Page 78 of What Hurts Us

I’d miss her.

Her smile. Her laugh. How she warmed me from the outside in when she touched me. I’d miss waking up to her cheek glued to my chest, a dribble of saliva at the corner of her mouth. Seeing her straddle the back of my Harley. The feeling of her body pressed against mine as we zipped down the road, leaning into the turns.

The list of things I would miss about her scrolled through my mind on an endless loop while I jogged through town with Shane.

The list grew exponentially longer when I returned home and found her sleeping peacefully in my bed.

While we got ready for the fundraiser, I tacked on a few more things I’d miss about her—the smell of her perfume and the way she leaned in toward the mirror when she swiped on lip gloss.

Layla emerged from the guest room in a pair of tight skinny jeans and a thick sweater. When she met me at the bottom of the stairs, she was sliding the engagement ring onto her left hand. That ring was priceless, yet I never had a second thought when it came to putting it on Layla’s finger.

“I got you something,” I said as I held out a brown shopping bag.

She eyed the logo of the motorcycle shop that was stamped onto the side of the kraft paper. “You got me a present?”

“Just open it.”

She pulled out the tissue paper that the grizzled motorcycle club president had carefully arranged inside and retrieved the first item—a black leather jacket that was soft as butter.

“Oh, Cal,” Layla gasped as she fingered the sleeve. “It’s… Wow.”

I took it from her and held it out so she could feed her arms through the sleeves. It fit her like a glove, hugging her waist and cleavage like a second skin. “How’s it feel?”

She looked up at me with wide eyes. “This is too much.”

“No, honey. It’s not even close to what I owe you.” I trailed my finger down the seam at her side. “As much as I like the way you look with mine on, this one’ll be more comfortable when I take you on rides.” Before she could protest like I knew she would, I knelt and reached in the bag, pulling out the boots.

They had a small heel to them that would accentuate her mile-long legs. Laces crisscrossed up the black shaft, tying off where the boot ended at mid-calf. The front sported a handful of straps and buckles.

Layla sat on the second step while I knelt in front of her and slid her foot into one, then the other. I laced them up, then waited patiently while she adjusted the tension.

“How do they feel?” I asked while gripping the sole and feeling around for the fit. “They aren’t too big, are they?”

She wiggled her toes. “They’re perfect.” Eyes the color of cinnamon met mine. “I love them … I…” Whatever was on the tip of her tongue faded. She cupped my cheeks and kissed me breathlessly. “Thank you, Callum.”

I held her hand in mine as we made our way out to my Harley. Layla sat behind me like an old pro. The growl of the engine roared as we rolled down the driveway. Her arms snaked around me, holding me like a life preserver.

I wondered if she knew that she was mine.

27

LAYLA

“You’re bidding on something?” I asked as I sided up to Cal. He was hunched over a folding table, scribbling down his name on a clipboard. The basket up for grabs was a Red Cocks jersey, a football signed by T.J. Bryant Jr., and two tickets on the fifty-yard line for the Carolina-Rhode Island game in Charlotte this winter.

“T.J. Bryant is the man,” he said as he scratched out the name above his—another cop from the department—and wrote a higher bid. I almost asked who he planned to take with him when he won but stopped myself.

It wouldn’t be me.

Callum and I had agreed to explore the chemistry between us—primarily between the sheets—but neither of us had broached the topic of what would happen after tonight.

When I woke up from my morning nap, a voicemail from my landlord was waiting for me. My apartment would be ready to move back in within the week. I told myself that I’d wait to mention it to Callum when the fundraiser was over.

Maybe tomorrow.

Satisfied at one-upping his coworker, he dropped the pen on the table and righted himself. “Suck it, Jepson,” he said to no one, then smirked. “Those tickets are mine.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a pixie-like blonde sneaking behind Cal and outbidding him.

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