Layla
: Chapter 2

I stare at her for a few minutes, hoping she doesn’t wake up right away. Her hand is draped across my chest—a deadweight as she sleeps. I try to drag out the moment because I know how one-night stands work. I’ve had my fair share of them. I’ve snuck out of a lot of beds, but I don’t want to sneak out of this one.

I’m hoping Layla doesn’t want me to sneak out of this one.

She’ll wake up soon, and I know how she’ll feel as soon as she does.

She’ll probably shield her eyes from the sun and roll over while she tries to remember how we got here. Who I am. How she can get rid of me.

Her fingers are the first thing to move. She drags them from my shoulder, around to the back of my neck. She keeps her eyes closed as she pulls me against her so that she can tuck herself against me.

I’m relieved that I’m familiar to her—that she just woke up and knows exactly where she is and who she’s with and isn’t trying to pull away.

“What time is it?” she mutters. Her voice doesn’t float out of her throat this early in the morning. It’s a scratchy whisper and somehow even sexier than when she’s wide awake.

“Eleven.”

She looks up at me, her eyes puffy and smeared with mascara. “Did you know eleven in the morning is the deadliest time of day?”

That makes me laugh. “Is that a fact?”

She nods. “I learned that in college. More people die during brunch than any other time of day.”

She’s a hot mess. I love it. “You are so strange.”

“Want to take a shower with me?”

I smile. “Fuck yeah.”

I assumed we wouldn’t actually shower in the shower, but it was a legitimate invite.

I’m massaging conditioner into her hair, asking her questions I normally wouldn’t ask a girl after a one-night stand. There’s just so much about her I want to know.

“Is Aspen your only sibling?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like her?”

“I freaking love her,” Layla says. “I don’t really agree with her taste in husbands, but whatever works for her.” She looks over her shoulder at me.

“Do you know what his name is?”

“No. What’s his name?”

“Chad Kyle.”

“No way,” I whisper.

“I’m serious. That’s his actual name.”

“Is it fitting or unfortunate?”

“Unfortunately, it’s fitting,” she says. “He’s such a typical Chad. Frat boy, country club membership, a quarter-ton pickup, and a dog named Bo.”

“That explains why he likes Garrett’s Band.” I grab the handheld showerhead and begin rinsing her hair. When it’s wet, her hair goes down to the middle of her back. I’ve never washed a girl’s hair before, but it’s kind of sensual. So is the shape of her head. It fits perfectly against my palm.

“Your head is sexy.”

“How can a head be sexy?”

I cover her eyes with my free hand so soap doesn’t run into them. “I don’t know. But yours is. Or maybe it’s just you.” When I’m finished rinsing out her hair, I put the showerhead back on the holder. She spins around, and I pull her to me as the stream of hot water beats down on us. “I had fun last night.”

She smiles. “Me too.”

“The band is leaving in half an hour.”

“I am too.”

“Where do you live?”

“Chicago,” she says. “I still live with my parents. Moved back in with them after college. I’m not sure where I want to end up yet. Definitely not

Chicago.”

“Why don’t you like Chicago?”

“I do. I just don’t want to live where I grew up. I want to experience the entire spectrum. City, country, condo, cabin in the woods . . .” She twists her hair to squeeze out the excess water. “Where do you live?

Nashville?”

“Close to it. Nashville is pricey and I don’t like roommates, so I lease a place in Franklin. If you’re from Chicago, why did your sister get married in the middle of Kansas?”

“Chad Kyle is from Wichita,” she says, slipping her arms around my waist. She looks up at my hair, then at my face, and sighs. “Do you know how lucky you are to be a man? You all look the same at the end of a shower. Maybe even a little sexier. Showers transform women. Leave us with flat hair, makeup smeared down our cheeks, concealer down the drain.”

She talks like there’s some drastic difference between the Layla I met at the wedding and the Layla standing in front of me right now. If anything, this version of her is better. Naked, arms wrapped around me, covered in water. I like this version of her a lot. I lean forward and kiss her neck, gripping her ass with both hands.

She tilts her head to the side, giving me more access to her neck. “I think I could make a good country girl,” she says. “I’d love to live here. It’s beautiful. I could be happy running a bed and breakfast.”

For a brief second, I forgot what we were even talking about because she has a two-track mind. Luckily one of them is on me. She lets herself fall against the wall of the shower as my hands roam over her body—my lips over her skin.

“I really love it here,” she says quietly. “I like the seclusion. The quiet.

No neighbors. Just transient guests I’d never really have to get to know.”

I slide my tongue up her neck and then into her mouth. It’s a deep, short kiss before I pull away. “It’s the heart of the country,” I say. “There’s no better place on earth than right here.”

In this moment, I absolutely mean that. No better place than right here, right now. She pulls my mouth back to hers, and neither of us flinches when someone knocks on the bedroom door. We’re too preoccupied to care.

“Layla!” Aspen yells.

Layla groans at the sound of her voice, but she continues to kiss me while ignoring the knock. The pounding just becomes more incessant.

“Layla, open up!”

Layla sighs, and I stop kissing her so she can get out of the shower.

She wraps herself in a towel before walking out and closing the bathroom door. I’m left with a painfully hollow feeling in my stomach.

This can’t be how we say goodbye. I just need one more day with her.

One more conversation. One more shower. I can already feel the longing that’ll fill me all the way back to Tennessee.

I turn off the water and grab my towel as Layla lets Aspen into the bedroom. I can hear every word when Aspen says, “Did you sleep with the bass player?” Their voices carry straight into the bathroom.

“Who’s asking?” Layla says.

“Me. I’m asking.”

“In that case, yes. Twice. Would have been three times if you hadn’t interrupted us.”

That makes me laugh.

“His band is looking for him. They’re leaving.”

“We’ll be down in a few minutes,” Layla says.

I hear the bedroom door open up again; then Aspen says, “Mom knows. She overheard one of them say, ‘He shacked up with the bride’s sister.’”

I freeze at that comment. Why didn’t I think about that? This is a wedding; of course their family is here. Shit. Were we loud last night?

“I’m twenty-two,” Layla says. “I don’t care if Mom knows.”

“Just warning you,” her sister responds. “I’m off to Hawaii. I’ll text you when we land.”

“Have fun, Mrs. Kyle.”

When the bedroom door closes, I immediately open the bathroom door. Layla spins around, and the movement causes her towel to slip. She wraps it back around her as I drag my eyes up the length of her. She is so effortlessly sexy.

I tap my fist against the doorframe. “Let’s stay.” I’m casual about it, but that invite is anything but casual. Those two words are probably the most serious to ever leave my mouth.

“Stay where? Here?”

“Yeah. Let’s see if we can keep the room for another night.”

I like the look on her face—like she’s contemplating the idea. “But your band is leaving. You said you have a show tomorrow.”

“We decided last night that I should quit.”

“Oh. I thought it was a suggestion. Not a decision.”

I walk over to her and pull on the end of her towel tucked between her cleavage. It falls to the floor. She’s grinning when my mouth meets hers. I can feel in the way she wraps herself around me that no part of her wants to leave. When she returns my kiss, that dreaded sense of longing that already formed in my chest instantly melts away.

“Okay,” she whispers.