Page 27 of What Hurts Us

Cal stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’ll give you some space to unpack.” He tipped his head to the stairs as he backed out. “If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs.”

10

CALLUM

Layla had been on the phone with whoever had made the blood drain from her face for the better part of an hour. It wasn’t like I could have eavesdropped if I wanted to. Whoever it was, she was speaking to them in brisk Farsi. I busied myself by working through the mountain of laundry I’d been putting off for nearly two weeks. I blamed it on the fact that the weather had been shitty, and it was making my leg ache.

The last thing I wanted to do was carry clothes up and down the stairs.

I tossed the last of my balled-up socks into the laundry basket and shoved it to the far side of the couch. My phone had been blowing up all afternoon as the rumor mill churned out a myriad of versions of what had happened with Layla in my driveway.

I ignored all of it.

Glancing at the clock, I realized it was well past dinner. I’d been too preoccupied with pretending to be busy, so Layla didn’t feel like I was hovering. An angry snarl bellowed from my empty belly. I perused the options and cursed under my breath for not having thought through this part of the move-in plan a little better.

Would she want to order in? Did she think I expected her to cook? Did she think I was a competent cook?I was halfway decent on the grill and could make a casserole out of almost anything, but I was tired of cream of chemical soups thrown into a Pyrex dish.

After my accident, Creekers came in droves, carting casseroles, covered dishes, and buckets of fried chicken. It was a blessing and a curse. I couldn’t gripe or whine about the amount of love this town had to give, but it didn’t mean I had to like it.

I pawed through the pantry to see what I could throw together for dinner. Unfortunately, my only options were a slightly fuzzy loaf of bread and lunch meat that was a questionable shade of gray.

“Hey.”

I jumped at the sound of Layla’s gentle voice. She was standing in the doorway, tapping her phone on her open palm. She was still in those leggings that had me adjusting my dick and the scary as fuck nursing hoodie. She had tied her hair back in a loose ponytail. Wispy strands framed high cheekbones and wide eyes.

I closed the fridge. “Hey, something you need?”

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh—uh. No. I was going to run out and grab something for dinner.” She stuffed her hands in the pocket of her hoodie. “I was just going to see if you wanted to...” Her voice trailed off as if she wasn’t sure how I’d react to whatever was on her mind.

I crossed my arms and widened my stance. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best move. I didn’t want her to be apprehensive around me. Layla took a step back, creating more space between us.Crap.I was royally fucking this up.

I didn’t expect her to run into my arms or anything, but I didn’t want her to think she had to tiptoe around the temperamental grizzly bear living in the room across the hall. I dropped my arms and shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “You can admit it, Lay.”

“Admit what?” she squeaked in an octave far too high to be anything but bullshit.

I pulled a chair out from the four-seater table that I used for storing mail and the miscellaneous junk I collected throughout the week and took a seat. “That this is fucking weird.” I let a small smile slip. “I’ve never had a roommate.”

Her mouth curled in a smile. “I’ve never had a fake fiancé.”

“Boyfriend,” I corrected. “We’ll get to the fiancé part in a week or so.”

“Yeah,” she said to the floor.

Electrified air swirled all around. Layla twisted her fingers together as she pretended to be enamored by my simple kitchen. Instead of saying anything, I stewed in the awkwardness with her.

You could tell a lot about a person based on what they did when things got quiet. Did they immediately need to fill the silence? Were they comfortable with the quiet? I hoped to God that she was the latter. The last thing I needed was a sparkly, shiny, loud talker filling my house with noise.

I valued the quiet. I valued privacy. And most of all, I valued my space. But if I had to give it up for a few weeks to get out of that friggin’ date auction, I could deal with a little noise.

Layla hadn’t made a peep. Instead, she acted like the coffee pot and microwave that were jammed onto the countertops were the most interesting things she’d ever seen.

I cracked.

“Wanna walk down to the Mule?” I asked.

Layla’s gaze snapped to mine. “What?”

I shrugged. “Figured if we’re gonna sell this, we should probably get to know each other. It’ll help my case if people see us together. Doesn’t really do much good if we stay in, you know?” I was fucking rambling, and I hated that. Something about her presence was disarming. Maybe it was the confidence. Maybe it was because I’d seen her in action, saving lives like a bona fide superhero.

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