Minutes later, I’m in the Rubicon, listening to music and on my way to Layla’s. I pull into the lot, but don’t see Killian’s car yet. I know Layla will want to wait to leave until he picks up Axelle. I take the light-blue box from my pants and put it into my glove box. My feisty woman has been known to cop a feel when no one’s looking, and I don’t want her to find it too early.
I grab my suit jacket and take my time putting it on and straightening my tie. Taking two steps at a time, I head up to her door. It’s right before I reach it that something in the parking lot catches my eye.
The silver sedan.
But this time it’s not running, and there’s no one in it. My blood pounds in my ears. I scan the parking lot for paparazzi. Nothing looks suspicious, but those sneaky fuckers are great at hiding in places you’d never find them.
I take a deep breath. It was dark the first time I saw the sedan. Maybe this is a different car. I flex my fists to release the burning tension that’s gathered there. No need to show up at Layla’s door looking like a heaving bull.
I’ll make sure to keep my eye out tonight. As long as Layla keeps her top on this time, a few shots of us together won’t hurt.
Stepping to the door, I ring the bell and wait.
Huh, maybe they didn’t hear it? I ring it again and follow it up with a knock.
The lock clicks on the door, and I swallow back my nerves. The door cracks open to reveal Axelle.
I suck in a breath. “Wow, kiddo. You look like a princess.”
She resembles a high school cupid in a red dress that skims her ribs and then flares out to her knees. Her long chestnut hair is curled and falling over her shoulders. A tiny clip with shiny shit on it pulls some of her hair to the side and off her face. Her big blue eyes are… is she crying?
“Axelle, what’s going on? Are you…” My blood turns to sludge as my temper flares. “Did Killian cancel on you? I swear to God, if that fu—”
“No, no, he didn’t. He’s probably on his way.” Her eyes shift slightly over her shoulder before she catches herself and moves them back. “Um… I’m sorry, Blake, but uh… Mom’s not feeling well, and uh…”
Hold the fuck on. What? “Your mom’s sick?” I peek over Axelle’s head into the apartment. “Is she okay? She seemed fine when I talked to her.”
Her body squeezes in tighter so that the door and frame sandwich her in. “Yeah it hit, like, suddenly, and she’s… well, she can’t go out tonight. She said she’d call you when she felt better.” Her eyes are shifting and not meeting mine.
She’s fucking lying.
“Axelle.”
Now her eyes dart to mine. A moment of fear flashes behind them. She knows I’m on to her.
“I thought we were being honest. No lies, remember?”
Her throat bobs as she swallows and bites her lip. My pulse is pounding. Every muscle is coiled tight.
Her eyes stare beyond my shoulder. “She’s sick.”
Dammit, why is she lying?
Ripping this fucking door down and storming in certainly won’t help, and if she is sick, I’ll look like a controlling asshole. I switch up tactics. “Let me pop in, make sure she doesn’t need anything, and then I’ll take off.” I’m impressed with how convincing I sound.
She shakes her head a little too quickly. “No, I can’t. I promised. She made me promise not to let you in because she’s, like, throwing up and uh… she’s embarrassed.”
Fuck, this kid’s a shitty liar. “Axelle, let me—”
“Just go, Blake. She’ll call you. I promise. But, you have to leave. Now.” She pushes back to close the door, and I hold my hand out to stop it.
I lean in and whisper. “Kiddo, what the fuck is going on? You think I don’t know that you’re lying through your teeth? I want to see her. Just to make sure she’s okay. If she tells me to leave, I’ll go.”
Her eyes brim with tears. My heart cramps and dissolves a fraction of the anger that boils just below the surface.
“Hold on,” she whispers and shuts the door.
I stand there counting and picturing fuzzy baby animals to avoid going ten kinds of Hulk on the front door.
Layla knows me better than to think I’m going to walk away with a simple brush off from Axelle. I don’t know what’s going on—maybe she really is sick. All I know is I’m not moving a motherfucking inch until I hear it from her mouth.
Impatient, I reach for the door and twist. Locked? I pull out my key just as the door inches open.
My heart slams into my ribs so hard I stumble back a step. Layla is dressed in a fire red dress that she wears like a second skin. Her honey-colored breasts are pushed up and overflowing at the top, while the bottom cuts off just inches below her perfectly round ass. And to top it off, she’s wrapped in a big red bow. I feel my hand splayed over my chest before I realize I’d put it there. “You… you’re…” I blow out a long breath and blink to make sure I’m not seeing things.
“Blake, I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well.”
Her words bring me back. I fix my eyes on her, and damn if her body in that dress killed me, her face and hair just buried me. “Mouse, you look like an angel.”