Page 21 of Layla Meets Her Match

“What’s going on, Astrid?” I ask when we’re leaning against a railing. People are scattered across the deck with drinks in hand, but no one pays us any attention. Not without the hulking football players next to us.

“Kipp is really upset with me,” she blurts. She’s wringing her hands in front of her.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I know all about guys like Kipp Avery. Mr. Too-Big-For-His-Breeches played games like this too, getting all “jealous” over something stupid.

I reach out and take Astrid’s hands, just to calm her a little. “About what?”

“About me blowing off drinks with him. He texted right as we got to the restaurant and asked if I was ready to meet him, and I told him I was out with Zane, and he’s called, like, five times, but I told him I couldn’t answer, of course, because that would be rude, but he sent me a text asking why I was going out with someone else?—”

I stop her run-on-sentence monologue by asking, “Have you and Kipp talked about not dating other people?”

She shakes her head. “No. Of course not. I never would’ve gone out with Zane if we had.”

I eye her. “This is a red flag, Astrid. He can’t expect something of you that he hasn’t talked to you about.”

Her eyes widen. “Red flag?”

“Well, it’s at least yellow.” I squeeze her hands. “Wait until you get home tonight and then call him and calmly explain. If he tries to put any of this on you, hang up. Got it?”

She draws in a deep breath. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“I’ve dated his type a million times. They get one big part and they think they’re everything.” I hook her arm through mine and head back into the restaurant. From the window, I see that our waiter has delivered my lavender-lemon cheesecake, and while I want to help Astrid, I’m not sacrificing my big night out over worries about Kipp.

When we get back to the table, Lincoln puts his arm across the back of my chair and leans close in what I know is going to be a picture that lights up the internet. And it kind of makes me excited to think so.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Totally fine.” I pat his knee in a promise to tell him later and then snatch my hand back as I realize how coupley that is. I can’t get lost in these moments too much. It might be fun to watch everyone speculate about me and Lincoln, but I have to be careful about liking it so much I want to live it.

It’s just that Lincoln’s answering smile makes falling into this moment hard to resist.

I think of Margot, and I think of the look on Back-Stabbing Jack’s face when I suggested we make a go of things for our baby, and reality claims me quickly. That’s exactly what I need.

Lincoln: I am so sorry. It’s way worse than I thought. I should have thought about that when I suggested we double. Or when I suggested that restaurant.

Layla: Honestly, Lincoln. It’s fine. They’re cute pictures.

Lincoln: You don’t care that people think we’re dating?

Layla: Should I be embarrassed? *winking emoji*

Lincoln: Probably.

Layla: I don’t know. Most of these women commenters seem pretty ready to murder me out of jealousy. *thinking emoji*

Lincoln: *face-palm emoji*

Layla: I’m sure your agent has told you no publicity is bad publicity. I’m not worried.

CHAPTER 12

LINCOLN

I can’t blame anyone for thinking that Layla and I are a thing. Every cell phone shot from people in the restaurant paints that picture. Layla and I walking in with my hand on her back, her leaning into me. The way I’m smiling at her when Zane leans down to kiss her cheek. Someone even caught the moment she leaned into me to assure me that everything was okay with her and Astrid.

It's that one that makes my chest burn. We look like there’s definitely an “us.” And I want that us so badly, this picture is making it ten thousand times worse than if I just had a memory of her hand on my knee. Now I’m staring at the small smile on her lips as she leans closer to me, the smitten answering smile as I look back at her, my arm possessively resting on the back of her chair.

Uuuuugh.

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