Fuck her.
Layne was done and he moved.
“Eat,” he growled as he strode behind his sons at the counter with Rocky.
He made it to her, grabbed her bicep in his hand, yanked her coffee cup out of her other hand and slammed it on the island. Then he pulled her toward the door.
“Layne,” she said softly.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, but quietly.
She tried to twist her bicep out of his hand and he let her but only to run his hand down her arm until it caught hers. He dragged her through his front door, the storm door, down the walk and straight to her car in the drive.
She drove a sporty, black, Mercedes coupe that probably cost a quarter of what he paid for his house.
Jesus Christ.
He walked to the driver’s side of the car and yanked it opened, using her hand to maneuver her around and in, her back between the door and the car and he moved in, pinning her there.
She tipped her head back.
“Layne,” she whispered.
“He don’t do it for you?” Layne asked low.
She blinked then asked back, “What?”
“Jarrod,” he snarled her husband’s name, watched her wince and thought that was telling. “He don’t do it for you? Don’t make you burn? Don’t make you come so hard you stop breathing? Think to go slumming, find a way to get off?”
“Layne!” she hissed, her entire body getting visibly tight.
“We were good, baby, you remember. So good, I’m surprised it took you a year to make that play.” He jerked his head to the house.
“I’m not making a play!” She was angry, he could tell by the fire in her eyes, the line of her body and the way she spoke and he didn’t give a fuck.
He ignored her. “But I’m not interested. You want, I can shop around for you. Bet a lot of boys in this ‘burg would jump at a shot at you.”
“I was just asking you to dinner!” she snapped.
“Bullshit,” he clipped back.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not twenty-four, Roc. Not a man to be led around by his dick anymore. Had eighteen years to learn how to be the one who does the fucking, not the one who gets fucked.”
Her body jerked then locked but not before he saw pain carve a path through her features before they blanked.
She took a breath in through her nose, so big, it expanded her chest.
Then she asked, “What can I tell Dad?”
Rocky, he couldn’t tolerate. Dave and Merry were another story. This meant he was wrong, she’d fucked him.
Again.
“We’ll be there. Six thirty,” he growled.
“Brilliant,” she snapped and then whirled so fast in the small space he’d given her, her shoulder brushed roughly against his chest and her ponytail slid across his neck but she didn’t stop moving. She folded herself into the car and didn’t hesitate to reach out to the door handle. He moved out of the way just in time to miss getting hit when she slammed the door. She hit the ignition and backed out too fast, yanking the steering wheel at the end of the drive, then her expensive, high performance vehicle shot forward and he lost sight of her in seconds.
He stared after her for longer than their entire conversation in the drive lasted. Then he sucked in breath to calm his frayed temper and walked into the house.
“What was that?” Jasper asked the minute he hit the kitchen.
“Nothin’,” Layne answered.
“That wasn’t nothin’, you were pissed…” he hesitated, his eyes sharp on his Dad, “at Mrs. Astley.”
His last two words were said disbelievingly, like wealthy, polished, sexy, high school English Lit teacher, wife of the Chief of Surgery at a big hospital in Indianapolis, charity-working, pillar of the community Raquel Merrick Astley was a step away from the ‘burg’s own Princess Diana.
He stared at his son and noted Tripp was also watching him.
Then he made a decision.
“A long time ago, before your Mom, we were together. We lived together. It was good. Then it went bad. Very bad. I’m not a big fan of Mrs. Astley.”
“No shit?” Tripp asked and Layne looked at his younger son.
“No shit,” he answered.
“Wow,” Tripp whispered.
“How’d it go bad?” Jasper asked and Layne’s eyes went to him.
“Maybe, you still care, in about five years I’ll tell you,” Layne answered.
Jasper studied his father and then, miracle of miracles, he let it go.
“We goin’ to Uncle Dave’s tonight to eat her cookin’?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Layne answered.
“That’ll be interesting,” Jasper muttered.
Layne’s anger dissipated and he grinned. It was too bad Jasper spent so much time honing his asshole teenaged kid act. When he wasn’t doing that, he was smart and damned funny.
“Yep, it’ll be interesting,” Layne agreed. “Now, you guys hafta get to school. And Jasper, I want you to take the trash out before you go.”
The asshole teenaged kid came back in a flash.
Still, he took the trash out before he went.
After they were gone, in the house alone, Layne let Blondie out to roam the yard while he showered and dressed to get ready to go into the office. He was on his way through the kitchen from the sliding glass door when he saw her mug sitting on the counter, the impression of her lower lip in pink gloss on the side.
Layne stopped and stared at it.
Then he decided to do the dishes before he took a shower.
Chapter Two
My Sister Goes the Distance
Layne sat at his desk in his office and stared at his bank balance on the computer.
Six weeks ago, it was healthy. A year ago, before he bought the house, furnished it and bought his son a car, it was very healthy.