Page 7 of Beautiful Thing

I sigh, acting like it’s all a burden. Yet still, my hands cling a little tighter to her soft waist. “Fine.”

She opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, her phone dings. She stops swaying in my arms to slide the phone out of the little purse slung across her chest. As soon as she reads whatever’s on the screen, the joy drains from her face.

Alarm bells sound in my head. “What’s wrong? Everything okay?”

Layla’s head snaps up to mine, and she paints on a brilliant smile. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Everything’s great, but…I’ve…I’ve got to go.” She’s already backing up, eyes darting toward the exit.

“Layla…?”

“Tell Karli I’ll text her!” she calls out over her shoulder.

She grabs her coat from the hook by the door. And then, she’s gone.

3

LAYLA

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth.

A lone tear tracks down my cheek.

I am trying—and failing—to remain calm as I speed through the dark mountain roads on my way home. I’m anything but calm.

My thoughts are chaotic and my heart kicks around beneath my ribcage like a deranged boot. Positive thinking isn’t helping and I find myself bracing for the worst.

“Okay, Layla. Distraction,” I mumble to myself. “You need a little distraction.”

I try to think about something else—anything else—so that I can manage to get home in one piece.

But rainbows and puppies aren’t what come to mind.

Instead, I get flashes of dancing with Archer Brighton. His soulful eyes. His masculine scent. And his beard—oh, his glorious fucking beard.

He’s my every dark and dirty fantasy come-to-life. A muscled, tatted former military man with rough hands and a soft heart that he hides behind that guarded exterior.

Crap. Wrong kind of distraction.

I can’t think about Archer’s beard or Archer’s muscles or Archer’s smoldering permanent scowl.The man is my boss at the hardware store. My best friend’s big brother. And he’s already made it abundantly clear that he’d never be interested in me.

I just need to focus on getting home.

I speed up, gripping the steering wheel tighter as I approach a bend in the road. A car comes speeding in my direction, headlights nearly blinding me in the darkness of the night. With a gasp, I swerve quickly, somehow maintaining control of the vehicle as my heart slams inside my chest.

I lift my foot off the gas, allowing my car to slow just slightly as I continue onward.

I need to get home quickly, but I also can’t die tonight.Sky needs me. I’m all he has.

I decide to focus on work. We received a huge shipment of paver tiles earlier today. I’ll probably have to help Archer with marking and labeling those in the morning.

My mind drifts back to the memory of his bulging biceps as he’d helped unload them from the delivery truck this afternoon. His muscular ass had looked mighty fine in his faded jeans as he’d hauled them around the stock room. My mouth waters just thinking about that.

Dammit, Layla, you’re doing it again.

When am I going to get it into my head? I can’t obsess over Archer Brighton. Ishouldn’tobsess over Archer Brighton.

Even though it happened well over a year ago, I still get fifth-degree embarrassment every time I think about that night whenArcher wordlessly made it clear he’d never, ever see me as more than a friend.

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