Page 38 of Power Play

“Lola. We play together. She nice.”

I return my attention to the road as the red light changes to green, and then I catch her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I’m happy you met Lola. Making friends is one of the best things about childhood. Some of them will stick with you forever.”

“Are you and Mommy friends?”

“No,” Layla chimes in, glancing over her shoulder at Maya. I click my tongue but choose to stay quiet. “We went to college together. I told you already, Clay is Uncle Drake’s friend.”

“Best friend?” Maya’s eyes sparkle as she looks at me expectantly.

I chuckle. “One of them. I’ve been friends with your uncle since college, where we played on the same team. But Colton has been my best friend since middle school,” I explain, throwing a quick glance at Layla. “And don’t listen to your mommy. Wearefriends.”

“We are?” Layla arches an eyebrow at me, her lips curving into a cunning smile. “I’m afraid I didn’t get the memo.”

Oh, I know about a thousand ways to make her remember. Most of them include her tied to her bed, squirming and begging for more. But we have an audience now. No way I’m saying anything inappropriate in front of Maya.

“I know where the memo is. Do you want me to help you look?”

Layla’s smile drops so quickly, morphing into a little frown. She narrows her eyes, her teeth toying with her bottom lip. Then she shrugs and says, “I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself, Mama.” I’m messing with her. Trying to get a rise out of her to see how she’ll react. With how her lips thin, I know my strategy is working. I let my shoulders relax and fix my gaze on the road, and for the next fifteen minutes, I chat with Maya, getting to know more about her days and her new friends. I want to ask about the doctor she mentioned, but given Layla’s reaction earlier, I don’t think that would be wise.

I park the car in front of Angie’s dessert shop. Layla jumps out, and this time she’s the one to get Maya out and set her on her feet. But the second I lock my car, Maya is beside me, her little palm slipping into mine. A rush of energy bolts through me, sliding under my skin and filling my veins with warmth. It’snew and unfamiliar, but oh so pleasant. I look down, smiling at Maya, and she grins back at me. I’ve known her for less than a month, but I already love this little girl. Not because she’s Layla’s, but because it’s absolutely impossible to stay unaffected by how cute and gentle she is. A little ray of sunshine, bright and warm.

“Should we go inside?” Layla asks, her voice strangely strangled. I squint at her. Her posture is tense, her hands hidden in her jeans pockets. She vigorously chews on the inside of her bottom lip; her eyes are dark and uncertain. Nervousness rolls off of her, and it makes my heart leap into my throat. Nervous is not how I want her to feel.

“Of course,” I say, still smiling even though it costs me a lot of effort. Taking a few steps toward the door, I let Maya follow me. I open the door, slowly let go of her tiny palm, and say, “Ladies first.”

Maya turns to her mom, grabs her hand, and pulls her inside. I linger by the door, watching them go to the counter. They’re so content with each other, with smiles reserved only for them, with the gentle brush of Maya’s fingers over Layla’s palm. With how instinctively Layla leans into her daughter, ready to protect her at any moment. A little family of two. The way my heart constricts brings a grimace to my face. I quickly mask it and follow them into the shop.

“So what are we having?” I ask, propping my side against the counter.

Layla glances at Maya, a tender smile lighting up her features. “Maya has ordered her favorite cupcakes and a cup of tea.”

“Tell me, Princess.” I lower my head to get a better look at Maya’s face. “What should I try?”

“Cupcakes! They all delicious!”

“Okay.” I chuckle, bringing my gaze to Layla for a brief moment and then looking at the cashier. “Hey. I’d love to have”—I study the dessert case and point to a chocolate one with white icing and a strawberry on top—“this one.”

“Sure. Anything to drink?”

“A coffee.” I study the menu behind her, quickly checking what they have. “Espresso, please.”

“What about you?” The cashier smiles at Layla. “Cheesecake? As usual?”

Red creeps up Layla’s neck. She clenches her jaw, then forces a smile. “No, thank you, Alana. Just a jasmine tea, please.”

Weird. She always loved chocolates and desserts. I’ve never seen her pass up the opportunity to eat something sweet.

“Are you sure?” the cashier asks, tilting her head to the side. “We have your favorite, with cherries.”

Layla shakes her head; the flush has made its way to her cheeks. “No, really. Maybe next time.”

“Okay.” The cashier smiles. “Cash or card?”

“Card,” I say quickly. “It’s on me,” I add.

The cashier glances between Layla and me, and curiosity swims behind her eyes. Then she nods, and I pay for our order.

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