Page 19 of Castaway Whirlwind
Faye sighs, and Layla clamps her mouth shut only to yawn again.
I’m not used to the people around me not following orders, and my patience is being tested by the two lovely but obstinate ladies. I cross my arms as I widen my stance, making it clear I’m not leaving—nor am I letting anyone else leave, for that matter—without an answer.
Layla blurts, “I’m on my period, ok? Can everyone please just…drop it.” Layla removes her hair clip, letting down her curls to finger-comb the tangles out before clipping everything back in place.
“You mean the one that makes you puke sometimes because it’s so painful? No, that’s not ok. Faye’s right. You need to go home.”
“No, I need to work the rest of my shift.”
A clamor of voices from the front draws Faye back to work. With her gone, I can be more frank. I pull my billfold from my back pocket, take out the one hundred dollar bill, then stuff it in Layla’s apron pocket.
“There, now you don’t have to work. Go home, darlin’.”
“No.” She ducks her head, half-turning away to struggle with buttoning up her uniform.I wish she wouldn’t. “I’m not making Faye work a double when I’m”—she covers her mouth when she yawns for so long it brings tears to her eyes—“perfectly fine.”
She takes the cash from her apron and darts around to shove it in my back pocket, making my dick even harder after her fingertips skim my ass. And then she’s jogging out of the kitchen, leaving me behind.
My omelet is cold and rubbery by the time I return to my table, and even though I need to get back to work myself, I linger. Every time Layla yawns as she’s serving other tables, I want to jam my fork into the tabletop, sling her over my shoulder, and take her home. Make her change into a nightgown and put her to bed.
Davis and his red-headed woman, Goldie—the pregnant hitchhiker he picked up not too long ago and has since become obsessed with—walk into the diner. They have their infant daughter, Lily, with them, and a fierce ache takes up residence in my chest. If I were better company, I’d invite Davis and Lily to join me at my table while Goldie makes plans for their wedding with Violet, Dolly, and now Faye. But since I’m not, Davis sits at the counter with the old-timers while I continue to track Layla throughout the diner.
Even though Layla isn’t the only waitress working, she’s running herself ragged. If she isn’t careful, she’s going to end up in the hospital, and it won’t have anything to do with her endometriosis. It pisses me off all over again that yet another prior-authorization has been denied, or so Jared has told me when Layla shared it with Violet.
A crew of muddy guys come in just as I’m finishing my meal. I slip the one hundred dollar bill and a little extra cash beneath my plate as the guys are seated at the open table beside me. When Layla stumbles back against my table after taking down their order, I don’t think—I just act. Before she can fall and hurt herself, I stand and hook her around her waist, her assbrushing against my swollen dick.
Layla snaps her gaze up when I groan, and I immediately let go, panicking at the thought that I’m about to cum in my pants while in public. I stomp outside without saying goodbye to anyone and keep going past my truck into the thicket of trees that line the property around the diner. Farther still I go until I can no longer see the diner—which means no one can see me, either, when I unbuckle my belt and free my cock from my jeans.
“Layla, little darlin’.” I slap a hand against a tree and grip my cock, keeping my fist steady as I fu—I cut off the mental curse word. I don’t even want to think the word when she’s on my mind. I crouch as if I’m sliding into her from behind without a step stool to even out our heights. “Darlin’, darlin’, I’m gonna cum.”
The fantasy is so vivid that I hear her saydon’t pull outbetween little phantom gasping sounds of pleasure, moaning about how much she loves my cock.I loveyou, Russell.
My mouth drops open when my cum erupts, the ecstasy so overwhelming that I lose my footing on the dead leaf litter. I have to scramble to stay upright, the fantasy shattering when I scrape my palm on the tree bark. Shame and despair battle for dominance in my mind when my cum dribbles down the tree trunk instead of it being planted deep inside Layla.
This is as good as it’ll ever get.
It’s depressing as hell.
My phone vibrates in my jacket pocket as I’m buckling my belt, trying hard not to be swallowed up by grief that I’ll never be with Layla. Surprised I even have reception this far out, I unlock my phone to read Dolly’s text message, letting me know Layla fell asleep at their booth and she needs someoneto take her home.
And then I’m running through the trees and across the parking lot. When I get inside the diner, I find Layla with her head laid over her crossed arms on the tabletop. I can’t face a single one of the Granny’s Girls after jerking my dick outside, praying to all that is holy that none of them can read my mind—or worse, smell me.
My ears burn when the girls remain silent, staring at me when I scoop Layla into my arms and walk toward the door. Her lashes flutter but never fully open when she mumbles, “Put me down. I need to get back to work.”
“Hush, darlin’.”
Old Freddy punches the air in silent victory when he sees me, then holds his hand out to Pete, palm up, having won some kind of bet. Faye catches up to hand me Layla’s tote bag and hoodie. Davis smirks when he holds the door open so I can carry Layla out, and I wait to kiss her forehead until after we’re alone.
I head for my truck, wanting to get her inside and put the heat on before I even realize Layla’s car isn’t parked in the lot. “How did you get to work?” I set her on the passenger seat, already missing her in my arms.
“Rode my bike,” she mumbles, curling into a ball with her head resting on the center console.
“You rode your bike to work? In forty-degree weather on two-lane roads without a sidewalk?” I’m too loud, and she startles, her lashes fluttering again. No wonder her hair was tangled and her cheeks bright red. All that on top of being on her period and working herself to death.
I rub Layla’s back so she’ll calm. “I’m sorry, shh, I’m sorry. I’ll keep my voice down.”
Layla relaxes again, and I can’t help but caress her cheek with my thumb. She shivers, goosebumps rising along her arms, which snaps me back into action. In the backseat, I reach for and shake out one of the folded blankets I keep in the truck on the nights I spend outside her apartment.
Once I have the blanket tucked in around her, making sure all her sensitive skin is covered, I get my truck running, turning the heat up to the max. An orange bicycle meant for an older child, also held together by duct tape, is leaning against the side of the double-wide trailer. I pick up the bicycle, meaning to put it in my truck bed, but I end up throwing the damn thing toward the trees. I’ll buy her a new one meant for an adult, though she’ll never, ever have to use it, not when I’ll be around to drive her the next time she needs a ride.
