Page 25 of Rebound

“Who said anything about you wanting me? I said you like my body, not that you want it. I swear, all you think about is sex. You need help.”

Her nostrils flare, and I do everything in my power to hold in my laugh. She even inches away from me, so I move closer to her and throw my arm on the back of the bench. She has nowhere else to move unless she wants to fall off.

“I need help?” she scoffs. “Me, as opposed to you?” She points to herself and then to me. “Okay,Whorekowski,” she adds with an eye roll.

“Wakowski,” I enunciate.

“Whatever,” she flicks her wrist in dismissal. “I still don’t get why you’re being so nice to me. I’ll figure it out though. Don’t you worry about that.”

“I can’t just be a nice person? Maybe your perception of me is wrong.”

She looks up into my eyes, and I want to tell her how pretty she is with her full lips and brown eyes. She has thick eyelashes and a beauty mark on the side of her nose. She makes a face as if she smells something sour. Her lips pucker, and right now they look soft and sweet enough to suck on.

I want to look away. The last thing I want is for my dick to misbehave. She’ll go screaming out of here convinced that she’s right about what I want from her. She’s partially right. I do want that, but I want so much more.

“I’m never wrong about these things.” She tosses her hair. “I’ve seen this movie before. You’re the supposed cool jock that—”

“Supposed?” I say with a laugh, intrigued by what she’s going to say next.

“Yes. Supposed. You’re the dumb jock, and I’m the smart nerdy girl that no one sees. Then I get a makeover from the popular girl, take off my glasses, and I’m seen. Then the jock wants to bang me to prove a point to his other loser jock friends.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “I’ve seen that movie too, but I’m not a dumb jock, and you’re not who you think you are. You’re a bit of a bully with a big mouth.”

“How can I bully you? You’re a hundred feet tall.”

“I didn’t say you could beat me up.”

“Don’t you need to go get Jazzy Girl soon? My mom and Donna have spoiled her rotten by now.”

I like the way she just called her by the nickname I’ve given her.

“In a few. I like sitting here,” I tell her. “I love how busy and loud Manhattan is. My hometown was quiet and dull.” I sigh as I remember my childhood.

She looks over at me and her eyes soften. I bet she’s remembering the conversation with my dad that she eavesdropped on. I’d rather she be an ass than give me that look.

“I had a great childhood,” she says. “And don’t listen to my mom about my dad. He was always there for me. Even when he wasn’t present, he never let me down. Not once.”

“Yeah? I’ll bring him a jersey too.” For the first time ever, she smiles at me.

“He’ll even take one of those giant ass shoes of yours.”

“Then let’s get him one.” I stand and offer her my hand.

In true Layla fashion, she knocks my hand away and stands up on her own.

Maybe I can alter the plan. She’s already suspicious of me, and if it’s revealed too soon, she’ll run away screaming. However, I need to move fast. I need to do this before Coach and Jeannie come back because Layla will run straight to Jeannie. Jeannie will go to Coach, and my plans will be blown to smithereens.

Time is not on my side, but I don’t want it to be seen as only transactional. I check my phone, and there’s only an email from my agent with a contract for a commercial. Jasmine’s at a playdate with the Chastains, and I’m left in this empty apartment on my own.

I look at Layla’s info and check to see where she is. It’s been five days since I saw her last. Her house was quiet when we got there. Jasmine was asleep on top of Stella. Donna was still there and was thrilled to get the jerseys.

After taking my sleeping daughter, I said goodbye and left. The last few days have only confirmed this is what I need to do, and I’m going to get exactly what I want. I’ve already figured out what she needs, it’s just a matter of when.

Instead of tracking her at home or her job, she’s at a hospital not too far from here. Before I can think it through, I call her. Her phone rings several times before going to voicemail. I hangup, count to fifty, and start to call again, but my phone vibrates in my hand.

My hopes are dashed when it’s from an unknown number, but I always answer the phone when my daughter is not with me. Call it overcompensating for my lack of parental care.

“Hey,” I say into the phone. When no one speaks, I say, “Hello?”

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