by S. E. Rose
“Well, I’ll make sure my security knows about that,” he whistled. She looked over at Kevin and Amery. Amery was a natural. She could see the photos Kevin was taking and they looked amazing.
“So, how’s that gift working out? The one from your friend, what’s his name, Nate?” he asked her, raising an eyebrow.
She coughed. “Uh, yeah, it was more of a practical joke gift, so, yeah.”
“Oh, well, I like his style,” Kent said.
“Shocking,” Lyla muttered. Kent laughed and clapped her on the back.
“You’re funny, you know that?” he said to her.
“So I’ve been told,” she murmured as she stared back at the photos. She could hear Kevin barking directions at Stewie and another staffer. She looked up and saw what was needed. She walked over to a softbox on a boom that was angled just off from what it should be, and she adjusted it. She looked back over at Amery and saw that his face now had the perfect lighting. Kevin stopped shooting and stared at her.
Suddenly, she felt like she had overstepped her boundary. “Sorry, the lighting just seemed...” She trailed off and shrugged apologetically.
“No, no, this is great, thanks, Lyla,” he said and smiled at her.
She sagged with relief and went back over to sit down. Kent rambled on about the gala and the early practice he had tomorrow and next week’s game. Lyla tried to pay attention. She really tried, but she kept finding herself glancing over at Amery. Damn it! Why did he have to be so fucking attractive? It was distracting.
A few minutes later, Kevin wrapped up the shoot and came over to check out Amery’s photos. He took the seat next to Lyla who already had her two favorites pulled up. Kent sat back in his chair, texting someone and seemingly uninterested.
“You done with me, Kev,” he said, not looking up.
“Uh, yep, we got your shot, so we’re good to go,” Kevin said as he studied the photos on the screen more closely.
“Cool,” Kent said. “Later, Am. Later, killer.”
“Bye, Kent,” Lyla muttered, barely glancing at him.
Amery stood behind her, his hands on the back of her seat. He leaned forward to look at the monitor, and Lyla caught a whiff of his cologne. Why was the universe so unfair? He looked like a chiseled Greek god and he smelled like how a perfume commercial would smell if television commercials had a scent.
She did her best to cease breathing and she sat nervously sweating, while Kevin silently looked at the two shots he’d taken after she had fixed the lighting. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he sat back in his chair.
“What do you think, Am?” he asked.
Amery smiled. “I like the one on the left,” he said.
“Me too,” Kevin agreed as he quickly perused the rest before circling back to the two she had put on the screen. “Yep, that’s our shot. Great work on the lighting, Lyla.”
Lyla couldn’t believe her luck. She had done something right and nothing crazy had happened, other than that minor head wound situation.
Chapter 4
“You want to come to lunch with us?” Kent asked as Lyla helped to shut down the shoot.
“Uh, sure,” Lyla said. She looked around and checked her list. Everything was packed up, the staff had finished, and the crew was picking up the remaining stuff. She was done.
“Good job today, Lyla,” Kevin said as he clapped her on the back. Kevin was an attractive man in his late-thirties. He still had a head full of black hair and shocking ice-blue eyes. He was tall, but not overly tall and he clearly still worked out as he was trim and his muscles well-defined. Yes, this had not gone unnoticed by Lyla.
“Thanks, Kevin,” she said with a small smile.
“I’ll see you at the shoot tomorrow?” he asked. Tomorrow, they were taking pictures outside the Capitol building.
“Yep, see you at eight a.m. sharp,” she said as she handed Stewie the last box. She looked around, double-checking they had everything and then she headed out to her car. Before she got there, she saw Kent standing next to a really nice sports car.
“Hey, killer, I’ll drive,” he yelled. She laughed and walked over to him.
“Can you be trusted with that thing?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” he laughed.
“Over my dead body,” came a voice from behind.
Amery unlocked the doors of the car, and Lyla climbed into the small cramped back space that she was pretty sure wasn’t a legal seat by any standard in the world.
“Sorry, I didn’t expect to be driving so many people today,” Amery explained as he started the car and took them to a small restaurant about a mile down the road.
Amery pulled out a chair for her as they sat down at a small, private corner table in an outdoor seating area. Kent ordered them a round of margaritas, which surprised her for some reason.
“I hadn’t pegged you two as margarita drinkers,” she said as she looked over the menu.
“When in Rome,” Kent said as a man set a basket of tortilla chips and a dish of salsa down on the table. Amery thanked him in Spanish.
“You speak Spanish?” Lyla asked.
“Sure, I guess you could say that,” Amery admitted.
“Don’t fucking believe him,” Kent laughed. “He’s fucking fluent, spent a semester abroad in Chile and he’s dated enough super—”
Lyla felt the table shake and Kent groaned.
“Fuck!” Kent yelled in a whisper. “That fucking hurt, you prick.”
“Kent, less talking, more drinking,” Amery grumbled as the waiter set down their margaritas.
“How’s your head doing, Lyla?” he asked her as he held her drink.
“Much better,” she said. And it really did feel better.
“OK, but don’t drink all of this. Actually, here,” he took a few gulps from the glass and set the half-emptied one down in front of her. “You really shouldn’t drink after hitting your head.”
She rolled her eyes. “Amery, this isn’t my first dog and pony show. I’m, well, one could say I’m accident prone. I think I can handle a margarita.”
“Yes, but you do have to drive home,” he stated.
She rolled her eyes and saw Kent grin at her. But Amery didn’t look very pleased.
“So, you guys ready for the gala?” Lyla asked, taking a sip of her drink. Now, she was just annoyed and wanted to prove to Amery that bump on the head or not, she could hold her drink. Shit, she had learned from the best, fucking Nate was a superstar of alcohol.
They ordered tacos and Kent began to tell some good stories. Apparently, Kent and Amery had gone to school together and played college ball together, although Kent was a few years younger than Amery. Somehow Amery had become his mentor and now they spent ridiculous amounts of time together. Amery was practically an honorary member of Kent’s family.
Lyla let Kent tell his stories. She loved when the attention was off her. After her third margarita, she began to feel a little fuzzy.
“You alright over there, slugger?” Kent asked.
“Yeah, I’m good. I should probably not have anymore since I need to drive home later,” she said as she took a sip of the water that was sitting untouched next to her margarita.
Amery
Amery took one look at Lyla and knew he couldn’t let her drive home. Damn it, why was she so stubborn?
“Lyla, why don’t I give you a ride home. I can take you to get your car tomorrow,” Amery offered.
“No, I’ll be fine,” she insisted. They stood to leave, and Lyla swayed. He heard her cuss under her breath and he wanted to smile because he knew she was resigned to getting a ride with him. She was much too smart to drink and drive, especially when she was so far from where he assumed she lived.
“I’ll take that as an acceptance of my offer,” he said while trying not to smirk.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine, but only because of my concussion,” she clarified.
Kent laughed. “Right, the c
oncussion. I didn’t know those came in liquid form,” he said as they walked back toward the car.
Lyla gave him a death stare that only made Kent laugh harder. “My sisters would fucking love you,” he told her as they crossed the street. Those words had no sooner left his lips when Lyla tripped on the curb and went flying out into the street. Kent and Amery both reached for her at once and because she was so small they actually caused her to be lifted completely off the ground, like a little kid swinging from both their parents’ arms.
“Whoa,” she yelled as they set her down on her feet.
“You OK there, killer?” Amery asked as he kept a grip on her upper arm, his large hand easily wrapped completely around it.
“Yeah, fine,” she muttered.
Kent gave Amery a look over the top of Lyla’s head. A look that said, he knew Amery had a thing for this little fireball. Amery rolled his eyes and Kent just laughed.
When they got to the stadium, Kent bid them farewell and headed over to the most ostentatious sports car ever. A Gumpert Apollo, in cherry red, sat just a few feet away from Amery’s much more practical Alfa Romeo.
“What the fuck type of car is that?” Lyla asked, a look of bewilderment on her face.
“That would be called a Gumpert Apollo, or as I like to refer to it, Kent’s early midlife crisis,” he said as he opened his car door for her.
She slid in while continuing to watch Kent peel out of the parking lot at a speed that was more appropriate for an indie racetrack or the autobahn. He walked around to the driver’s side and watched her as he sat down and turned on his car. She really was very beautiful. Her dark hair fell in waves down her back. Her skin was tan but flawless and her lips...well, he could get lost in them. They were as inviting as the beach on a warm summer’s day. Even in his sports car, she seemed small.
“Where are we going?” he asked as he pulled out and got on the interstate in the direction of his home.
“Columbia,” she murmured as her head rolled back against the headrest of the seat.
“You alright, Lyla?” he asked, touching her leg.
“Just really tired,” she said.
Shit, he shouldn’t have let her drink. He felt guilty as he steered them toward home. He turned on music and glanced over to check on her. She was passed out.
He didn’t know what to think about his sudden strong feelings of protection over this woman. She was totally not his type, at all. She wasn’t a tall, lanky, blonde that lived at the gym and ate salad once a day as a meal plan. He had tired of the same old, same old lately, even though his friends were constantly trying to get him to go out. For instance, Ward Snare had bet him he could hit three home runs in a row last week and now he was going to have to go out to a gay bar with him and Kent this weekend. He sighed. He loved hanging out with Ward, but he didn’t want to go out anywhere. Kent had called him a homebody the other day, and honestly, it was kind of the truth.
His family still lived down in Atlanta. He had two younger sisters, Liz and Cara. They were both in their mid-twenties. Liz was in grad school at Emory, studying neuropsychology and Cara was a caterer. She lived with her fiancé just south of the city. His parents had moved to Buckhead a few years ago. His father, Hank Walsh, had played ball for Atlanta when he was a kid, but he had torn his rotator cuff and wasn’t able to come back. He retired from ball and went on to do marketing for the major league team. His mom had been a school teacher and was already retired, although she still tutored students from their home.
He missed them, even though they spoke every day. Fortunately, Kent’s family had adopted him into their crazy clan. Kent had two older sisters, one younger sister, and a surprise baby brother who was still in high school. His parents were locals and his grandparents all still lived nearby as well. Where it had always been expected that Amery would play ball because he was practically born with a baseball and bat, Kent was a prodigy who took his talent for granted. Amery’s injury a few years ago had actually been a blessing in disguise. He could finally end his ball career and do something he loved. He really did love the scouting. He would someday love to be a sports agent. Yeah, he did miss playing, always would, but playing has a short lifespan for most, and he knew that going in, having lived through his dad’s injury.
He contemplated things about his life as he turned off toward Columbia. He gently squeezed Lyla’s leg.
“Lyla?” he asked softly not wanting to startle her. Her eyes flickered open. “Where to?”
He saw her eyes widen and her hand fly to her mouth. Oh, shit. He swerved over to the side of the road and rolled down the window just as she proceeded to vomit partially on herself and partially out the window.
“Shit,” he cursed under his breath.
“Oh God,” she murmured. “I’m so...” She trailed off as she opened the door and vomited some more.
He got out and walked around to her, so he could hold her hair. When she finished, she leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes.
“Lyla?” he asked.
“I just need to rest a minute,” she said.
“Lyla, maybe I should take you to the hospital?” he offered.
“No, I’m good. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have drunk so much, even on a no-concussion day, that was stupid,” she said with her eyes still closed.
“You’re stubborn, you know that?” he said to her as he shut the car door.
He could hear her reply with an “I know” as he got back in and made the executive decision to drive straight home.
Lyla was fast asleep when he pulled into his driveway. She was a mess. He’d have to get her cleaned up, but he wasn’t sure what to do.
“Lyla,” he said.
She muttered something incoherent. He sighed. Well, this wasn’t going as planned. She clearly didn’t drink often or maybe it was her head. He’d have to keep an eye on her.
He walked around and opened the car door. The smell was awful, he would definitely have to get it detailed tomorrow. He unbuckled her and picked her up. She seemed weightless to him. He hit the garage button on his keychain and carried her to his bathroom, where he set her down on a chair he had in the corner of the room.
“Lyla, we need to get you changed so I can wash your shirt,” he said.
“It’s OK,” she muttered, and her eyes flicked open. “Where am I?”
“You passed out back there, so I brought you to my house,” he explained.
“Oh,” she said blankly.
He reached around the corner and grabbed a t-shirt and handed it to her. “Here, take off your shirt and put this on and I’ll wash it for you, OK?”
She nodded and began to strip. He turned his head to give her privacy but couldn’t help catching a flash of her in the mirror as she removed her shirt. Dear God, she was beautiful.
She put on the shirt and handed him her dirty one.
“Come here, you can lie down in the guest room, while I wash your shirt. You want me to call Nate?” he asked her.
She nodded. He helped her up and kept an arm around her as they headed down the hall. He guided her into the guest room and helped her get in bed. She pulled her phone out of her purse that he had set on the bedside table and unlocked it.
“It’s under sassypants,” she said as her eyes drifted shut once again.
With a grin, he scrolled down her contacts and found "sassypants" and pressed call.
“Hey, where are you, Ly?” Nate answered.
“Nate? It’s Amery Walsh,” Amery said.
“Amery? Where’s Lyla?” Nate’s voiced was now laced with concern.
“She’s fine. She hit her head at work today. She was helping with a photo shoot for a gala where Kent and I are being honored for some of our charity work. Anyhow, she went out with us this afternoon, and well she may have tried to prove just how fine she was,” he explained.
“Oh shit, how much did she drink?” Nate asked.
“Three margaritas,” Amery said.
“Fuck. She’s
fine with one, two glasses tops,” Nate said.
“I kind of figured that,” Amery said. “Anyhow, she threw up on our way home and I’ve brought her back to my place. She’s sleeping now. I didn’t know if she needed to call someone. You were the first person to come to mind.”
“Yeah, well, we live together, so I’ll let her grandmother know,” he said.
“Oh, she lives with you, too?” Amery asked, curious.
“Yeah. Is she spending the night? Do you need me to come get her? Scratch that, where are you?” Nate asked in rapid-fire succession.
Amery laughed. “Relax. If she wakes up before eleven, I’ll bring her home. Otherwise, she can just sleep it off in my guest room. I live just west of Columbia.”
“Oh good. We live in Columbia,” Nate said.
“OK. Well, I’ll let you go,” Amery said.
“Amery?” Nate said.
“Yes?”
“If you hurt her in any way, I will find you and I will kill you, slowly,” Nate said in a gruff voice.
“Noted,” Amery responded.
“Cool. G’night then,” Nate said.
“You too, man,” Amery said as he hung up and sank into the oversized chair next to the bed and looked at Lyla who was curled up in a ball fast asleep. After a minute, he shook his head and went to his laundry room.
He washed Lyla’s shirt and set it neatly on the far side of the bed. Then, he watched Lyla for hours, a million thoughts racing through his mind. Finally, he pulled the throw blanket off the back of the chair and stretched his legs out on the ottoman. He’d stay here in case she needed him.
Lyla
The first thing to cross her mind when she came to, was that her head killed. The second thing was that her throat was parched. The third thought slipped completely away from her once her eyes popped open. Where the fuck was she? She sat up too fast and groaned. A glass of water and two pain relievers sat on a nightstand next to her, along with crackers, stomach meds, and tissues. A bucket was next to the bed. Oh God, a bucket. A flood of memories hit her. She had been sick in his car, his really nice, expensive car. She was humiliated. This was ten times worse than any klutzy thing she could do. She knew perfectly well that she wasn’t good at holding her alcohol on a good day, let alone after a head injury.
