Page 12 of Coming Home to My Cowboy
Layla hums, pale blonde hair a mess around her head. She’s sleeping on the couch now; she fell asleep on the floor, but there was no way I was letting her stay there, even buried under blankets.
She reaches out in her sleep, searching for me, and the sound she makes nearly finishes me. I grab my boxers and pull them on before I do anything else. If I don’t, I’m ending up right there with her — and right now, I need every bit of control I have left.
Her eyes open and she sits up, looking around with wide eyes before spotting me. “A dream?”
I shake my head.
She relaxes and smiles before looking down at herself. She’s wearing my shirt and nothing else. She blushes as she sniffs my shirt. I can’t help the smile that spreads over my lips.
“I … I should get a shower,” she finally says. “And …” Her gaze lingers on my lips. “Brush my teeth.”
“I’ll take care of breakfast and coffee,” I say, leaving no room for argument.
I still get through a quick shower, then pull on jeans and a new flannel shirt. If it’s this easy … no strange questions, demands, orders in the morning after, then maybe Layla and I could make a relationship work.She could work from anywhere, couldn’t she?
She’s told me ninety percent of her work is online. With video calls and everything else available, does she really need to be there? She obviously loves this home, so she’d love mine.
No, those are thoughts for the future, for when two people have been dating for a while. Asking a girl I just deflowered to move in with me is something that only happens in movies, not real life.
Shaking my head at myself, I calm my spiraling thoughts with a gulp of black coffee. The bitterness keeps me in check and keeps me from burning the scrambled eggs. I flip the sausage patties and feel a hand stroke down my back.
Layla gives me a playful smile and leans into me. “Good morning.”
I lean down and kiss her. It’s better than thinking. She hums against me, then pauses. Her brow furrows and she looks towards the front of the house. “Did you hear that?”
Actually, I was pointedly trying to ignore it, to drag out our time together. But when a car door slams, I can’t ignore it anymore. Her father is here, as promised. I hoped I’d get at least a few hours with Layla, the chance to talk to her about this situation, what might be necessary, to decide together what we’re going to do.
But she bolts across the living room and yanks the door open, shouting excitedly for her dad before he’s even fully inside.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I shove every emotion down and focus on plating her breakfast.
I turn the stove to low, walk to the guest room, and gather my things. Just tasks. Simple steps to get through. Necessary. Layla is smart; she will understand that things like this require thought before anyone makes promises.
I don’t regret last night. I couldn’t, even if I tried. I can still see her flushed cheeks and trembling lips, feel the softness of her body pressed against mine, remember the way she looked at me like I was something worth believing in. Those images are still burned into me, no matter how clean the shower tried to make me.
She made me love my own name again, the way she whispered it, gasped it, held onto it like it meant something. I never expected anything to hit me that deep.
Reality isn’t that kind.
Aaron walks in and shakes my hand while Layla looks between us with a question and spark of hope. He grins. “Thanks for keeping her safe, Jace. Really. I’ll shovel your driveway and sidewalk all winter.”
“Not necessary,” I say evenly. “Enjoy some breakfast and settle in.”
“Good man,” Aaron says, patting my shoulder. “Don’t know what I’d do without you. I definitely wouldn’t trust anyone else with Layla.”
Layla opens her mouth, but I give her a long, intense look and she falls silent. “I’ve been feeding him plenty, Dad. I’ve been a good host.”
“I need to go check on my place. Let me know if you need anything …” My eyes flick to Layla. “Either of you.”
I head out, pushing down the guilt that’s threatening to push out of my chest. Layla shuts the door behind me and nibbles her bottom lip. “Call me later?”
Studying her face doesn’t give anything away. Her dad calls her and she leaves with a nod. Technically, I didn’t agree. Technically I’d be an ass for not calling. Technically, I’m already a coward for not facing her father.
But I need to know what this is. Layla does too. We need to consider whether this is feasible before we ruin her father’s image of her and of me. She’ll go back to the city, but I will have lost the single longest friendship I’ve had.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Thinking is best done alone,” I say to the closed door before walking home.
Chapter 9 - Layla
