I need to get the hell away. “You ready?”
Jonah kisses his girl goodbye, and I give a general peace-out to the group. Halfway to my car, I overhear Axelle telling her mom she has to be at school early tomorrow for tutoring. “That means I can’t take you to work.”
“That’s fine. You can drop me off at work before you go.”
“Mom, that’s an hour and a half early.”
“So what. Life’s about adjusting and making sacrifices.”
Don’t do it, dude. Do not fucking do it. “Mouse, I’ll pick you up at eight.”
I did it.
“Oh, no. It’s fine. I’ll—”
“Take the help, Layla.” I lock eyes with hers. “Seriously. This shit is not a big deal.”
“Okay, Blake.”
I turn around and continue to my car. I’m pissed and stoked as hell. Playing chauffeur to a chick with baggage, and a kid.
Fuck me. I’m gonna regret this.
Eight
Layla
I’m back at work after the trip to the garage, and I can’t stop grinning. Sure, I compromised and let Blake negotiate my rental. But really, it was Jonah who hooked that up. It shouldn’t make a difference, but it does. It feels less dependent. I mean, if anything, I’m helping him and Raven out by using a car that would be collecting dust. Yeah, that makes complete sense.
What doesn’t make sense is that for a brief moment behind Blake’s car, I allowed myself to consider what it would be like to be kissed by him. At one point it seemed like he might try, but all I could think was that Raven might get jealous and do something crazy like poke holes in my gas tank. It wasn’t until later I realized what an idiot I was for assuming that Blake was having some sort of a sexual relationship with Raven, when she’s Jonah’s wife. My cheeks burn at the memory.
The shame of accusing Blake of two love affairs with two different women made me acquiesce and accept the help. Those moments of weakness were totally worth the full-blown euphoria of driving that Camaro—windows down, music up, and the roar of the engine vibrating my vital organs. Invigorating would be an understatement. I’m watching the clock, eager for the chance to get back into that thing. Tonight I’m taking the long way home.
I’m straightening up my desk, preparing to leave for the night, when the phone at my desk rings. “Taylor Gibbs’s office, this is—”
“Layla, it’s Xavier.”
“Hey, Z. What’s up?”
“I need your signature on a few things. You want to come down to my office, or should I come to you?”
I check the clock. Almost five. “I’m on my way out. I’ll come down.”
“Great.”
Grabbing my things, I head to his office. Luckily, the room is at the opposite end of the locker room from the showers, or coming down here would make my job very uncomfortable. Pushing the door open, I keep my eyes to the ground and make a beeline to the back room.
His office door is open a crack. I knock lightly and push my way in.
He’s sitting behind his desk. “Layla, that was fast.” Papers rustle as he slides them into his top drawer.
“Oh, yeah. I’m in a rush to get home.” Not really, more like a rush to drive the kick-ass hot rod that’s waiting for me in the lot.
He sorts through a short stack of papers, pulling out a few and handing them to me. “Just need a signature on these treatment forms.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Routine red tape.”
I grab a pen off his desk then flip through the papers, giving each a brief scan. Pharmaceutical orders. I’ve seen similar order forms before, and even recognize the company logo belonging to of the big pharm companies that’s putting the smaller ones out of business. It was a topic I heard about often in my old life. The thought gives me the creepy crawlies. I sign quickly and drop the pen. “That it?”
He looks them over. “Sure is. Thanks.”
After a smile and a friendly goodbye, I leave the office. I keep my head low and make my way back through the locker room, using the tile on the floor and my peripheral vision to find my way. I’m halfway to the door when I slam into a solid wall of muscle.
I throw my hands up against a knotted abdomen covered in a cotton T-shirt. Thank God, I didn’t run into one of the guys naked. “Sorry. Shoot, I’m so sorry.”
“Why?”
I swallow a breath at the familiar voice. Blake.
“I stepped in front of you.” The rolling bass of Blake’s words draws my gaze up.
His stare is severe, despite his blank expression.
I take a step back and drop my hands. “Hey.”
He lifts his chin in greeting.
“Listen, I uh… didn’t get a chance to thank you properly at the garage. You’re right. I need to be better about accepting help. So…” So what? How do I thank him? A handshake seems too formal. A hug?
He stands still, his eyebrows raised.
I awkwardly open my arms. “Um…” I push up to my tiptoes and move in for a hug.