by Bailey B
We replace the busted bottles with fresh ones, then walk back to the safety of the shed. Once we’re out of the way, Sam raises the shotgun and shoots his targets. Layla watches him, fascination dancing across her face, even though she flinches with each shot.
I wrap my hand around her waist and pull her close. She rests her cheek against my shoulder, fingers playing at the hem of my shirt. We stay like this, watching Sam cross the field and walk to the tables.
I look down at Layla, but before I can say anything, she presses her mouth against mine, both hands wrapping around my neck. I’m stunned stupid for a second, but get my bearings and pull her closer. Her lips part, tongue sweeping past mine. She lets out a tiny whimper, barely a sound, but it turns me on. My fingers dig into her hips and she kisses me harder.
Sam clears his throat and I swear I could kill him. Layla’s lips leave mine, but I don’t let her go. She spins in my arms, resting her head against my chest and says, “Hey, Sam,” like nothing ever happened.
Josh doesn’t seem interested in shooting anymore, not since I kissed him. I don’t know why I did it, I’ve never been forward like that. But when I saw him shoot, that ball of nerves I’ve been wrestling with since last night unraveled.
My lips tingled, desperate to know what his felt like, and I gave in. I don’t know what I expected to happen by kissing Josh. I’ve kissed Ashley, my ex-boyfriend, dozens of times, with and without tongue, and it’s always felt the same. Empty. My mind would wander, counting down the seconds until it was over.
With Josh, I felt everything. Every hair on my body standing on edge. Every butterfly dancing in my stomach. Every electrical surge my brain sent coursing through my body. I felt it all and it was better than any drug I’ve tried—which hasn’t been a lot—but still. Worse yet, I felt it stop the moment his lips left mine.
Sam holds the shotgun out to Josh, silently suggesting it’s his turn, but Josh shakes his head and nuzzles into my neck, lips nipping at my ear. “I’m good.”
I shudder, closing my eyes to enjoy the roller coaster inside me. Had I known that kissing Josh would feel this good, I would have done it last March, before I left, and returned his calls. Instead, I dodged the man because he makes my heart race in a way that doesn’t feel natural.
Sam finishes resetting the targets for another round, then extends the rifle. This time Josh takes it, pulling his body from mine. As much as I crave to be in his arms again, I’m excited to watch Josh shoot. Only he turns to me, excitement in his eyes, and says, “Your turn.”
My jaw goes slack. He’s joking. There’s no way Josh expects me to shoot and hit something on purpose. I shake my head, holding my hands up in protest. “Oh, no. I don’t think so.”
Josh opens his mouth to argue, but changes his mind. Without warning, he crouches down and takes me by the legs, flipping me over his shoulder. I scream in playful irritation, not expecting to be lifted off the ground.
My screams quickly turn to laughter as Josh carries me out into the field. He sets me back on my feet, one hand sliding up my thigh to my lower back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Josh remains still, devouring me with his eyes and I feel it again. That fire growing inside me.
“Any day now!” Sam shouts, breaking the trance we’re in.
Josh clears his throat and takes a step back. He walks to a black duffel bag resting on the ground and props the rifle on top of it. I watch, wordlessly, as he lies on his belly, then closes one eye to look through a small black cylinder on the top of the gun. Satisfied with what he sees, he turns his attention to me and pats the grass beside him. “Come on.”
On the outside, I’m walking over to him with confidence and grace. On the inside, my stomach is churning, my heart is racing, and the little voice in my head begs me not to get down on the ground. I don’t listen. I swallow that knot in my throat and lay on the prickly, half-dead grass.
“This rifle is a .308,” Josh says, his eyes flicking to the gun and then back to me. “It doesn’t have as much kick as a shotgun, but it can still leave a bruise if you’re not careful.”
“Great,” I mumble. I’ve never shot a Nerf gun, let alone something that uses real bullets. This is going to be a disaster.
“I want you to shoot this lying down so the duffle bag takes most of the shock.” Josh looks over his shoulder at my backside and grins. “Also, I don’t want you falling on your ass. That bit there...” he points to the black cylindrical piece on top of the gun. “You’re going to look through it. It’s called a scope. You need to line up the ‘T’ that you’ll see when you look through it with your target. That’s called the crosshairs. Once your target is in the center of the crosshairs, pull the trigger.”
“Got it.”
I suck in a deep breath and hold it for a few heartbeats, hoping my nerves will settle, then let it out. My body quivers as I close one eye and look through the scope. Lining up one of the bottles in the crosshairs, I draw in a quick breath, then I pull the trigger.
The blast is louder up close than I expect. My ears ring and my shoulder throbs from the kick. I can’t imagine what it would have felt like standing up. If this one isn’t as bad as the shotgun, I never want to shoot that thing.
Josh moves the gun from the duffle bag to the ground beside him. I stick a finger in my ear and twist it. When I pull it out, the ringing is a million times better. I can actually hear again.
“Well.” Josh rubs the nape of his neck. “That’s one way to do it.”
I roll up onto my knees and brush the dirt off my thighs. “What do you mean?”
“You’d have a better chance of not missing the target if you keep your eyes open,” he says through a chuckle.
I missed? The bottle was lined up. I should have hit it.
Josh stands then extends a hand to help me to my feet. My legs are shaky. I’m not sure if it’s from how he makes me feel or from lying on the grass. “Want to shoot again?”
I shake my head. Hell no.
Josh rubs at the back of his neck then chuckles again. He takes a few steps then looks over his shoulder. “I’m gonna go check on the targets.”
“Uh…okay.”
Not sure what to do, but knowing that I don’t belong in the middle of the field, I turn and walk back towards the truck.
“You need to just get it over with,” Sam says as I approach. He leans against the shed, arms lazily crossed in front of him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I really don't have a clue. I’ve already kissed Josh, so he can’t be talking about that. And I know Sam isn’t suggesting we sleep together after one weekend. If he is, these boys have another thing coming. I don’t know what kind of girls they’re used to, but I don’t spread my legs easily. It took Ashley and I three years to get to that point and the handful of times we did it were nothing but painful, sometimes bloody, disappointments.
“All right, be that way, but you’re going to give into him eventually. I can see it already, even if you can’t.”
Sam’s words make me nervous. Is my attraction to Josh that obvious? “Whatever you think you’re seeing, you’re wrong. Josh and I are just friends.”
Friends that kiss. No big deal. Right?
“Whatever you say, sunshine.” Sam pushes off the shed when Josh ambles back towards us. He leaves me alone, left to wonder how obvious I am and if I should tone things down.
I don’t have long to think before the bang of one gun and then the other makes me lose my train of thought. Both Josh and Sam have a gun in hand, taking turns shooting until they run out of targets.
The guys laugh, having a moment I’m not a part of. Back home, with Ashely and his friends, I’d feel left out. I never felt like I belonged with them, but things are different here. I can’t explain it, but there’s a comforting feeling I’ve never felt before. It’s even stronger when I’m in Josh’s arms.
Josh and Sam race across the grass to the table, nearly barreling into it. They pick up the busted target
s, throwing them at each other, then having to pick them up again, and toss them into a bucket. Once everything is cleaned, they stride back towards me, Sam carrying the waste, Josh laughing at something else I can’t hear.
“Sam.” Josh slaps him on the back when they get close. “It’s been real and it’s been fun, but it hasn’t been real fun.”
Sam snickers and pulls Josh in for a man-hug. “See you later, brother.” Sam tips his hat at me. “Layla, until next time, darlin’.”
“So,” Josh says, his voice husky and low as he drives me back to Hattie’s house. “What are the chances of me seeing you again?”
“I…” My chest constricts, each breath becoming a struggle. Somewhere deep inside, I know if I give into these emotions, Josh is going to change me. I’m just not sure if it’s going to be a good change or not. “I don’t know, slim.”
Josh’s jaw hardens. He pauses, gazing off into the distance. We pull into the grassy knoll beside Hattie's house and Josh shifts the truck into park. He sits back in the seat, the engine still running, and stares at the tiny house before us. I wait, not sure if I should stay or go, because I want to do both.
Josh nods, thinking to himself, then grabs his phone off the magnetic holder on the dash. “Can I have your number again?”
“Yeah.” I let out a breathy laugh, easing the tension in my chest. With trembling hands, I take the phone from him and type my number in under the name “the sexiest girl you’ve ever met.” It’s a bold move, but when I hand Josh his phone, a smile tugs at his lips.
“Yes, ma’am, you are.” He shoots me a text, and my phone dings in my back pocket. His finger brushes against my cheek, touching me delicately, like a rose petal he doesn’t want to bruise. I look up into his eyes, my breath catching in my throat.
Josh leans across the armrest and presses his lips to mine again. There’s no tongue with this kiss, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a swarm of butterflies going crazy inside me.
All too soon, he pulls back, resting his forehead against mine. I keep my eyes closed, knowing that if I open them I’ll give into the temptation to kiss him again, really kiss him, and then there’s no telling how far I’ll go.
Josh backs away, and before I can lift my eyelids, the car door shuts. I look up and see him running around the front of the truck. He opens the passenger door for me. I unclick my seat belt and take the outstretched hand. He closes my door and walks me up Hattie’s driveway.
When we reach the front of the house, he tucks his hands in his pockets and says, “I’m glad we got to spend the morning together.”
“Me too.”
He leans in, pressing another quick kiss to my lips before saying ,“’Bye,” and walking away.
There are five fundraisers within a hundred miles of Fellsmere tonight, but only one is in Orlando, a benefit for a local girl who’s been diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis.
Thank fuck I convinced Hattie to tell me what city she picked Layla up from. Tickets ranged from seventy-five to two hundred and fifty dollars each. While I would have bought one for each event, I doubt I could have made it to all of them in time. Knowing my luck, I would have gone to the one in Orlando last, missed the whole thing, and blew my shot.
The only reason I was able to purchase a ticket at the last minute was because one of the patrons came down with the flu, and there was an empty seat. The woman on the phone, hearing my southern drawl this morning, made it a point to tell me this was a formal event.
Three times.
So, I pulled my suit from prom out of the closet, squeezed as much of my fat ass into it that I could, and drove the hour and a half to surprise a chick who has barely responded to me all week. Layla better feel loved.
When I get to the venue, every space in the designated parking lot is taken. I circle the lot and the adjacent street before finding an open spot behind a red Mercedes-Benz on a side alley. I grab the bouquet of flowers from my passenger seat then follow a stream of people inside. After checking in at a table near the entrance, I’m given a card with my table assignment and allowed to enter.
The event room is brightly lit with pastel pink accent lights climbing the walls. There are at least a dozen round tables scattered about, covered with white tablecloths, sequin overlays, vases filled with water, and flowers on top of it all.
Surrounded by people who probably have more money than God, I feel out of place. My dark slacks, white button-down shirt, and black tie look similar to those around me. However, like a shark finding blood in the water, somehow they know I don’t belong. People step to the side as I make my way to the bar, acting like I’ve got the plague. I’m out of my league here.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks, not bothering to look up from the cocktail he’s mixing.
“Jack and Coke, please.”
The guy hands me my drink and I walk back towards my table. Pressing the cup to my lips, I swallow the whiskey in one gulp, welcoming the burn. This is going to be a long night.
“Good evening. If everyone could please find their tables, we’d like to get started,” a cheery voice calls through the speakers.
Layla stands at a podium on the stage, smiling at the crowd. Her eyes flit across the room, bouncing from one person to another, until they stop on me. Her gaze falls to her papers, cheeks flushing red, before darting up again.
“Thank you all for coming tonight. As you all know, Mary Herbert was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis last summer, a week before her eighth birthday. Cystic Fibrosis is a terrible disease that damages the lungs and digestive system. While scientists have had many breakthroughs, there is still no known cure, and medications are costly. All proceeds from tonight’s auction will go towards Mary’s never-ending medical bills.” Layla pauses, letting the crowd whisper amongst themselves before adding, “And now, I’m going to turn the stage over to Hank. Let the auction begin!”
The room erupts in applause as Layla steps to the side of the stage. The auctioneer, Hank, rambles off words and numbers at an alarming speed, while the runner delivers basket after basket to the highest bidders. Two hours later, the auction is over, and everyone is allowed to mingle again after dinner is served.
Layla skirts across the room to shake hands with patrons, eventually making her way over to me. “What are you doing here?” she asks, her arms wrapping around my neck for a brief hug.
“I thought I’d surprise you.” I grab the bouquet of flowers from under my seat and hand them to her. She bites her lip, surprise dancing in her eyes.
“You’re sweet.” Layla looks behind her as an older woman calls her name. The woman frowns and beckons her with a wave. “I should get back to making my rounds, but I’m glad you came.” She turns, heading back to her guests, then looks over her shoulder to add, “Don’t leave before saying goodbye. Okay?”
“I’m exhausted.” Layla sags into the chair next to me. The fundraiser ended over an hour ago, but I stuck around to help with the cleanup. “You didn’t have to stay. Don’t get me wrong, your man-strength was amazing, but you have over an hour drive tonight.”
I chuckle, never having heard the phrase man-strength before.
I like it.
Hell, Layla could have called me a pussy and I’d probably like it, because that means she’s thinking about me. Every moment I’m on her mind is one more crack in the wall she’s built to keep me out. Sooner or later, I’ll break through it. “Each back-breaking minute was worth it since I got to spend more time with you.”
Layla throws a dirty napkin at me and grins. She grabs her bottle of water and takes a sip, then closes her eyes and drops her head against the back of the chair.
“So, about tomorrow…”
“What about tomorrow?” she asks, eyes still closed.
Reaching both arms above my neck, I stretch, a yawn escaping me. I’m fucking beat. One of the heifers gave birth today, but the calf got stuck. I had to physically yank the baby out so both of them wouldn’t die. Less than five minutes lat
er, it was like nothing had happened.
That was only a blip of my morning. The rest of the day was normal ranch work. Come daybreak, I’ll be out there again, feeding the horses and tending to the never ending bullshit. Thank fuck my day worker is on duty this weekend. I need a break.
“Now that the fundraiser is over, and just about everything is picked up, how about coming to spend the weekend with me?”
“Are we back to this?”
“Yup.”
Layla opens her eyes and sits upright. She chews on her bottom lip and stares at me. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
I meet her gaze with a grin and shake my head. I’ve never tried this hard to land a chick, but no one has put me under a spell the way Layla has. It’s not even about sex. Although, I won’t complain if she wants to do that dance. I want to spend time with her, get to know her, and see where things go from there. “Nope.”
She stands and grabs the tablecloth to put in the box by her feet. “I can’t afford a hotel room.”
“Then stay with me.” Like I’d let her stay anywhere else. I pull the cover off the chair she was in, then stand to grab mine.
“Josh.” She pauses to drop the folded cloth in the box. She frowns, fighting through the war that’s written all over her face. She wants this, I know she does, but something is holding her back. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Don’t lift those. I’ll get them.” I shoo her away from the stack of chairs she’s moved to try and lift and then carry them across the room. When I’m done, I meet her at the next table and we start the cleanup process over again. “You can take my room and I’ll sleep on the couch. I’ll probably be up before you anyway to feed the horses. With me in the living room, I won’t disturb you.”
“Fine, but not tonight. I’ve got a few things to finish up in the morning.” Layla wipes the sweat from her brow and leans against the table. “I can meet you around four.”
