Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Hey, now,” she says, wagging a finger my way. “My brother is Finn Miller. I have some damn good athletic genes too.”
“Meh.”
She throws a pillow at me. I catch it mid-air and toss it back at her. Because she had turned away, it hits the side of her face.
Her laughter fills the air, the worry lines on her face from today all but gone. That is, until she moves her neck to the side and flinches.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing. I hurt my neck a few weeks ago and it’s hurt ever since.”
“What did you do to it?”
“I don’t know.”
I catch the blush of her cheeks and her hesitation to look me straight in the eye. “Layla . . .”
“Stop, Branch.”
“What happened?” I say in a sing-song voice. “Sounds like a good story.”
Her lips quiver as she finds her resolve. When she faces me, the little vixen I’ve seen before is back. “Well,” she says, “I was with this guy, right? And he had me up on all fours on this patio chair at our lake house and—”
“Better stop there.”
“But I was just getting to the good part.”
“Oh, Sunshine. I remember the good part.”
We exchange a knowing smile before she moves her head and winces again.
“Turn around,” I tell her, moving off the chair and onto the sofa beside her.
“Why?”
“Just turn around,” I chuckle. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Um . . .”
Shaking my head, I lay a hand on her shoulder and gently encourage her to turn away from me. Finally, she gives in, shifting until she’s sitting facing the wall.
My heart beats in my throat, a steady strum as I lean in and breathe in a scent that’s pure Layla—a sweet smell of pineapples and the warmth of vanilla. I think I could get high on it if I breathed it in for long. It’s a risk I’d be willing to take.
Bundling her hair in one hand, I try to figure out what to do with it. She reaches back, a brown elastic in her hand.
“Let me pull it up,” she says.
Instead, I remove the tie from her fingers. She stills as I work the bunched strands up higher on her head and then twist the elastic around it a few times until it stays.
I’ve done a lot things with women. A lot of things so crazy I wouldn’t admit to them, a lot of things done both publicly and privately. But this simple exchange feels the most intimate out of all of them and I’m not even touching her.
She sits patiently, waiting for me to do whatever it is I’m going to do. Her profile is perfect with her long, thick lashes, button nose, and soft, smooth lines.
For the first time in a few days, she’s just Layla. She’s the same woman I met a while back and enjoyed the hell out of in so many ways. She’s the smart and gorgeous and easygoing girl that doesn’t give a shit I’m a wide-out on the Legends or on the cover of three magazines this month. She’s . . . her.
My hands lay softly on her shoulders. Under my palms, they sink instead of tensing as I feared, her head falling to the side. My thumbs press against the back of her neck, her skin warm and supple against my own.
“Where does it hurt?” I say gently, working her dainty shoulders in my hands.
“Mostly in the back and on this side.” She motions to her left, her fingertips brushing mine. Instead of pulling them away, she leaves them touching for a long moment.
I work on the spot she indicated, spending time on areas that she signals feels good. As I watch her reaction to me and feel my pulse find a steady rhythm, my anxiety starts to wane, a hint of a smile tickling my lips.
“I went to that birthday party just to see you,” I say, pressing my thumbs against an area just below her neck.
“You did?”
“Yeah. I wanted to call you before that, but didn’t really know how to work around your brother, and Poppy kept saying you were really busy.”
She bends her neck farther, giving me more access. “Well, I didn’t really want to see you. It seemed pointless. And then I was scared to see you.”
Her admission, although understandable, twists something deep inside my chest. Imagining her so vulnerable and alone because of some reaction I might have, and did have, makes me want to kick myself.
“I wanted to spend more time with you,” I admit, ignoring everything else. “I just wanted to toss a football around with you or eat some candy and tell stories.”
She blows out a breath, grimacing a little as I rub out a knot. “I think we could’ve had fun together if so many things were different.”
With a final press, I drop my hands. “If I would’ve called, you would’ve answered?”