Page 45 of The Tryst

I’ve got a million more questions, but out of the corner of my eye, I spot our server heading straight for us.

Seconds later, she arrives with a sad-looking salad. “Here’s your salad, sir,” she says.

Why am I always a sir? But I can’t very well call the waitress ma’am or I’m the dick.

“Thanks,” I say, reading her name tag. “Taylor.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, then turns on her heels.

Once she’s out of earshot, Layla pounces. “And how can you say I didn’t want to see you again when we’ve been texting non—”

But we’re not alone. David’s back, so there’s no way we’re finishing this conversation now. I let him into the booth as he says, “Cynthia had to park in the far corner in her lot, so I stayed on the phone with her while she walked into her apartment.”

I pat him on the shoulder. “Good man,” I say, then I pick up my fork and stab a piece of wilted lettuce. I take a bite. It sucks.

A minute later, the server is back with the rest of the food, and once we tuck in, David draws a deep breath, then says, “So, Layla, like I said earlier, I asked my dad to help with the auction, and I’m stoked he’s up for it. We can all put our heads together on it for the next few weeks. Plus, I’m going to be working at his firm. Not doing money stuff though. I’ll be doing the marketing, since that’s more my speed, and it’ll help with my side hustle.” Then he backpedals. “Well, trying it out for a few months.”

Layla’s brow knits.

“Longer, I hope. I plan to convince you,” I say to David, patting his shoulder again.Thisis the relationship I should focus on anyway—the one with my kid.

Layla lifts her fork to take a bite of her pasta. But she’s staring at David as if he no longer adds up. “In London? You’re going to London?”

David laughs. “Dude, no,” he says to her. Then, it’s as if his thoughts just snagged on her last comment. He tilts his head, like he’s replaying what she just said. Maybe catching her slip. “Did I tell you he lived in London?”

C’mon, Layla. You’ve got this.

With a sweet smile, she says, “Yes. When you said he was going to help out, you mentioned he lived there,” Layla says, breezily making it sound like no big deal that she knew that detail about where her friend’s dad lived.

I hope her cover-up is only obvious to me.

David must buy it easily, since he just shrugs, likecool. Then, he corrects her with, “Nope. I’m not going to London. Daddy Bancroft relocated here.”

Layla’s fork wobbles in her hand, but she steadies it before David catches on. “Sounds fun. No more really big ocean in the way.”

Ouch.

She’s pissed at me. It’s not evident in her tone, but it’s one hundred percent clear from her word choice—really big ocean.

I fucked up.

16

A VERY BAD IDEA

Layla

When the waitress clears the plates and Nick asks for the check, I’m dying to say thanks and leave.

I can’t sit here anymore with the man and my friend and this…corset.

I need to beeline for Harlow’s and flop face-first onto her couch. Or Ethan’s. I don’t know. I don’t care. I just can’t sit across from the man I was dying to see tomorrow night. The man who didn’t tell me a thing, it turns out. I hardly know him.

Of course you don’t know him. You had a one-night stand and then phone sexted, and he didn’t even tell you he was moving here.

Ugh. I can’t believe I thought there was more to this thing with him. I felt potential. Possibility. Things I never feel.

I should know better. But good thing I’m learning now. I try to shove those foolish fantasies far, far away and focus on simple matters, like manners.

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