Page 18 of How to Date a Younger Man
I try not to imagine how she looks in the skimpy tank top and panties, and let out a sigh of relief when I finally hear her climb into bed, the blankets rustling around her.
“Okay, you can look,” she says, and I turn to find her underneath several blankets, her hair now loose around her shoulders.
“Don’t fall asleep yet,” I tell her.
She nods, sitting up against her pillows, and the blanket slides down enough to reveal the top of her breasts. I swallow hard and look away. Not the time to get all hot and bothered again, I think, turning to leave the room.
I head into the kitchen and fill a glass with water, then stop by the bathroom, searching through her medicine cabinet to grab a few Advil. When I get back into the room, Layne’s eyes are closed, and she looks shyer and more innocent than I’ve ever seen her before.
“Hey,” I say, gently touching her shoulder. “Before you go to sleep, you need to drink this. And take these. You’ll thank me tomorrow, trust me.”
She blinks her eyes open, groggily taking the water from me and swallowing the pills. Once she’s had a few more sips of water, I set the glass on her bedside table.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks as I move to turn off the bedside lamp.
I pause, gazing down at her. There are a million things I want to say, but none that I want to tell her when she just drank enough tequila to kill a small horse.
“If you think this is nice, just wait until I turn on the charm.” I wink at her before turning out the light, press a kiss to her forehead, and shut the door.
I decide to stay over at her place, just in case. I’m sure she’ll be fine, but I haven’t seen someone down that much tequila since my first college frat party. I know I won’t be able to sleep if I’m worrying that she’s sick and needs help, so I set up a pillow and blanket on the couch.
As I pull the throw blanket over me and settle in, I can’t help but smile. Even though I just had to basically beg the woman of my dreams not to sleep with me, I feel strangely happy and content. Being around Layne puts me at ease, and I like knowing that I can be there for her in a real way.
Tonight has taken some unexpected turns, but I wouldn’t change any of it.
“Rise and shine,” I say the next morning, pulling open the curtains so the sunlight spill into Layne’s bedroom. It’s already after ten, and I figure if I don’t wake Layne up myself, she’s going to stay in bed all day, wallowing in her hangover-induced post-breakup depression.
“My head feels like it’s going to explode,” she mumbles, pulling the blankets over her face.
“The best way to beat a hangover is to pretend you don’t have one,” I say with a smile, gently pulling the blanket off of her and handing her a sweatshirt and another two Advil.
She sits up, pulling the shirt on before swallowing the Advil with a gulp. Groaning, she lays her head back against her headboard.
“Are you always this cheerful in the morning?” she asks, shooting me a dirty look. “How does Kristen deal with you?”
I smirk at her. “Normally, I’d be offended by that, but I’ll give you a pass since you’ve had a tough weekend.”
As she climbs out of bed and grabs a pair of sweatpants from the floor, I catch a glimpse of her long, toned legs before she pulls them on, and my heart speeds up. I clear my throat, trying not to stare, but Layne doesn’t even notice me as she stands up, yawning and stretching. Her hair is a mess and her eyes have that bleary, hangover look, but she could still turn heads.
Damn, how does she manage to look that good, even at her worst?
“First I get dumped, and now you won’t even let me sit here and feel sorry for myself.” She sighs, giving me a fake punch in the shoulder.
“First of all, you didn’t get dumped. You made a mature decision to split with someone who couldn’t give you what you wanted. And second, you’re about to feel pretty bad for being such an asshole to me,” I say, leading her to the kitchen.
She pads after me reluctantly, her eyes widening when she sees her kitchen table, where I’ve laid out a huge spread. I made my famous cheesy scrambled eggs, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and picked up coffee and muffins from the coffee shop down the street.
“Okay, I’m officially the worst,” she says with a laugh as I hand her a latte and a plate.
“I got the biggest size they had,” I say, gesturing at the coffee.
