Page 31 of Her Filthy Grump

She falls into the cushions and tosses her sore foot on the coffee table. “I thought you were leaving.”

“Not before you’re taken care of. Now, where’s a dish towel?”

“In the first drawer by the sink. There’s ice in the dispenser.” She closes her eyes and places her hand on her forehead. Her face is etched with exhaustion.

What’s wrong with me? I tried to fuck her brains out after she was almost raped, had too much to drink, and is clearly not feeling well. Classy move, asshole.

I growl as I move through her kitchen. Gavin and Layla’s voices are low and muted as I gather the supplies to address her re-injured ankle.

When I return to the room with a homemade icepack, Gavin stands and shoves his hand out. “Thank you, man. If you hadn’t been there, it would have been an entirely different situation.”

I grasp his hand in mine as a shudder quakes through my body. I would have never been able to live with myself if Layla had been raped. “Thank God I was there.”

His face is somber as he releases my hand. “Layla, you’re not off the hook. Owen and Carson will want all the details as well.”

“Not tonight.” She yawns and snuggles deeper into the cushions.

“I’ll tell them to leave you be until tomorrow.” He nods at me. “I’m going to get out of here. Get some rest.”

“Okay.” Her voice is muffled with sleep as if she’s struggling to stay awake.

When the door snaps shut, I sit on the coffee table by her foot. “Let me take off your shoe.”

“Whatever,” she mumbles. “Get it over with and leave. I want to be alone.”

“Damn it, Layla. You shouldn’t be alone.” I work her shoe off and study the swelling. The blue and purple bruise over her ankle is splotchy where it’s healing. When I push on her flesh, there’s a slight resistance as the swelling returns. “I’ll stay here tonight.”

“No. You won’t.” Her eyes pop open, and she yanks the make-shift ice pack out of my hand. “You made your intentions clear.” She plops the towel on her ankle. The sadness and anger in her eyes cut me to the core.

“Layla.” It rips at my heart to see her hurting, and it’s my fault. All of it–from leaving her at the bar, to George accosting her, to shoving her away when her cousin came.

“Stop. Don’t placate me.”

I stand and cross my arms. “Damn it. I didn’t want this. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not in a place where I want a relationship, and you’re the relationship kind of woman. Like Gavin said, you aren’t a ‘hit it and quit it’ kind of girl, and that’s all I have. I’m only here for a few months, I have tons of baggage, and I’m not the kind of man suited to be a husband and father.”

“Who said I was looking for a husband and father?” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s still years away before I want to settle down. I know you’re leaving town. That’s why you were perfect.”

My jaw tics. “What does that mean?”

“I was looking for a ‘hit it and quit it’ kind of guy. If that’s not what you are, then I’ll have to look somewhere else.”

“Layla,” I growl as the image of her with someone else floods my brain. Anger surges through my chest and out to my fingertips, leaving me ready to fight but with no outlet. How do I fight off an invisible force?

“Go.” She flicks her fingers toward me.

I swallow. I can’t leave. If I go, she might find someone else to take her to bed, and I want it to be me. “I’ll stay.”

She opens her eyes. “Get out of my house before I call the police.”

“Fine.” I shake my head as defeat settles on my shoulders. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“Like kissing you?” She nods. “Yes, I can make that promise.”

Perfect. I stomp to the door as if I’m a pouting three-year-old. Way to exit on a sexy vibe. Every woman wants a toddler in her bed.

Chapter Nineteen

Layla

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