Page 6 of The Best You've Ever Had

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I still have flashbacks of his douchery. Great dick though.”

“Layla. TMI.” I’m not used to hearing her talk like that. High school Layla was a goodie two shoes. Not talking about guys with great dicks.

“Whatever. Back to the topic at hand. I hate to deceive your grandpa, but maybe you can get in a relationship with someone so at least he thinks you’re headed down the right path toward marriage? Act all in love, have her meet your family, tell them it’s serious. The full she-bang. Problem solved.” She shoots me finger guns and winks, before heading to the family room to gather her purse to leave. Since I was so focused on not making eye contact with her earlier, I failed to notice her lack of bra. The cool temperature causes her nipples to strain against the thin fabric of her light blue tank. Perfect little pebbles that are all perked up and ready to be licked. But what the hell am I doing, this isLaylaI’m perving over. The person that I’ve known since we were in diapers.

And that’s when it hits me. Maybe there’s someone right here in front of me that my family would be extremely happy to see me with.

Maybe I can give the illusion that I am settling down, and with the one person they’ve wanted me to marry since childhood.

And just maybe, she’d be crazy enough to go along with it.

Chapter Four

Layla

As I grabmy coat to leave Ben’s house, he strides into the room behind me. “Hey, wait. Would you want to go skating tonight?”

I’m caught off guard by him asking. All I planned to do while I was in town was hang out with Mom. See Mick for most likely the last time. And get over celebrating this horrible holiday. What I didn’t expect was to fall asleep on my childhood frenemy’s couch and then make plans to hang out again.

“We didn’t sleep together. You don’t have to make me feel better about spending the night here by taking me out.”

“I’m not trying to ‘take you out.’ A few people from our high school graduating class are going. Thought I’d invite you, since you graduated with us and all.”

Pulling the strap of my purse over my shoulder, I shrug. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to see what my mom is doing.”

“She’s working tonight. She always works on Wednesdays.”

“I don’t know if I should be creeped out or impressed that you know that.”

“For fuck’s sake. She’s worked that shift at the diner for fifteen years. I’ll pick you up at seven tonight.”

He opens the front door and watches me walk back to the car, never taking his eyes off me until I put it into drive and begin to leave. An eerie feeling settles in the pit of my stomach as I take the back roads to my mother’s house.

Because I love his eyes on me way too damn much for someone I’m supposed to dislike.

At seven on the dot, he’s at the front door. The knock is so fierce that it seems to shake the walls of the small house, rattling the picture frames that hang on the yellow wall. Opening the door, he looks so handsome that it hurts. With his unfair perfect dark hair, and matching almost-black eyes. His hands are tucked into the front pockets of his coat as he looks me up and down.

“You can’t wear that,” is the first and immediate thing out of his mouth.

I scoff. “Since when do you tell people how to dress?”

His eyes are everywhere but my face as he takes in my tight black mini skirt. “We’re not going to a winery or some fancy ass theater show. You’re going to either freeze to death, cut your leg open on a blade, or flash everyone there.”

“Oh, like that’d be so horrible. People would pay great money to see my ass.” I look down at my outfit—that I actually was about to change out of before he got here. But the fact that he’s telling me what to do irks me, which only makes me want to stick with it.

“Also, look how cute it is.” I turn side-to-side to show every angle of it. It’s definitely not because I want him to see how amazing my ass is in this. And it’s definitely not because he looks like his self-restraint will snap in half at the drop of a hat around me.

When he finally replies, his voice is low. “It’s notcute.”

“Wow, thanks. Glad to see we’re back to our old ways.” Feeling the sting of his words, I turn my back to walk away. In everyday circumstances, I’d bite his head off and swallow it whole. But some sick, twisted part of me wants him to feel so insanely attracted to me, just like I am to him.

I leave the door open as I head back into the house. It’s quiet, with only the glow of the beige lamp casting a soft light across the entryway. The sound of his footsteps follow me inside, purposeful and urgent. “That’s not what I meant.”

I turn to look at him, shooting a whole arsenal of weaponry from my eyes at him. “Fuck off.”

He walks up to me, looking angrier than ever. It only pisses me off more becauseIshould be the one that’s pissed. As he gets closer, he doesn’t stop. There’s no bubble of personal space, because he walks straight up to me—crowding me against the wall as my back pushes against the thin drywall.

His fingers play with the black hem of the skirt, brushing against my upper thigh. “It’s notcute, because it’s fuckingsexy. That’s what I wanted to say. Butfriendsdon’t usually go around saying things like that.”

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