Page 34 of Castaway Whirlwind
“I’ll pay it,” he says with some confusion laced in his tone.
“Fine. Nine next week.”
* * *
Russell
I don’t know what I did wrong, and it’s driving me nuts trying to figure out what changed in the blink of an eye after Layla cleaned the cum from my body, then rushed out of the house when I told her I wanted her, thinking she wanted the same. I’m an animal, and this truck is my cage, parked beneath the oak at Layla’s apartment complex. Eating my feelings, I shove greasy french fries in my mouth for something to do as I glare at her front door with the maddening desire to kick it down, throw my little darlin’ over my shoulder, and drag her back to our den.
Hmmm. Maybe I wasn’t clear enough about what I wanted. Or worse,tooclear, and she was letting me down easy by leaving before I could take things further, like pulling her onto my lap and making love to her.
I toss the empty fast food bag to the side when Layla slips from her front door and locks it behind her, catching a yawn with her hand as she climbs into her car shortly before five in the morning.
Twenty-eight hours. Only twenty-eight more hours of pure misery before Layla comes willingly to our front door for our next appointment tomorrow. Whether or not I let her leave afterward is still undecided.
The distance between our vehicles shortens as I follow her to the diner. She leans against her driver’s side door in the parking lot with her arms crossed, squinting in my headlights when I pull in and park between her car and Trace’s truck.
She bobs her head in greeting, her face tired and drawn. “Russell.”
I kick the gravel awkwardly, shoving my hands in my pockets when I come to stand in front of her, wishing she’d called meDaddyinstead. “Layla.”
“Were you following me?”
I cough.Dang.I wasn’t as discreet as I thought I’d been. “Just making sure you didn’t get stranded again.”
“Sure.” A car door slams closed nearby. “Are we still on for our appointment tomorrow?” she asks with a hushed whisper when Old Freddy waveshello, sporting a mischievous grin on his way into the diner.
“Of course we are.”
“Right. Any special requests for the outfit you’d like me to wear?”
I rock back on my heels, rubbing my chest, dang near knocked sideways by her startling question.
“Slippers,” I blurt. “The fuzzy purple ones.”
A corner of her mouth twitches. “Anything else?”
Since I can’t tell her I’d like her to wear her birthday suit, I impulsively say, “I have something you can wear if you’re open to it.”
She studies me, then finally nods, pushing off from her car toward the diner. I follow behind, reach over her shoulder to open the door for her, and gently guide her inside with my hand on her lower back.
Six of the stools are occupied, each old-timer facing the door expectantly. When Layla walks past them into the back employee area, Old Freddy raises a silver brow. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
He sighs with disappointment and slaps a bill in Pete’s upturned hand. “Put me down for one more week.”
“One more week ‘til what?” I nod to Trace, who is sitting with a few other employees in the back corner booth. He’s all smiles since I personally footed the bill to upgrade his new tires after he wrote a formal apology to Layla for his behavior and hand-delivered it to her.
“The bet is forfeit if anyone tells him, boys,” Pete grumbles, looking left and right as he takes more cash, folding and pocketing it after scribbling in his mini spiral notebook.
A series ofpop popsfrom outside and squealing tires grabs ahold of everyone’s attention.
“What the fuck?” Trace jumps to his feet on the bench seat, his face a mask of horror as he stares out the window. “No! Little T!” He and his friends storm past us, rocking the trailer like a boat out on choppy water, shouting expletives as they race toward their vehicles.
Most of the early morning patrons follow on their heels, watching Trace wail, “No, no, no!” after whipping his bright white T-shirt off over his head, running around his trucklike a mad man, wiping it down. His boots slip in the gravel when his jeans fall down his narrow hips, exposing his small, lily-white ass, and the crowd collectively, audibly cringes.
Layla appears at my side, fearful as I’m inspecting my truck and her car with the flashlight on my phone. “What happened?”
