Page 12 of Second Draft

Best-case scenario, she has a crush on him. Worst, she’s sleeping with him. But there’s no doubt in my mind that they are involved somehow.

I want to ask, to dig deeper, but there’s also a part of me that doesn’t want to know.

“How long have you been living here?” I take a deep sip of my beer, watching her.

“A few months. Travis lets me stay for practically nothing as long as I cook and clean.” She fidgets with the book in her hand. “I didn’t know you and him were…I would never have…”

“You don’t have to explain.”

Her cheeks are still red. “Are you staying here?”

“I was planning on it, but if it’s going to be awkward I can go to a hotel.”

She shakes her head. “This is your place. If you want me to leave–”

“No,” I say a little too roughly. “It’s fine.”

I just fucking found her again, the last thing I want is for her to disappear. A year of fantasies, a need I couldn’t shake. I obsessed about her, wanting to possess every sweet innocent inch of her perfect body. Consume her until there wasn’t anything left.

I still do.

But if she really is with Travis, I may just be torturing myself by sticking around.

I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the hair scrape against my palm.

She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and looks at anything but me. I wonder if I should mention the wrong cell number, but then if she hadn’t tried calling, it’ll just make me look like a jackass.

“I’m going to turn in for the night,” she says awkwardly, pointing with her thumb at the house.

Say something, asshole.

“It’s good to see you again.”

She gives a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Layla?”

She stops at the sliding doors and glances over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I meant what I said. I do want to read your book.” I hadn’t lied about that. In fact, it was one of the things I hadn’t stopped thinking about. Which is fucking weird, because I don’t even like reading.

A small frown twists her lips and she shakes her head. “I’ve given up on that. Writing just isn’t my thing.”

I want to call bullshit, but she disappears before I get the chance. The thought of following her crosses my mind. But if she’s with Travis, in any way, I need to stay as far away from her as possible.

I finish the last of my beer, and go inside.

Travis is in the living room with his bong-buddies, smoking the thing back like it’s oxygen.

As much as I want to right now, I can’t leave. I still have to deal with whatever shit he’s got himself into.

Picking up my bags, I tramp up the stairs towards my old room. Travis’ door is open, and a quick glance lets me know that Layla isn’t in there. That’s one positive.

The third bedroom, at the end of the hall is closed, and there’s a soft light underneath the door.

At least I know she has her own room. Not that it’s much of a comfort. Because the more I think about it, the more I realize that complicated can only mean one thing – sex.

I’ve never been jealous of my brother. Not until right now.

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