Layla knows that song? Seeing her like that—holding a little girl—she would be a beautiful mother. To anyone’s children. They would be lucky enough to have a mother like her. She deserved so much more in her childhood and I know that she'd do anything for her children to prove to herself that she’s a good mom, even though she wouldn’t have to. The thought hits me hard, chest tight, imagining her round with my baby, soft belly under my hands, her laugh filling the house. Fuck. Stop.
I walk up to her and start singing along with her—low, rough, matching her word for word, the lyrics coming easy from years of hearing it on every ranch drive.
“I love this song!” Layla says, eyes lighting up, cheeks flushed from the heat and maybe a beer or two, braid loose and damp from the pool, strands sticking to her neck.
“I’m surprised you know it,” I say back, stepping closer, the chlorine sharp in my nose, her vanilla scent cutting through it.
“I’m from Seattle, not Korea,” she winks—quick, playful, that sparkle in her eyes that hits me low, making my pulse kick.
I laugh. “What?” I say, laughing.
“Just because I’m a city girl doesn’t mean I can’t like country music,” she says, shrugging like it’s obvious, hips still swaying with Bella.
She’s so pretty the way she talks and carries herself. Makes me want to pull her close and never let go.
“Can you hold her for a second so I can get in the water? She keeps pointing to the pool. So I want to get in with her. Let her get wet, poor thing is sweating out here.”
I smile. “Of course.” Grabbing Bella from her arms—small, warm, giggling as I dance and spin her around, her tiny hands grabbing my shirt, chubby fingers sticky from popsicle juice. The pool lights reflect off the water in blue ripples, chlorine sharp in the air, laughter echoing from the group.
I turn around and watch Layla walk down into the pool. And my god in heaven. She’s in a bikini. String bikini. Black, tiny triangles barely covering her tits, ties knotted at her hips, soft belly, full curves, hips swaying as she steps into the water, the water climbing to her thighs, clinging to her skin, droplets catching the light. My mouth goes dry.
“You’re drooling,” Luke says, snickering as he passes.
“Shut up,” I say, kicking him lightly as he walks by. He snickers harder. I watch him flirt with Steph—tickling her, then all of a sudden he picks her up and tosses her in the pool. Layla’s laughing at Steph screaming at Luke, head thrown back, the sound bright and free.
“You better get in now or she’s going to kill you,” Layla says to Luke. He does a cannonball right next to Steph. Steph rolls her eyes.
“Men.”
Layla laughs and comes over to the side where I’m standing with Bella.
“Okay, hand me the baby,” she says, reaching her arms out—skin glowing under the string lights, water dripping from her braid, beads trailing down her collarbone.
Bella goes right for her—little hands grabbing Layla’s braid, giggling as Layla lifts her close.
“Hey baby girl. You like the water?” Layla whispers to her and kisses her forehead—soft and tender. Bella is splashing andgiggling, tiny feet kicking water everywhere, droplets flying like diamonds. I can’t wait to have one of those, Layla round with my baby, her body soft and full. A man can only dream.
“She’s so cute, isn’t she?” Layla asks me.
“She’s very cute,” I say back, voice rougher than I mean it to be, throat tight.
“I want one,” Layla says, kissing Bella’s cheek again—her eyes soft and her voice is quiet like a confession.
I bite my lip and inhale and exhale, deep, slow, trying not to think about making a baby with Layla. Trying to think of anything but making a baby with Layla.
“I wonder if you and I had a baby if it would have black hair or blonde hair?” she says—casual, like she’s wondering about the weather.
“Excuse me?” I say, voice cracking.
“Sorry I was just… thinking. That was weird. I’m sorry. I really don’t know why I—”
“Don’t be sorry,” I interrupt—quick, low, sitting up in my lounge chair.
She looks up from the pool at me smiling. I don’t know what she’s thinking but she looks beautiful thinking it—water dripping from her braid, skin glowing under the string lights, eyes wide and vulnerable, lips parted like she’s waiting for something.
“Alright you two love birds,” Maggie says.
I furrow my brows at her because what the fuck happened to friendly?
