Page 11 of Second Draft

All I see are her eyes. Those soft brown eyes that could pierce a man’s heart, and make him wish he were a better man.

I’d know them anywhere.

Layla.

Sitting on the old wooden swing, with another damn book in her hands, she blinks up at me, eyes wide. “You?”

I can’t believe my luck. I doubted I’d ever see her again when she walked out of that bar.

“What are you doing here?” It’s a stupid question. The answer is obvious. She’s friends with Travis somehow. The thought makes my stomach tighten.

“I–” Her face turns a shade of red, clearly as flustered by my presence as I am by hers. She shuts her book and stands. A small frown tugging at her lips. “I live here.”

“Here?” I blink in confusion.

Travis said he was getting a roommate, someone to help pay the bills. Which is ridiculous, because I already pay them. But I couldn’t fault him for being resourceful.

“Yeah.” She continues to frown up at me.

“You live here, in my house?” I laugh, because what are the fucking odds?

“Your house?” Her face pales. “Oh my God. You’re Travis’ brother?”

There’s something in the way she says it that makes me uneasy. A premonition that leaves my heart thudding painfully in my chest.

“He is.” Travis comes through the sliding doors, carrying two beers. He hands me one, then slaps me on the back, hard enough that it makes me grunt. “My big, perfect, brother. Saint fucking Carter.”

“Don’t be an ass.” I give him a look of warning, but he’s too drunk to notice or he doesn’t care.

“But it’s my thing.” Travis grabs Layla around the waist and plants a hard kiss on her cheek roughly. “It’s what the girls love about me. Right, darling?”

“You’re drunk.” She squirms in his arms, trying to get away.

“Not yet. But I plan to be real soon.” He takes a deep swallow of the beer he’s holding, then releases her.

I can’t figure out the dynamics between them, but I know instantly that something is up. The tension is practically tangible.

Is she sleeping with him?From the little I know about her I wouldn’t have thought she’d go for someone like Travis. But then I reallydon’tknow anything about her. Just that she’s obsessed with reading – and she’s living in my house.

Layla’s gaze flickers to mine, clearly uncomfortable.

Someone shouts at Travis from the house.

“I’ll be right back.” He hits me again on the shoulder, and I swear I’m going to put him in a goddamn headlock the next time he touches me. “Make yourself at home.”

Is he fucking serious?

God, the kid had it coming to him.

An awkward silence stretches between us before I finally ask, “So, you and Travis?”

“No.” She shakes her head, and her cheeks redden before she looks away. “It’s complicated.”

Complicated.

Shit. I know what that means.

Remembering the girl Travis was probably screwing upstairs, I’d say complicated was an understatement.

---