Page 31 of How to Date a Younger Man
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I can’t even imagine how difficult this news must have been for her. Knowing Layne, she’s been trying to push it down and not deal with the negativity she must be feeling. “It’s okay to be happy and sad at the same time.”
“Is it?” she asks.
Is she really asking me? Or is this one of those rhetorical lawyer things? I take a chance.
“Yeah, it is. It’s messy and kind of illogical, but it happens. I can’t honestly say that I know what you’re going through, but I know you’re hurting, and that it’s blinding you to the obvious perk of all of this.”
Bite your tongue, Griff . . .
She scoffs. “What perk could there possibly be?”
I flip onto my other side, reaching into the cooler to pull out her favorite top-shelf tequila and margarita mix. She gasps audibly.
Oh, thank God. I wasn’t sure if that joke would land the way I wanted it to.
“Well, this would be disgusting alone,” I say, carefully examining the margarita mix.
“Gimme!” She squeals, reaching over my chest to grab the tequila. Her hair brushes against my neck and shoulders, and the scent of her shampoo washes over me.
God, she smells good.
“I can drink to that,” she says, wrapping her pink lips around the mouth of the bottle and taking a swig of straight tequila.
“Fuck yeah, Anderson,” I say, swiping the bottle from her to take a drag of poison myself. I shake off the initial burn.
It’s time to get in the water. I do that jump up to your feet without using your hands trick, turning to Layne to pull her up with me. Her face is bright with laughter as she stares at me with an expression I can only call awe.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone besides my brother do that, and it was twenty years ago.”
“What are you trying to say?” I straddle her with my legs, bending down until we’re eye level. “You think I’m super cool?”
“I think you’re super cute,” she says with that charming half smile that says don’t try anything funny. But her eyes are fixed squarely on my lips.
Interesting.
“Hmm, okay . . .” I pretend to contemplate that for a moment. “Would you think it’s cute if I picked you up and threw you in that water over there?” I point to the ocean for effect.
She visibly shrinks back. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“Noted.”
I back away with my hands lifted in surrender, giving her some space. Then, as if I were asking her to dance, I bow before her. “Lady Layne, would you do me the honor of joining me?”
“You’re an idiot,” she says with a chuckle, but it does the trick. Layne takes my hand and lets me lead her to the water. Her palm stays pressed against mine all the way to the edge, squeezing me tighter as the icy surf laps against her toes.
I make some lame joke about swimming through large bodies of tequila . . . just to get her laughing again. The low rumble of her laugh is addictive, and if I’m being honest, healing. I haven’t felt this at ease in a long time. When she lets go of my hand, I feel the loss echo through my whole body.
Later, when the sun begins to set, I decide it’s time to build the fire. It takes me a few minutes to carry the wood I brought in the car to our spot on the beach. Layne offers to help, but I can handle it. Instead, she puts herself to work setting up the tent. It’s a simple one, the box promised a three-minute setup, so I decide to let her tackle it alone. By my fourth and final trip back from the car, she’s securing the last of the ties. She looks over her shoulder at me, smug.
We make a good team.
As I stack up the extra logs beside the firepit, Layne sits down on a blanket and watches me, munching on the grapes and celery sticks left over from our lunch.
“What?” I ask.
“What do you mean, what?” she mumbles, her mouth full of celery.
“Do you have something to say to me?”
“No, why?” Her brow crinkles.
“Well, there’s a beautiful sunset to your left, but you’re too busy watching me manhandle my wood to notice.” I grin at her discomfort, practically able to feel the heat of her cheeks from here.
In typical Layne fashion, she ignores my sexual innuendo and barrels into her argument. “I have yet to see any fire. I’m not convinced I won’t be shivering in the darkness for the rest of the night.”
There’s the lawyer, always equipped with snark and double negatives.
Two can play at that game, sweetheart.
“I can think of other ways to keep warm.”
When her mouth snaps shut, I think, Did I take it too far? I’d better reel it in.
