“I’m literally just sitting here,” I whisper, but it sounds breathless, guilty, and not even close to convincing.
He pauses in the doorway, finally glancing over his shoulder, his eyebrow raised in clear amusement.
“Layla,” he drawls, “if you keep staring at me like I’m something you want for breakfast, we’re not gonna make it to the kitchen.”
My whole face burns with desire, a rush of heat surging between my thighs, leaving me soaked.
I remember the intimate times we shared, how his mustache felt between my legs when he was kissing, sucking, fuck?—.
Okay, Layla, reel it in.
He smirks, one he shows me only, his eyes glinting with that flirt he never explicitly says but always means. He turns again, disappearing into the hall, the scars on his arms shifting as he walks. He’s shown me all of his scars, and that alone means everything to me.
From the kitchen, I hear the gentle clink of pans and the soft hum of a country tune slipping from his lips, rugged and sweet all at once.
The smell of coffee drifts down the hall, wrapping itself around the anxiety still buzzing in my veins.
I glance back at my laptop. The screen is a cascade of notifications; hearts, comments, excitement pouring in too fast to follow.
This is the Layla we love.
Girl, you’re glowing.
More videos like THIS pleaseee.
My throat tightens, but this time it feels like relief. Like a new beginning.
I wipe under my eye before anything falls.
Reed hums louder, off-key in the cutest way, as the cabinet doors open and shut like someone who genuinely enjoys cooking breakfast for two.
Forus.
I close my laptop slowly.
He’s giving me space to breathe, while offering reasons to choose a different life.
One where I’m not invisible. One where being myselfisn’t something I have to apologize for. One where a man looks at me like I could be home.
I pull the sheet tighter around me, steadying my heartbeat, before pushing myself up to stand. My feet hit his cool hardwood floors, and I follow the sound of him into the light.
Because I want to. Because I choose to.
Because Reed Hayes is starting to feel like a future I’m not afraid to want.
layla
. . .
If happiness had a weight, I think it would feel like Reed’s arm draped over my waist, his nose buried in my hair, and his sleepy breaths warming the back of my neck. I haven’t stopped smiling since I opened my eyes.
Honestly? I’m not sure I had a genuine smile before him.
He moves behind me, his lips brushing the tip of my shoulder like a sleepy habit he’s had forever.
I turn into his arms, and there he is, already staring at me with his messy hair and tired green eyes, smiling at me like I’m his favorite sight.
“Morning,” he murmurs, sleep woven into his gravelly voice.
