Page 93 of Masked Sins
He turns and walks away, and I continue walking down the hallway. Shoving the back door open, I take a few calming breaths and suck in some cool air. It’s unseasonably cold tonight—almost freezing out—and I begin to shiver almost immediately. Leaning against the back wall, I run my hands down my face. Only another hour, and then I can go somewhere to take my mind off this whole fucking wedding, and the fact that Layla and I, as the best man and maid of honor, have to walk down the aisle together tomorrow.
My fingers begin to ache with the cold, so I turn to open the door, but it’s locked.
Fucking wonderful.
I feel for my phone, groaning when I realize I left it on the table when Zoe and Liam wanted a selfie with the three of us. I walk around the side of the building, but it’s gated off and doesn’t connect to the main street of Crestwood.
Guess I’ll freeze to death.
Just as I’m considering hopping the fence, the back door squeaks open, and Layla walks out. She doesn’t see me at first—she just stares straight ahead, unsure of if she’s going to chance freezing to death or take a step back into the warm building.
She chooses the former, stepping into the cold.
“Wait, don’t let it close?—”
The door slams shut, and she whirls around to face me. “What the hell are you doing here?” She turns around to try to go back inside, but the door doesn’t budge when she tries it.
“I warned you,” I murmur, walking up to her.
“Whatever, Orion,” she says, her words slightly slurred. “It’s really freaking cold out here.”
“Do you have your phone?” I ask, shrugging my coat off.
“No,” she says glumly, turning to face me just as I hand her my jacket. “No thanks. I’m fine.” She lifts her chin and crosses her arms.
“Wear the fucking jacket, Layla. You’re wearing less clothes than I am.”
She grinds her jaw as she drinks me in with an unfocused gaze. I let my eyes roam over her gold silk dress, which brings out the gold flecks in her hazel eyes. Snatching the jacket from my hands, she throws it on and pulls it around her slim body.
Fuck.She looks really good in my jacket.
“Have you checked to see if there’s another way back inside?” she asks.
My lips tug into a lopsided smile. “I have. We’re stuck here unless you feel like scaling a wall in those shoes,” I add, glancing down at the black pumps. When I lock eyes with her again, she’s watching me with furrowed brows.
“Whyareyou out here in the freezing cold?” she asks, teeth chattering.
I shrug. “I just needed some air.”
“Right.”
We’re quiet for several seconds, the sound of her chattering teeth the only thing I can hear besides my breathing.
“Remember that time Dad caught you smoking when you were twenty?” she asks suddenly.
I huff a laugh. “I do. My mom didn’t talk to me for days after that.”
Her lips twitch. “I’ve never told anyone this, but after that, I asked one of my friends for a cigarette, just to try it.”
I’m grinning, hanging on her every word. “Really?”
She laughs. “I wanted to be like you so badly. When I was fourteen, you were my favorite person.” I swallow thickly, trying to push down the anguish that fills me when I remember how close we used to be. Her eyes darken with pain as she takes a shuddering breath. “I miss it sometimes.” She looks up at me through her lashes. “I miss you.”
Her words are thick. She’s drunk—perhaps more than she’s letting on. Somehow, she’s always been able to handle her alcohol. Not that she drinks a lot. I can count the number of times I’ve seen her drunk on one hand. But it’s quite impressive how much she can drink.
“I miss you too,” I tell her, stepping closer. I swallow the nerves working through me, the way my hands begin to shake—though perhaps it’s the cold.
Trust me. She doesn’t hate you. You should tell her.
