Page 43 of What Hurts Us

CALLUM

“You about ready to go?” I hollered up the stairs. Layla was taking for-fucking-ever to fix her hair in the bathroom. “We gotta get a move on,sugar biscuit.”

That was the first time I’d offered more than a grunt since I nearly mauled her against the wall yesterday. We had done the precarious dance of avoiding each other as we got ready for bed.

Avoiding each other didn’t help me avoid catching the scent of her shampoo in the shower. It didn’t stop me from wondering if the tube of Chapstick on the counter was the strawberry flavor I had tasted on her lips.

“Coming!” she called in a tone that was far too cheery for a woman who had been giving me the cold shoulder. Not that I didn’t deserve it. Layla hadn’t asked me to pin her against the wall and kiss her like my life depended on it. Then again, she kissed me back. Her hands had dug into my shirt like she was two seconds from clawing me to pieces if I let her go.

But I did. I fucking walked away.

Nothing about this was real. It was foolish of me to let my libido overpower my logic, but damn… That kiss.

Footsteps thundered overhead, and a door slammed as Layla hurried down. Long legs covered in tall boots the color of caramel were the first things I saw. Her bare thighs peeked out from the short hem of a dress that looked like a thick sweater. I wanted to rip those cable knits to shreds like a feral cat with a damn ball of yarn. Her coal-colored hair was curled in soft waves that cascaded down her back.

“Ready,” Layla clipped as she grabbed her purse off the coat hook by the door. She didn’t meet my eyes as she dug out her keys.

I snatched them out of her hand. “I’ll drive.”

She yanked them back. “It’s my car.”

I grabbed them again. “And I saidI’ll drive.”

She didn’t argue.

I fucking hated that. I wanted her to fight me on it. I wanted to feel her fingertips grazing my hand again. I wanted to feel her breath against my skin.

“Lay—”

“Let’s go,” she said, making a move for the door.

I blocked her path. “Honey, stop.”

“We should go,baby cakes,” she sneered. “Don’t wanna be late to meet the future fake in-laws.”

There was an engagement ring in my pocket. This was all fake, but it was still a big fucking deal. “Layla.”

A quiet huff escaped her lips as she crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “What?”

The toe of my dress shoes bumped against the tip of her boots. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she said with her signature bullshit sunshine.

“Honey,” I said, slow as molasses. Softly, I sifted my fingers through her hair and cupped her cheek.

She stared at the ground.

“Look at me.”

Layla huffed. “We don’t have time for this.”

“We have time. Look at me.”

Slowly, she turned her gaze to me. Tears like diamonds glimmered on her long lashes. My stomach soured at the sight. “What’s the matter?”

She blinked them away and plastered on a fake-ass smile. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

“Don’t make me back you up against the wall again.”

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