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14
Cole
Looking at myself in the mirror, I rub some beard oil down my face, spray some cologne, and twist up my hair. Working with Lyla this week has felt like long and tortuous foreplay. We’ve been riding this cliff, wanting each other so badly, but knowing it’s against the rules. It feels exciting but it also feels right.
Walking back out to my room, I toss on my tailored black suit jacket over my black collared button-down and shrug it up over my shoulders. It’s Fight Night and I feel like a million bucks. I went all out too. VIP for Lyla’s first live fight. It’s kinda become our thing. Every night after work, she’ll make some over-the-top amazing dinner, and we’ll sit down and watch a fight.
I don’t think we are exactly the friends we said we would be, but we also can’t be anything more so tonight is my way of showing her more the only way I can. Checking my phone, I see our driver is five minutes away. I open my bedroom door and head downstairs, shouting, “Five minutes on our ride!”
At the bottom of the stairs, I’m awestruck at the sight of Lyla. My mouth goes dry and my heart starts raging. My dick hardens instantly and who the hell knows what my face looks like. I have no idea what I’m feeling other than feeling like the luckiest man alive to have this gorgeous woman for the night. And she will be mine tonight; there is no way I’m going to be able to control myself anymore. Tonight feels heavy with possibilities, but the problem is we invited all our complications with us. Maybe Marcus will go home with someone tonight and we’ll have the house to ourselves.
“Hey” Her voice is so low it’s almost a whisper, like she doesn’t want to pop our bubble. By the look on her face, she’s just as affected by me.
“You look absolutely stunning, Lyla,” I say honestly and watch her cheeks turn pink. How can one woman be so adorable and sexy at the same time?
“Thank you. You look pretty great yourself.”
I start walking toward her, and her eyes widen and her chest rises and falls faster and faster the closer I get. I reach her and bring her hand up to my mouth and kiss her fingers. Her beautiful green eyes are looking right through me. Like she sees exactly who I am and wants all of it.
Our gaze is locked as I let her hand drop. She starts to lean up to kiss me when we hear the front door being unlocked. She turns and runs both hands through her hair, walking toward the door. She looks back over her shoulder. “Ready to head down?”
“Yep. Right behind you.”
Marcus opens the door before we reach it and is already dressed so we all head down to the limo parked in front of our house. It’s a stretch Hummer because Lyla made a joke when she saw her favorite fighter was leaving a fight in one and she called him a pansy. A pretentious pansy to be exact, but she always roots for Caleb; he’s always been her favorite. He won the first fight we watched together and is truly a badass motherfucker. I can’t wait to surprise her; I’m practically bouncing on my toes like Harmony. The driver holds the door open, and I help her in. When I sit down beside her, she leans in.
“Very funny.”
“Thought you’d like it.” I wink.
Marcus joins us inside the cab and pops a bottle of champagne. We pick up Charlie, Mason, and Willow, and cheers to great times with great friends. I barely hear anything other than the sound of Lyla’s voice and laughter.
I press my leg against hers and she smiles, never taking her eyes off Willow, who’s telling her all about the tattoo parlor she works at. I try to push my arm up again her as sly as I can, but Marcus claps me on the other leg, scaring the shit out of me, and I physically jump. Lyla finds this hilarious but tries her best to stifle her reaction which seems to bring a small tear to her eye. I give her a look I hope spells out I will remember this, and I ease away from her slowly, sitting straighter as Marcus explains to me a few ins and outs of fatherhood. Fucking awkward.
The fight is being held in a large convention center with a five-star restaurant and hotel and is surrounded by strip malls. Lyla actually got us all reservations even though they are booked for the year. I don’t think her reputation is as ruined as she fears. Anyone who meets her knows the kindhearted, incredibly strong, and talented woman she is. No way anyone really believes she had anything to do with anything illegal.
The place is fancy as fuck. Two-story ceilings with giant white columns throughout the restaurant with white sheer drapes hanging from above and sectioning off outer tables. We follow the hostess and I can’t help but want to hold Lyla’s hand, give her my elbow, or anything at all just to touch her. Suddenly it hits me. I planned this date and it’s not a fucking date; it’s with the entire group because Lyla isn’t mine. We’re just friends, I have to remind myself. This was a fucking terrible idea; I don’t want to share her, especially not wearing that tight red dress that hugs all her curves like a second skin. I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to pull my shit together before I throw her over my shoulder and run away with her like the caveman she makes me feel like.
We are seated at a huge table in the back that offers more privacy than the rest of the restaurant. I pull out a chair for Lyla, and she beams her beautiful smile at me in thanks. I was so distracted by it, Willow and Charlie snagged the two seats beside her so I round the table to sit with Marcus and Mason. The waiter comes and takes our orders and halfway through our meal the chef, in all white, comes out to meet Lyla. He looks young but tired. Dark circles under his eyes almost match his black hair, and he greets the table and shakes all our hands, introducing himself as Travis Grumble from Chicago. He takes both of Lyla’s hands in his, and I have a knee-jerk reaction to remove his arms from his body.
“I am so honored to have you here this evening, Ms. Turner. I hope your dinner was up to your high standards.”
“It is amazing, Mr. Grumble, thank you for the opportunity.”
“Oh, please call me Travis. I’ve looked up to you since school where Dominic Sanata still raves about his favorite student. Not to mention I ate at your Warehouse 39 as often as financially possible when I lived in Chicago.”
I notice her smile is fake and she’s fidgeting with the napkin, uncomfortable.
“I was so sorry to hear about it closing; it was my favorite place to eat by far. What happened? Are you opening here?” he says with an optimist smile and seems to light up at the possibility.
“No, I’ve decided to retire actually, but thank you so much for your kind praise, Travis. It means a lot coming from someone as talented as yourself.”
His face falls into a deep frown at her words. His bushy brows pull down in confusion, and he looks around the table at the rest of the group, looking for an explanation maybe.
“Thank you again for the reservation. This meal was fantastic,” I say, hoping he’ll leave. The beaming smile Lyla had all night is gone, and I need it back.
“It was truly my pleasure. If you will allow me, I would love to make a special dessert just for your party, Ms. Turner?”
“That isn’t necessary but enthusiastically appreciated.”
“Consider it done.” He says goodbye to all of us and leaves.
“Did you sell your restaurant to move here?” Willow asks innocently, and pure dread washes over Lyla’s face, leaving her pale. I’ve got to do something; that fake smile is killing me. There is no way I’m not doing anything now.
I go to grab my napkin and knock over my red wine. It spills all over the table and Lyla, Willow, and I stand and start throwing napkins at it. A waiter rushes over, and I chance a glance at Lyla. Our eyes meet and she smiles genuinely for the first time since the pubescent chef came over and shit on her happiness. Dumb fucker. I give her a wink and watch her shoulders relax. The rest of the meal went smooth.
In the last few weeks, Lyla told me all about Howard and the cutthroat restaurant industry and how miserable she didn’t realize she was. It’s strange how much I can relate to her misery. Instead of the food industry, I was stuck in a terrible marriage, not realizing just how bad it was.
The dessert comes on a literal silver platter and is an elaborate display of chocolate mousse and fruit. It’s as good as the meal, and we all seem to fall quiet as we devour it.
Marcus slaps my back and I notice everyone getting up to leave. The fight awaits and I couldn’t be more excited.
