Page 56 of Her Counterfeit Christmas
As we near our starting point, Layla reaches over and tickles my side. She gets me at my most ticklish spot and it’s enough of a shock to knock me off balance as I try to escape. I stumble forward, catch myself for a second, only to land wrong and fall to my side just a wave comes, getting me wet up to my waist. I squeal. Yes, squeal. Not a good moment for me.
Layla runs backward as she moves farther down the beach, laughing. This time, her laughter is definitely directed at me.
It doesn’t take me long to catch up, and when Layla understands my intent, she faces forward and picks up speed. My legs are longer, and I pass her. I sweep my leg into the coming wave and splash her with ocean water.
She shrieks, but apparently she isn’t one to back down from a fight. She kicks water at me, but stumbles. I catch her with a hand before she tumbles into the ocean. Instead of thanking me for the save, she leverages against me to jump with both feet, splashing water up to my chest.
“You did not just do that.” It comes out weak because I’m shivering.
The only response I get is more laughter. I’ve been holding back, but no longer. I hoist her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry and step deeper into the ocean. It takes only a second for her to figure out my plan.
“I’m sorry!” she screams. “I’m sorry! I’ll stop. Don’t drop me!”
I gasp as the next wave hits above my knees. “You’ll stop what?”
“Laughing at you.” She’s still laughing, so I know that isn’t a realistic promise.
“Nope.”
I take another step. She pounds my back with her fists and kicks her legs, but not hard enough to mean business.
“I won’t splash you with water anymore!” she squawks.
“Promise?”
“Yes!”
I lean over the smallest bit, and her body slips an inch. Her hands grab onto the back of my jacket. She screams while still laughing. I think I’ve scared her enough and walk out of the water. I don’t put her down until we reach our shoes and the water is too far away for her to splash me.
I place her feet on the ground. When I stand straight, we’re less than a foot apart. Her laughter quiets as her eyes meet mine. She doesn’t move back. In fact, she steps an inch closer and lays a hand flat against my chest. Heat suffuses through my body at her touch. Her hand rises and falls with each breath I drag through my lungs.
The connection I feel with Layla snaps taut, like it did lastnight in the hallway. I like her–no, “like” is a weak word. I absolutely, completely adore her. Not kissing her is torture. I don’t know how it’s possible, but not touching her today is even harder than it was yesterday. I want to wrap my arms around her waist. Kiss her temples, his cheeks, her neck. Her lips.
What I can’t resist doing is lifting my hand and running my thumb along her cheekbone. Her skin is soft. She closes her eyes and leans into my touch, her breathing just as ragged as mine, and that isn’t because we ran three miles. It’s our closeness. Mere inches separate our bodies.
We belong together. Spencer cannot be part of her story. He would never put up with her splashing him with salty, cold ocean water. Watching a musical is a waste of time in his book. He barely carved out twenty minutes last night to sing a few carols while she played.
Like a news ticker on the bottom of a TV screen, questions cycle through my brain.
Do you laugh with Spencer like you do with me? Does he crave your company like I do? Does he understand what a treasure you are? Will you break up with him so I can date you?
I manage not to voice the questions out loud. It might make her move away from me, and I like the feel of her hand on my chest and the way she stands close enough for me to catch her lavender scent. I remain as still as possible.
Maybe Layla sees the questions in my head reflected in my eyes, because she steps away, her hand falling from my chest.
She picks up her shoes and runs toward the van without a word.
I stay where I am to recover my equilibrium. Difficult after what happened. It’s the closest we’ve ever stood, and Ican’t blame my shivering completely on the cold. I’ve never had this physical response from only touching a woman’s cheek. But this is Layla; she isn’t just any woman.
I look out over the ocean. I’ve always loved visiting this beach. Spencer and I rode our bikes here almost every day that first summer I stayed. I miss the friendship we once shared, but we’re not kids anymore. I don’t respect the choices he’s made, and he definitely doesn’t respect mine.
If Layla marries Spencer like he plans, they’ll both be miserable. Spencer will come to resent Layla for the drain on his time. She’ll lose the spark of joy that is innately part of who she is.
I won’t let that happen. I can’t.
I’m going to romance her away from my cousin.
The moment I decide to pursue Layla is the moment I declare war on Spencer. Maybe it’s the wrong decision and I should let things stay as they are, but if the right thing to do is to watch Layla lose her joy, then I’d rather not do the right thing.
