Page 56 of What Hurts Us

“I’ll remember that when I’m conscious.” A yawn escaped my mouth before I could ward it away. “You okay? What are you calling me at the ass crack of evil for?”

I had laid awake all night after the engagement party. Layla and I had come home, retiring to our separate rooms without so much as a word. I watched from my room as she slid the engagement ring off her finger and set it in the dish by the bathroom sink. My stomach turned into a shriveled prune as she took it off. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.

It was just a ring—just a convenient solution to an otherwise annoying problem.

It was all fake. Right?

The boners sure as hell weren’t fake.

The minute Layla closed the bathroom door, I was unzipping my pants and sliding my hand into my boxers to fist my erection. I’d spent four hours with her by my side. Four hours of smelling her perfume. Four hours watching her laugh. Four hours where she would lean into my side and slide her hand across my stomach.

At some point during the party, she had gotten warm and shucked off my motorcycle jacket. All that exposed skin—her shoulders, the slope where her throat met her clavicle, her lush cleavage—was really fucking inconvenient when I needed to keep my flag from flying in the presence of her family and a hoard of Creekers.

Gran’s pack-a-day laugh broke me out of my haze. “Can’t I call you without needing a reason?”

“Sure, just not at six in the morning.”

“Fine, fine. I wanted to see if you and Layla could come by the Ballentine House today to talk with Sepideh and me about when ya wanna get hitched. She’s ready to clear the schedule so you two can have your pick of wedding dates. We just need to know when. You two won’t have to do a thing—we can handle it all. Just show up and say your vows.”

And this is where a convenient solution became wildly more complicated. Fake proposing to Layla got me out of the date auction pickle. Unfortunately, it meant we’d have to be believable enough as a couple to convince the town we were engaged without actually having to plan a wedding or get married.

And, yet again, I had a very temporary solution.

“Can’t. Brandie Jean… She, uh… She got up with a photographer and scheduled engagement pictures for Layla and me as a present.”

I had been planning on faking the stomach flu or explosive diarrhea to get out of the pictures. No one questions diarrhea. Now, BJ’s suspicious generosity was coming in awfully handy.

A few pictures were the lesser evil compared to making actual wedding plans with people who were none the wiser.

What a tangled web we weave when we first learn to deceive.The old Sunday School adage echoed in my mind.

But golden rules could be followed another day. Today was a day for solutions, not problems.

“Well,” Gran said, obviously satisfied that my day off wouldn’t go to waste. “That’s just lovely. You’ll have to get me some prints to put around the house.” I was just about to say goodbye when Gran piped up again. “You know, I bet Brandie Jean is devastated now that you don’t have to be in the date auction. Pity—your dates always raised so much money for the Widows and Orphans Fund. But I’m just happy that you’re happy, Cal. It means a lot to me to see a smile on your face. Watching you around town with Layla on your arm… Well, that’s the biggest fuckin’ smile I’ve seen on your face since before your mom and dad split up.”

I grunted something noncommittal as Gran chirped through her goodbyes. It wasn’t ideal, but I supposed now was as good of a time as any to start the day. My bladder thought so.

My feet hit the floor, and I yanked open my bedroom door, taking a turn toward the bathroom and running smack dab into soft skin and a tumbleweed of hair.

“Shit!” she squeaked as we collided in the narrow hallway.

Still slightly disoriented from my unwelcome wake-up call, I grabbed whatever I could to keep her upright. That just so happened to be her ass.

Her plump, tight ass.

My other hand fell on bare skin—her waist.

Her breasts were smashed against my chest. I could feel her nipples scraping against me. My dick throbbed in my boxers.Great. I’d have to jerk off again.

“Sorry,” she whispered in haste.

I held her right where she was. If she moved even a hair, my cock would spring to life like a jack-in-the-box, probably impaling her stomach in the process.

“Cal?” she said in a mouse-like voice. Her hands were plastered against my chest, nails pressing shallow crescents into my skin.

Without thinking, I mimicked the action, digging my fingers into the swell of her ass and squeezing.

A low groan rumbled from her chest. I could feel the vibration against my own. Her eyes were heavy, lips parted with labored breathing.

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