows, but I don’t mind.
Tugging on the oversized T-shirt I shoved into my bag at the last second, the one with a cartoon raccoon sprawled across the front, bold letters reading Too Cool For U; it hangs loose over my thighs, the soft cotton tickling my skin.
Ridiculous and entirely me.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror again, groaning, and mumble to myself, “I’m a sexy bitch, I know.”
Shutting off the bathroom lights, I pad back over into his bedroom and sink into Reed’s bed. His mattress is plush, smelling faintly like him—before I can let myself delve into the way he smells, instinctively clenching my thighs, my phone lights up, buzzing against the worn, wooden nightstand.
I turn over, grabbing my phone as the screen lights up, flooding my phone with text messages from my unhinged group chat with my girls.
Catalina
Okay, but where are you STAYING tonight? You didn’t say anything to us, bitch.
I chew my lip, grin, and type.
Layla
ummm.. Reed’s place.
My phone instantly pings.
Catalina
EXCUSE THE FUCK OUT OF ME.
Amelia
WHAT THE FUCK.
Catalina
WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING AT THE BAR?!
Amelia
We were literally RIGHT THERE.
I snort, my thumbs flying across the screen.
Layla
Because you were too busy in your love fest with your husbands. Didn’t want to intrude.
Catalina
BITCH. You sound so dumb
Amelia
Pregnant. Carrying my six-foot-eight husband’s baby. My ankles look like balloons. My pelvis feels like it’s been split in two.
Amelia
AND YOU think you’re intruding??
Catalina
Carter has been ravaging me bc we’ve been trying to get pregnant, but my vagina needs a break. Layla pls help
Amelia
Honestly, come sleep in our bed and take Maverick’s side. He’s sweaty and annoying.
Catalina
SAME. Carter’s a fucking furnace
Layla
Wow, thanks for the offers. But no thanks. I’ll stick with Reed’s bed. He gave me the whole thing and is on the couch.
Catalina
OH MY GOD???
Amelia
That’s so sweet
Catalina
Couch = love declaration, you fuck.
Layla
stfu. He’s just being nice.
Amelia
Men aren’t “nice.” Trust me. If another woman breathes around Maverick, he gags.
Catalina
Same. Carter once glared at a grocery store clerk because she said I had nice hair.
Layla
…you guys are insane.
Catalina
And you’re blind.
I roll my eyes and toss my phone onto the nightstand. Their chaos lingers, but the truth presses harder the longer I lie there.
I’m in Reed’s bed, and I don’t want to leave.