Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2)

“Will do. Thanks for the ride.”


A grunt is all I can manage. If I had the balls, I’d roar in her face that it’s not fair. Not cool that she’s as fucking mouth-watering as she is, but also every single thing I told myself to stay away from. And it should be a crime that a girl who is unbelievably perfect, like she was designed on the storyboard of male imagination, should be fun to talk to. Interesting. Smart. And so damn entertaining that I’d pick her company over any one of my bros.

I head down to my car, mentally dropkicking myself for being such a tool. This whole time I thought we’d been feeling the same thing. I’ve seen it. I know I have. The desire in her eyes. The slight parting of her lips when I get close. Her nervous smile when I flirt.

Shit. This ends here. No more thoughts of the unpredictable beauty. From here on, I’m all about my fight.

The only constant that I can rely on.





Eleven


Layla

Weekends are the worst. Not many people count down the minutes until the workweek begins. I do.

Before, weekends were hard because of Stewart. He’d be home, ragging about the house not being clean enough or complaining that I didn’t get his favored brand of whatever. When we moved, I thought weekends would be an adventure. A chance for Elle and I to explore our new city. But it seems my teenage daughter has had better luck making friends. She’s gone more than she’s here.

With the grocery shopping done and the laundry folded, I sit on the couch and stare at the TV. It’s not even on. I drop my head to the back of the couch and curse my free time. It’s in these moments, when I’m not actively engaged in some routine activity, that I think about Blake.

Last weekend, after our talk on his patio, I thought we’d become friends. He showed genuine interest when I talked about my life. He even seemed protective when he dropped me off, storming through the apartment flipping on lights and scaring away the shadows.

Then he tried to kiss me. Or, I think that’s what he was going to do. He moved to me with a look in his eyes that said if I didn’t want it, I’d better run. And I wanted it, just not like that. Just hours before, he’d had those delicious-looking lips all over another girl, not to mention his other parts. I panicked, and since then, everything’s been different.

At work, he’s less than an acquaintance, and barely acknowledges my existence. He goes out of his way to avoid me by ducking into the locker room when I’m around or sliding around a corner when I approach.

I hate to admit it, but I miss him. It’s not that I miss the way he looks at me, with his head tilted and a smile tugging at his perfect mouth, a look that makes me feel like I’m being eaten alive… in a good way. And it’s not that I miss the way he swoops in when I need help. I just miss him.

“Stupid and pathetic,” I whisper to no one.

With a body like yours, no one cares that you’re stupid.

I slam my eyes shut. “Leave me alone.”

The room is quiet except for the sound of my deep breathing. The memory of Blake’s face in the back of the SUV, eyes blazing mad and his full lips locked in a hard line. I throw my forearm over my eyes.

Gee, can’t imagine why he’d be avoiding me after—oh! I jump at the sound of my phone vibrating on the faux-wood coffee table. Probably Elle texting to tell me not to wait up. Phone call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Layla?” asks the perky, female caller.

“This is she.”

“It’s Raven, from Guy’s Garage… um, Raven Slade?”

“Oh, yeah. Hey, Raven.”

“Just calling to let you know your Bronco’s ready to be picked up.”

“Great. I thought it’d take forever to get the part you ordered.”

“Yeah, well, we would’ve had it to you sooner, but Blake insisted we check everything.”

I sit up straight at the mention of Blake’s name.

“He also made sure the crew down here knew it was a priority. Listen, it didn’t start because the fuel injector was thrashed. We replaced that, along with your timing belts. We checked the tires. They look pretty good, but I went ahead and rotated them. You’ve probably got a few thousand more miles before you need a new set. We changed your oil, air filter, and oil filter. I checked the battery. It could stand to be replaced, so I went ahead and did that. Oh, and your back left brake light was out. Threw in a new one.”

My mouth is hanging wide open, and I’m staring at nothing across the room.

“Layla? You there?”

“Uh…” Well, shit. I’m sure Blake thought he was doing me a favor, but there’s no way I can pay for all that, and it’s not like she can reverse the work she’s done. “I uh… don’t know what to say.”

“How about say that you’ll be here in ten to pick it up?”

“Sure. Yeah. Ten.”

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