Page 54 of End Game
“I’m fine, Branch. How are you?”
“A little confused.”
She nods but still doesn’t face me. “The city is so beautiful from here. So peaceful.”
I stand next to her so close the fabric of our clothes touch, but our bodies beneath don’t. She sucks in a breath as I place one hand beside hers on the black iron rail. “It’s quiet,” I admit. “It’s hard to believe it’s Chicago. It reminds me of home.”
“What’s it like where you’re from?”
“Memphis is a city that feels like a town,” I tell her softly. “It’s nice and quiet for the most part and has that Southern hospitality thing going for it.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It is.”
“Does your family live there?”
Turning my head, I take her in. The breeze rustles her hair, her perfume filling the air making me want to wrap her up and kiss the ever-loving fuck out of her. It’s a wild, strange phenomenon to want to simplykissher.
“My family does live there. My parents live in the same house I grew up in,” I tell her, not sure why the questions all of a sudden. “I tried to buy them a new one when I signed the first contract, but they’re stubborn.”
“And proud, I bet.”
“My dad has an entire room devoted to me in the house. It’s like a shrine or something. It’s pretty awkward.”
She glances at me and we share a small, simple laugh.
“I imagine your dad is like a grown-up version of you,” she says. “Not as bulky, but more handsome in a Sam Elliott kind of way.”
“My mom would love that analogy. She has a major crush on him.”
“Every girl does, Branch,” she giggles. “He’s the epitome of getting sexier with age.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” I say, making a face that causes some of the tension in her shoulders to melt away. The faint circles under her eyes grab my attention and a curiosity seats itself in the bottom of my gut. “How have you been?”
And that does it. Her face turns back to the city and I’m met with silence.
It’s an automatic response to place my hand over hers, just like it appears to be a reflex of hers to jump when we touch. Her head whips to the side where I’m just waiting to catch her eyes.
“Layla, did I do something to you?”
Her laugh is loud and full-bellied and filled with an anxious edge that has me withdrawing my hand from hers. She’s wiping tears from the reaction and catches her breath before even trying to talk.
My stomach flip-flops as I process this response, one I didn’t see coming and I don’t know how to categorize. Sorting through the memories from the cabin for the millionth time, I can’t put my finger on anything I could’ve said or done that would have been offensive or more stupid than usual.
“I’m glad you find me so funny,” I mutter, my gut twisted in a tight knot the same way it is when I’m standing at the line face-to-face with a cornerback.
“It’s really not funny.” She sucks in a hasty breath. “It’s not funny at all.”
“You know what,” I say, defense mechanisms kicking in, “I apologize for whatever it is. I’ll leave you alone. Have a good night, Layla.”
I head for the door, not bothering to give her a second to change her mind. I don’t even look at her over my shoulder. This is another girl playing games, a girl I just happen to let get under my skin in a moment of weakness.
My hand is on the pull when my name whispers through the air behind me. I freeze, processing the way it sounds like it was uttered on a whim, a last-second decision to call my name even though it’s clearly filled with a hesitancy to do it.
“Yeah?” I stay facing the glass, barely able to make out her reflection due to the brightness inside.
I wait, hand still primed to yank open the slider. My annoyance level is far too high, the irritation at myself slipping into anger. My mind is chastising me for even being here, for chasing down this girl who doesn’t want to see me, because if she did, she would’ve reached out. She could’ve planted a little seed with Poppy. My dumb ass can’t take a fucking clue.
