“Layla is waiting downstairs.”
I open the door. Maggie looks me up and down. “You smell good.”
“Do I look alright?” I ask her quietly, voice low, rubbing the back of my neck.
“You look clean. That’s better than alright.” She says, smirking.
I jog down the stairs, my boots thumping heavy on the wood steps, echoing through the quiet house and there she is. Layla in a Red sundress that hugs every curve with heels. Her boobs look so plump and her hips fill out her dress perfectly. Perfectly made for me. The fabric clings just right, dipping low at the neckline, swaying soft with every shift of her weight. She smells like vanilla and flowers, sweet, intoxicating, hitting me as I get close.
“Heels?” I ask, voice rougher than I mean it to be.
“I like tacos.” She smiles and shrugs her shoulders.
I smile back at her, holding the door open for her to walk out onto the porch. The night air rushes in cool and fresh, crickets chirping loud, stars pricking the dark sky. I slide beside her and down the steps, unlock the truck with a beep. Before I can open the door, she pauses.
“I’m going to need your help. It’s hard to walk in these heels on the gravel.” She chuckles nervously.
I jog back over to her. “That’s my bad. I should’ve known.”
I walk her over to the passenger side of the truck, open the door for her, and as she crawls up and into the truck her ass is in my face. Round, perfect, dress riding up just enough to show the curve of her thighs. I just want to bite it—it looks so good. She smells so fucking good, perfume mixing with the rain-damp air outside. It takes everything in me not to fuck her righthere and now. My hands itch to grab her hips, pull her back against me, bury my face in her neck.
But no. Friends. I exhale slowly, force a smile while closing the door, metal clicking shut solid. Being friends might be harder than I thought.
We’ve been driving for a minute—the truck rumbling low over the highway, headlights cutting through the dark, radio humming soft country in the background—and here come the questions. Layla is a talker. I knew she wouldn’t last too long without opening that pretty mouth of hers.
“So… are we grabbing something to eat first or should we go to the store? I mean I don’t need much. I’d rather eat after if you’re okay with that.” She says nervously, fingers twisting in her lap.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Whatever works for me.” I smile, glancing over, her profile soft in the dashboard glow, lips pink and full.
“Great. I really appreciate you doing this for me, Cole. And letting me grab some dinner with you. I know things have been awkward between us since—”
“We’re friends, Layla.” I smile, keeping my voice steady, even though the word tastes like ash.
She smiles so big. Bites her lip. “Right. Well… I just wanted you to know it means a lot to me. It’s nice getting out of the house for a little. I love the seclusion but it’s not normal for me.”
“I can understand that.” I say, putting the signal on to turn into the grocery store—the blinker ticking loud in the cab. “What do you miss most about Seattle?”
“Not much honestly. I guess maybe a few people. But my best friend moved to Florida years ago and I travel there to see her twice a year but I’m much closer to her now. Actually only 8 hrs away. Her and her husband live on a beach house there andthey have a couple kids. That’s what I miss—them. Not really Seattle.”
“That’s nice. You should go see them while you’re here.” I say as we park—the truck settling with a soft creak, the lot lights buzzing yellow overhead.
She sighs. “I don’t really have the time nor a car but I will soon. I just need to finish this book.” She says anxiously.
We walk into the store together, the automatic doors whooshing open, cool AC blasting with that sterile grocery smell of fresh produce and baked bread.
“I’ll grab a buggy,” I mumble.
“Buggy.” She laughs, light and bright, eyes sparkling under the fluorescent lights.
“What do you call it?” I ask her.
“A cart.” She says with a smile.
“Buggy is better.” I say.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
She spends 30 minutes getting all kinds of things she needs, grabbing yogurt, fresh fruit, a bag of gummy bears she sorts by color in the cart with a quirky grin. She forgets some things and goes back—even though she has a list—doubling down aisles, muttering to herself like she’s debating plot points. She’s funny. Her mind is on so many things all at once—you can tell. But that’s what I like about her, quirky and genuinely her. Unapologetic.
