Page 22 of The Best You've Ever Had

The comparison between us and my grandparents hits me with a fresh wave of guilt. A marriage of fifty years shouldn’t be compared to a relationship that is a flat-out lie.

But sometimes, in moments like this, I almost forget it’s all a sham. Layla’s leg brushes against mine beneath the table, as she makes herself right at home. And I love it. I love the hidden contact, the secret connection. Throughout all our competitiveness and arguing, there’s still a tiny, genuine moment of us that exists underneath it all.

When I look away from staring at her for entirely too long, I see that my grandfather has caught me. The look on his face says he knows the feeling well. And the wink of his eye tells me we’re in for a hell of a ride.

“Shhh, we have to be quiet,” Layla whispers, tiptoeing down the dimly lit hallway.

We’re guided only by the glow of nightlights lining the path to the guest room. I trip over the edge of a carpet runner, stumbling forward with a thud before catching myself with a light grip on the wall. Behind me, she doubles over in laughter, hand clasped over her mouth to stifle her giggles. Trying to hold back my own laughter, I put a finger to my lips, signaling her to be quiet so we don’t wake everyone else.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she whispers, wiping the happy tears from her eyes. “Blame the schnapps.”

“We just need to sleep it off,” I mumble, turning the gold knob of the door. This used to be my old room, but it has had a complete remodel since I moved out. The filthy teenage boy carpet was ripped out two days after I left for college, replaced with sleek dark hardwood and a woven rug. My navy blue walls were primed and painted a trendy gray-beige. The room is a bit on the small side and cramped, but at least they kept my massive king-size bed.

When she enters the room, she stops in her tracks with a slight sway as if a breeze is threatening to tip her over. “This has to be a joke. A cruel one, at that.”

I look around the room, trying to spot what she sees that could be so horrible. It looks comfortable. It’s undoubtedlyclean, the fresh sheets even folded down with a hotel touch. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“The whole room…it’s basically one giant bed. There’s barely enough room for you to sleep on the floor.”

“I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

“Yes. You definitely are.”

I sling an arm around her shoulders as we both sway. “If you don't want to share a bed,youcan sleep on the floor.”

She scoffs. “Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman and offer?”

“I get the feeling you wouldn’t want me to be a gentleman.” My voice drops, as the energy in the room shifts.

We lock eyes, silently assessing each other for a reaction, searching for any hint of weakness or a crack in our composure. Neither of us wants to show our hand, uncertain if the other is on the same page.

“That so?” she responds, her voice sounding breathless, as if we’re at a high altitude. Yet the only thing escalating is the feeling that we’re utterly out of our depth in this situation.

In a desperate attempt to lessen the tension I created, I sit on the edge of the bed and start taking off my jeans. From across the room, her eyes scan my body, head-to-toe, obvious and no attempt to hide checking me out—either because she’s bold ass Layla, or because of the inebriated state we’re both in thanks to the spiked cocoa.

“Wow. Someone must live in the gym,” she says, making it sound like a dig but with eyes still dancing all over my body.

“Feel free to take a picture if you like looking so much. You can add it to your spank bank.”

She rolls her eyes, before looking straight at me in silent challenge. In one smooth motion, she lifts her dress over her head, revealing a lacy black bra and matching cheeky panties underneath. Every inch of her is breathtaking—from the delicatelines of her collarbone to the tiny birthmark on her upper thigh, and the sprinkle of freckles adorning her shoulders.

With her hands on her hips, she stands there, full aware I’m devouring every inch of her with my eyes. Suddenly, I’m regretting pushing her buttons, because now I’m the one staring like I’ve never seen a half-naked woman. The person I’ve known and fought with my entire life now feels like a stranger—because there’s no way I’d want to fuck the woman who once told me I was a waste of space.

Mocking my last words, she mutters, “You can take a picture if you like looking so much.”

Pulling down the covers, I sigh and pretend like she’s on my last nerve when I’m actually only trying to cover up my massive erection. “Let’s just go to bed and sober up before we kill each other.” I climb in and under the duvet, as the foam of the old mattress sinks under the weight of my body.

She flips off the light switch on the wall before climbing into bed. The darkness envelops us, and my eyes strain to adjust to the sudden loss of light, desperate to make out anything in the pitch-blackness. I’d give about anything right now to have that light still on so I could look at the curves of her breasts spilling over her bra when she crawls across the mattress.

All I hear are the sounds of the blankets rustling, as she climbs in, scooting to the farthest possible edge away from me. The silence buzzes in my ears like an absent ringing. A minute of complete quiet passes, before I hear her whisper to herself, “Great, the room is spinning now.”

“Just lay still and close your eyes.”

“Like I’m totally not doing that while I’m trying to fall asleep.”

I can’t stop grinning into the pitch black at her little quips. No one has ever had the guts to dish it back to me like she always has. “Come here then.”

In one fell swoop, I reach across the bed and scoop her up by the waist, dragging her into the curve of my body. Acting as if I’m trying to kidnap her, she wrestles out of my embrace like a tiny, angry crocodile. “What the fuck? What was that?”

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