29. Layla
layla
. . .
Today, I finally post what I’ve been working on.
This is it.
You’ve got this, girl.
I’m sitting cross-legged on Reed’s bed, his sheets still wrapped around my hips as my laptop sits in front of me, the cursor blinking as if it knows how important this moment is.
He’s half-asleep beside me, his hair a messy tangle, his mustache rasping against my skin as he nudges his head into my thigh.
He presses lazy kisses on my thigh, making it impossible to focus.
Shifting next to me, he reaches up, gently gripping my chin, guiding my mouth to his, giving me a soft kiss, mumbling. “Mornin’, sunshine.”
I can’t help but smile as my hand automatically threads through his soft curls at the nape of his neck.
He exhales, as if that tiny touch is the best part of his day, and places another kiss on my thigh.
His arm wraps around my legs, pulling me closer as he rests his head on my thigh, perfectly content. My heart does that stupid fluttering thing again, mixed with affection and guilt.
My finger hovers over the screen. All the footage from Boots cedar, oakmoss, and a hint of smoke that clings to his clothes no matter how often he washes them.
It’s comforting; it’s something I look forward to every time I’m here and miss when I’m away.
My nerves creep back, tapping at the edge of my mind.
“What if…” I start, not sure how to finish.
He keeps a firm hold as he nuzzles into the curve of my neck, his voice soft. “Check it,” he says. “I’m right here.”
My laptop is only within arm’s reach, yet lifting it feels like holding something that could explode in my hands. My fingers tremble as I open it, find the refresh button, and click it hesitantly.
My breath leaves me in a silent rush.
Thousands of views. Hundreds of comments. Notifications are flooding in faster than I can blink.
“O… oh.”
His arms tighten around my waist as he settles his chin on my shoulder, looking at the screen with me.
Comments rush upward on the screen as I scroll through.
Omg, Layla, I LOVE THIS!!!
You look so happy???
Wait, who is that HOT bartender??
This is the best content you’ve ever posted. Do MORE
Your energy is back, girl, keep going!!
Thank god Brian isn’t in it; he’s so boring.
My hand flies to my mouth. A sharp breath escapes, half shock, half relief, and then a tear slides down before I can stop it.
“Hey…” He turns me slightly so he can see my face, his thumb already catching a tear. “What’s that for?”
I shake my head, a watery laugh bubbling up. “I just… I’ve never had this kind of response before. Not this fast. Not…like this.”
Not when Brian was in the video. Not when I was pretending to be happy. Not when I was acting like my life was perfect, or for some silly brand deal video.
My chest tenses, not from fear. For the first time... It’s hope.
“They like me,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Just me. Not this version, I curated online, or the ones the brands prefer. I’m me, my true self, and they love it.”
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle. “You are enough as you are,” he reminds me. “You always were.”
Another tear slips free, but this one feels like the release I’ve been holding back for years.
Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can leave. Maybe I don’t have to stay with someone who treats me like nothing and only uses me for money.
My heart flips, and suddenly I become painfully aware of the man holding me, of how safe I feel, and of the future that doesn’t include Brian.
He presses a slow kiss to my temple. “You don’t have to decide anything today,” he murmurs. “Just… don’t sell yourself short. Not anymore.”
I nod, swallowing hard, and lean into his chest like it’s the only place I’ve ever belonged.
Because deep down I already knew the truth, I left Brian the moment I stepped into Reed’s bar.
I just need the courage to bring it to life.
He shifts beside me, letting go of me, as a rush of cool air replaces his warm touch.
The mattress dips under his weight as he props himself up. The sheet slips from his chest, exposing the warm stretch of solid muscle along with the tattoos and scars that run across his arms, the ones he no longer hides as much.
Morning sun rushes in to find him, tracing the raised lines of his skin.
He rakes a hand through his hair, shaking off the sleep, that slight curl behind his ear refusing to behave, and something in my chest sighs softly.
Grabbing his glasses from the nightstand, he slides them onto his face with a practiced push on the bridge of his nose.
The lenses catch the light for a second, making him look like the world’s hottest professor who moonlights as a brooding hero.
His thumb brushes across his mustache, smoothing it into place.
A tiny, unconscious motion... and I swear my bones turn to liquid. My mouth goes dry. My brain? Gone. Completely gone.
I try to be subtle about staring, but I fail spectacularly.
He doesn’t look back when he says, voice still raspy with sleep, “Stop looking at me like that.”
My pulse trips.
“I’m literally just sitting here,” I whisper, but it sounds breathless, guilty, and not even close to convincing.
He pauses in the doorway, finally glancing over his shoulder, his eyebrow raised in clear amusement.
“Layla,” he drawls, “if you keep staring at me like I’m something you want for breakfast, we’re not gonna make it to the kitchen.”
My whole face burns with desire, a rush of heat surging between my thighs, leaving me soaked.
I remember the intimate times we shared, how his mustache felt between my legs when he was kissing, sucking, fuck—.
Okay, Layla, reel it in.
He smirks, one he shows me only, his eyes glinting with that flirt he never explicitly says but always means. He turns again, disappearing into the hall, the scars on his arms shifting as he walks. He’s shown me all of his scars, and that alone means everything to me.
From the kitchen, I hear the gentle clink of pans and the soft hum of a country tune slipping from his lips, rugged and sweet all at once.
The smell of coffee drifts down the hall, wrapping itself around the anxiety still buzzing in my veins.
I glance back at my laptop. The screen is a cascade of notifications; hearts, comments, excitement pouring in too fast to follow.
This is the Layla we love.
Girl, you’re glowing.
More videos like THIS pleaseee.
My throat tightens, but this time it feels like relief. Like a new beginning.
I wipe under my eye before anything falls.
Reed hums louder, off-key in the cutest way, as the cabinet doors open and shut like someone who genuinely enjoys cooking breakfast for two.
For us.
I close my laptop slowly.
He’s giving me space to breathe, while offering reasons to choose a different life.
One where I’m not invisible. One where being myself isn’t something I have to apologize for. One where a man looks at me like I could be home.
I pull the sheet tighter around me, steadying my heartbeat, before pushing myself up to stand. My feet hit his cool hardwood floors, and I follow the sound of him into the light.
Because I want to. Because I choose to.
Because Reed Hayes is starting to feel like a future I’m not afraid to want.