One Little Lie… by Christine Platt #2
She’d changed. Now she was dressed in red-white-and-blue baggy jeans and a matching tube top emblazoned with the Tommy Hilfiger logo. She looked just like the poster of Aaliyah hanging in Scootie’s dorm room.
“At least, that’s what my homegirl said it tastes like,” she continued. “Kool-Aid. But it most certainly is not Kool-Aid.”
Leo nodded, unsure of what to say. He stared at her. Just…stared.
“I’m Layla.” She extended her hand, and when he took her small palm in his, her soft skin reminded him of the rose petals in his grandma’s garden. “Leo, right?”
“Yeah.” He tried to gather himself. “I’m Leo. And I’m sorry for staring at you like a creep. You’re just so…pretty. And I’m not just saying that. I’m not trying to run game or whatever. Like, you’re really pretty.”
Layla smiled, looking away from him as she blushed. “Thank you.”
“But I’m sure people tell you that all the time, though,” Leo said. “I can’t possibly be the first person to tell you that.”
Layla giggled as she shook her head. “I mean, yes, I’ve been told that before,” she confessed. “But not all the time.” Then she looked at him, her gaze soft. “And not by someone like you.”
Leo tried to ignore the butterflies dancing in his stomach. Butterflies he’d only felt back home. How had they followed him to Langston University?
“Like me ?” he asked. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Again, Layla looked away as she blushed. “Well, I think it’s a good thing. But I guess we’ll have to wait and see. Bad boys aren’t my usual type, from what I’ve heard of you.”
If Leo could go back to the night he met Layla Michelle McNeil, he would do everything differently.
He would have told Layla the truth then instead of further leaning into the myth created around him.
Because somehow, their lives had become one so quickly after that night that it was impossible for him to tell the truth now.
Somehow, that first night they spent talking under the stars quickly led to Leo becoming Layla’s boyfriend.
Somehow, she’d become his person.
Studying together. Eating meals together. Napping together. Attending football games and critiquing marching bands together. Daydreaming about their future together. Doing absolutely nothing together and feeling like they were doing something special.
He’d tell her that he’d made the hour-and-a-half drive to campus alone.
Making his way down U.S. 177 with only the necessities on the freshman move-in checklist packed in cardboard boxes in the back of his Ford F-250.
Among all the items he’d received for being “the one” to go to college, Grandpop’s truck was his most coveted gift.
Some of Leo’s fondest childhood memories were tied to his truck.
Most of the chips and dents in its white paint had been of his doing, reminders of hard lessons he’d learned.
Leo had cried when Grandpop handed him the keys and patted his back the way he did whenever Leo made him proud.
If he could go back to the night they’d met, Leo would tell Layla that every single day of Lion Camp he had wanted nothing more than to climb into the cabin of his F-250 and drive back to his small world.
Back to where he knew the dangers with certainty to know when and where to take his chances.
Instead of being at Langston University where everything seemed risky because it was unfamiliar, unknown.
If he could go back, Leo would tell Layla that he didn’t leave after Lion Camp ended because he’d met her.
Leo had long since mastered the art of sneaking to the women’s side of Young Hall, and he felt such guilt looking at her heart-shaped face.
His very own sleeping beauty. Her head resting in the nook between his broad shoulder and neck that she liked to call “my spot.” Her long black braids cascading across her pink pillowcase like a fan.
Her eyes closed as her lips parted every so often for the softest, sweetest snore.
Their legs intertwined as Leo moved every so often just so he could feel her smooth skin against his.
He closed his eyes, remembering that night he’d snuck into Layla’s dorm room and instead of wearing her usual boyshorts and a T-shirt, she was wearing a delicate white lace robe.
The room smelled like the Pear Glacé lotion he’d recently bought her from Victoria’s Secret for her nineteenth birthday.
She had lit several tealight candles, and the orange glow from their flames had made Leo and Layla’s shadows dance across the walls.
“Wow,” he’d whispered. “Wow. Wow. Wow. You look so beautiful.”
He’d walked over to Layla, pulling her into his arms for an embrace like he always did, and realized that she was trembling.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he’d asked. “You okay?”
Layla took a deep breath. “Leo, I love you and I want tonight to be the night. I mean, of course, I’m scared.
But I’m…I’m ready. And not scared like I think you’ll hurt me.
I know you’d never hurt me. It’s just that my bestie, Kimmie?
Well, she said…you know, it… doing it might hurt.
But then, after a while, she said it won’t hurt so much.
That it’ll feel good. Amazing even! So, I guess what I’m saying is—”
Leo had stopped Layla’s nervous rambling the best way he knew how—with kisses between constant reassurances that he would never hurt her, and that if she changed her mind, they could stop anytime she wanted to.
“Are you sure, Lay Lay?” Leo had whispered. “You sure, baby? You sure this is what you want. Because I’m okay. I love you. I don’t mind waiting.”
Truth was, as she looked up at him, her brown eyes more vulnerable than ever before, he was just as afraid as she was.
Afraid Layla wasn’t really ready, that she wanted to have sex just to please him.
Afraid he’d put the condom on wrong. Afraid he’d hurt her.
Afraid he’d forget everything Grandpop and the older men who were like uncles had told him about how to love a woman.
Afraid. Afraid. Afraid.
Slowly, Leo had untied Layla’s robe. And just the sight of her honey-brown skin peeking through her white lace bra and matching panties made him feel all sorts of feelings he’d never felt before.
“Are you sure, Layla?” He was breathless as he kissed her.
“Yes.” Leo could barely hear her over the sound of his own heart pounding and pleading. “I’m sure. I’m ready.”
He continued undressing her slowly, just like the men in the romance novels he used to sneak from his Auntie Josephine’s house to read in search of answers to questions he was too afraid to ask.
Do everything slowly, Leo reminded himself.
Be slow.
Be soft.
Be gentle.
Despite the many nights they’d shared since, fumbling and experimenting and laughing together as they learned how to love and make love, Leo would never forget that night.
And now as he watched Layla sleeping, he couldn’t help but wonder if sweet and tender memories would be all he’d have left once Layla found out the truth.
Leo kissed his sleeping beauty’s forehead, and she smiled in her sleep, snuggling closer into her spot between his shoulder and neck.
How could I have ever lied to her ?
This was not the first sleepless night Leo spent ruminating on everything he’d said and done over the past few months.
He had been a freshman all of one semester, yet he was pretty sure that during that short time he’d lied more than he had over the past nineteen years.
Now every mistruth, every omission, was coming back to haunt him.
Threatening to torment and expose him in the worst possible way.
Now Leo knew why folks always said lying just wasn’t worth it. Because there was only one way to keep folks believing that a lie was the truth: by telling more lies.
Because in two weeks, when the fall semester ended, Leo was going to have to tell his girlfriend—the beautiful, the brilliant, the Layla Michelle McNeil—that he’d been lying to her (and everyone else) since the day he arrived on campus.
Leo kissed her forehead softly. “I love you,” he whispered, blinking fast to hold back his tears. “I love you so much, Layla. And I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.”
“What’s wrong, Leo?”
Layla had asked him this question every day for the past week. At first, she sounded worried, concerned that finals were taking a toll on him. Now it was Thursday night, they both had just one more day of testing, and she just sounded annoyed.
Despite dishonesty being the only thing that might be able to save him, Leo refused to tell another lie. He was unwilling to say, “Nothing’s wrong, baby. I’m good,” and blame his distant demeanor on being stressed about school.
Because everything was wrong. Layla was the only thing in his life that was right. And on Sunday, when she found out the truth about who he really was and where he was really from, everything that was good about what they shared could turn horribly wrong too.
So, instead of answering Layla’s question, he just sighed. A long, exasperated sigh that sounded like it came from the depths of his soul.
For a moment, his eyes met Layla’s, but he quickly looked away.
He was embarrassed. Ashamed. He felt like such a fool.
Hadn’t he known that at some point his lies were bound to catch up with him?
Now he was standing outside Young Hall in the middle of November, shivering from the cold and clearly having a disagreement with his girlfriend—and Leo was certain folks were peeking through their dorm room curtains to watch.