Lusting After Layla

by Theresa Paolo

  Ethel’s big framed glasses took up half her face and were black today, complimenting the sea of turquoise she donned from her velvet blazer to her matching pants and the feathered boa that she had gracefully wrapped around her shoulders. Layers of necklaces hung from her neck, and if Layla didn’t know Ethel, she’d assumed she loved turquoise and was wearing every piece of costume jewelry she owned, but that was just a small portion of her over-the-top jewelry supply. Ethel had every color of the rainbow in her ten jewelry boxes that lined the wall and more in her dresser and closet.

  While Freida had chosen to express herself through tattoos and piercings, Ethel did so through fashion. Layla would never be able to pull off half the outfits Ethel wore, not many people could, but somehow Ethel looked like the most fashionable woman in the world.

  Ethel jangled as she lifted her hand and the stack of bracelets clacked together. “What is taking you so long?” she asked. “Bingo is going to start in ten minutes, and Doris is already stockpiling cards like Hugh Hefner stockpiled bunnies.”

  “I was busy watching Little Miss Goody Two Shoes over here steal my chocolate.” Freida shot Layla a nasty glare, and Layla laughed it off.

  “You might not be grateful, but I know your body is,” Layla said. “You should listen to it more often.”

  “If I listened to my body, I’d be a whore in the red-light district.”

  Layla’s head practically snapped off her neck. No matter how many conversations she’d had with Freida, she still managed to say things that completely left Layla speechless.

  “Just as well. They wouldn’t want you,” Ethel said as she snickered to herself.

  “And why the hell not?” Freida asked.

  “Maybe if they dreamed about having sex with a coloring book.”

  “Okay!” Layla exclaimed before the conversation steered in a direction she couldn’t regain control of. “You two need to get to bingo.”

  Layla moved to the bed and helped Freida into her wheel chair even though Freida rolled her eyes and acted like Layla was more of a nuisance than a help. Once she was situated, Layla plucked the candy bar Freida had hidden in her pocket.

  “Hey!” Freida exclaimed, giving a very unladylike gesture. “I hate you.”

  “Aww, I love you, too.” Layla put a hand over her heart and winked.

  “If you think that’s love than you need to get out more,” Freida said.

  “And when would you like her to do that?” Ethel asked. “All the girl does is work. Her idea of a social life is spending time with us old geezers.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Freida spat.

  “Oh please, you’re older than me, and neither of us are spring chickens.”

  “By eleven months, for crying out loud! If your parents got busy a little sooner, this would be a moot point.”

  “But they didn’t, so it’s not.”

  Freida rolled her eyes.

  “All I’m saying is our girl needs to go out. Preferably with people her own age.”

  “I go out,” Layla said, her tone a little too defensive.

  “Sweetie, when’s the last time you actually went out?” Ethel asked.

  “I’d have you know, I went out last night.” It wasn’t exactly a night she wanted to remember, but she didn’t go straight home to do laundry or dishes, and that had to count for something.

  “And?” Freida said. “Did you get some?”

  If got some meant blown off than yes, but that’s not what Freida meant at all. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  Freida sighed. “Because you didn’t.”

  There was a light tap on the door, and Arthur Petrakis stuck his balding head in. The dark gray and white hair that was left was slicked back. Age spots lined his forehead and a few adorned his cheeks. He had a smile that was suspiciously charming. “Ladies,” he said with the slightest Greek accent.

  “What do you want?” Freida spat.

  Arthur grabbed his chest but, used to his antics, Layla stayed where she was and watched the dramatics unfold.

  “Baby, you better call Life Alert because I’ve fallen for you and can’t get up.” He bent back, one hand on his chest the other up in the air. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to hurt himself. Layla was about to say as such when he straightened.

  Freida didn’t even crack a smile. “You look like you’re standing just fine to me.”

  Arthur tossed his hands in the air. “Of course I am. It’s a pick-up line I saw on the Tweeter.”

  “The what?” Ethel said, squinting as if she heard through her eyes instead of her ears.

  Arthur waved his hand. “You know, the Tweeter.”

  “I think he means Twitter,” Layla said.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Tweeter, Twitter… Who the hell cares?” Frieda asked. “What the hell are you doing poking your nose into my room?”

  “When you ask so nicely—” Arthur started, but stopped when Frieda lifted an unamused eyebrow. “I’m seeing if you’re coming to bingo. Doris is in there, hiding cards in her bag.”

  “It’s either that or stare out this window at my lovely view of the parking lot,” Freida said with repulse.

  “Doris, that piece of work better not cheat again.” Ethel forged toward the door in her wheelchair like a woman on a mission.

  “And what are you going to do about it?” Freida called after her as she propelled her chair after Ethel.

  “I’m going to swap her cranberry juice for prune juice.”

  “Ethel, you better not,” Layla said, following after them.

  “Then she better not be cheating.”

  “If she is, let Allie handle it, and don’t you go all mean girl on her,” Layla said.

  “Allie lets her get away with everything.”

  “She’s too nice,” Freida added. “That’s her problem. She needs a little more gumption like this one.” Freida threw her thumb in Layla’s direction.

  “Why thank you,” Layla said. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.”

  “Take it as you like; I don’t give a damn,” Freida said.

  They came to a stop outside the doors of the rec room, and Layla wished them luck. “And be nice,” she added.

  “We’ll be nice if you promise to go out tonight,” Ethel said.

  “I’m not going out tonight. I just went out last night.” And after how well that went, she doubted she’d be making any more efforts to spend time at Calhoun’s. She’d run in after her shift, grab her scarf, and head home.

  “If you need a date”—Arthur hooked his fingers into the belt loops of his khakis and pulled them up in confidence—“I’m your man.”

  “While I appreciate the offer,” Layla said, “I need you here to keep an eye on these two and to make sure they stay out of trouble.”

  “If you’re trusting us with him, I take back everything I said.” Freida gave a quick glance at Arthur who flashed her that charming yet suspicious smile then back to Layla. “Everything,” she reiterated.

  Layla only laughed then motioned for the girls and Arthur to go in and take their seats. Layla gave a wave to Allie who was pulling cards out of Doris’ bag.

  “Told you she was a cheater,” Ethel’s voice floated across the room, causing Layla to laugh.

  With a final wave, she left them and continued to make the rest of her rounds.

  Chapter 4

  Declan rode down Main Street on his bike, relishing in the late morning sun. There were only so many days left for him to ride before he had to put his baby into the garage for the winter. He had only planned on going for a cruise around town but found himself stopping at Calhoun’s and grabbing Layla’s scarf.

  For no other reason than that he was an idiot, he headed across town to the nursing home. Why he didn’t wait for her to come back in the bar was beyond him. He knew she’d be back for it. She’d been wearing the same scarf for all the years he’d known her. The minute the temperature dropped below
fifty-five she’d be wrapped in the purple and blue knit.

  The days were still warm, holding onto the summer heat as long as they possibly could, but the early mornings and nights were chilly. She would need it for when she left work. He shouldn’t care, but the damn guilt for how he treated her last night was eating a hole in his stomach.

  He’d spent all night kicking himself for how he acted, but the way she looked at him, blush filling her cheeks. It wasn’t her usual look of respect between friends; it was more a look of admiration, perhaps laced with a touch of attraction that scared the shit out of him. He was the last person on earth she should be looking at that way. She had no clue what she would be opening herself up to if they were to become involved.

  He respected her too much, admired her strength and resilience to overcome all the hardships in her life. She had enough of her own baggage; she didn’t need to be burdened with his, too. Yet here he was, pulling his bike to a stop in the nursing home parking lot.

  He retrieved the scarf from his saddle bag and headed inside. As he approached the receptionist, the man glanced up from the computer and gave Declan a friendly smile. “Well hello, how can I help you today?”

  “I’m actually looking for someone. Layla Marshall.” He eyed the man’s nametag then brought his attention back to Troy’s face.

  “And you are?” he asked, eyebrow arching.

  “Declan. I’m a friend.”

  The man scanned him over, eyes lingering on the scar on his face, probably wondering how he got it like every other person he’d ever met. Some were nosey enough to ask while others tried their best not to stare. Layla had always spoken to him as if the scar didn’t exist.

  “I’m sorry,” Troy said. “I didn’t think Layla had any friends.”

  Was this guy for real? “She has a few,” he said. “I just need to give her this.”

  “Oh, I can hold it here and give it to her when I see her.”

  The guy wore on his patience, and he was two seconds away from grabbing him by the shirt collar. “I appreciate that, Troy, but I prefer to give it to her myself.”

  “I’ll have to call around to see if I can get her to come down.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me where you think I can find her, and I’ll go to her myself?”

  “That’s not really how it works here. We have a system to keep track of the people coming and going in case of any problems.”

  Declan glared at him, aware that he was trying to insinuate something. “Are you trying to say I’m going to be a problem?”

  “No. Guilty conscious maybe?”

  Declan’s fists clenched, his jaw tensed, and he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He reminded himself this was Layla’s place of business and there was no reason to cause trouble. He was used to people judging him based on his appearance. Mason’s girlfriend, Cassie had been scared the first time he’d met her. He knew he gave off a vibe, and some people were intimidated by the scar and biker boots.

  If they only knew their fears were warranted. Not that he would ever hurt anyone, but if he had to, he knew how.

  He noticed a visitor’s book on the desk, and he picked up a pen and signed his name. “There. Now you know who I am.” He pulled out his license and slapped it on the desk to show Troy the names matched up. Troy glanced at it, and Declan reached over the desk. Troy threw his chair back and he rolled right into the wall. Declan stifled a laugh as he took a visitor sticker and placed it on his chest before swiping his license back. “I’m all set. Now tell me where I can find her.”

  Troy cleared his throat and adjusted the cuffs on his sleeves. He didn’t roll back to where he was, choosing to stay with the chair pressed against the wall. Declan was about to give up hope on getting any information out of the guy when he finally spoke. “She’s usually on the second floor. You can take the elevator right around the corner to your left, and it’ll bring you right up there.”

  “Was that so hard? That’s all I wanted.”

  Declan got in the elevator with the scarf and headed up to the second floor. The doors opened, and as soon as he stepped out, he was sideswiped by a woman in a wheel chair.

  “Watch it,” the old woman growled.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, holding his hands up and wondering if this was his shitty luck or the universe telling him to get the hell out of there.

  The old broad looked at him, and his eyes widened at the ink on her neck and arms. He blinked, trying to make sure he was seeing her clearly.

  “Well, hello there,” she said, her tone changing as she batted her eyes at him. A dark line of blue eyeshadow was swiped across her lids. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Name’s Freida.”

  “Declan,” he said. “I like your ink.” He pointed to her neck.

  “Thanks. A man who looks like you I’m sure has his own collection.”

  “Just a little.” He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the tattoos covering both arms. Some he had covered up. If he hadn’t, one day they would be cut from his body.

  Freida grabbed his arm, yanking him down to her level. Her eyes glided over each tattoo as if she was critiquing the craftmanship. “Not bad, and I don’t see any female names, so that proves you’re not stupid. Though this black box makes me wonder.” She pointed to one of the tattoos he had inked over. If he’d had the money, he would have had it permanently removed from his body.

  “I wouldn’t brand myself with someone’s name unless I knew it was a forever type of thing,” he said.

  “Even then, don’t. Take it from someone who learned the hard way. I thought my first husband was forever until I caught him screwing around with the neighbor.” She held up her arm revealing a devil’s head in the middle of a swirl of color. “His name was here.” She moved to her other arm and pointed at a skull. “Second husband was here. He loved the bottle more than me so I left his sorry ass.”

  “How many times were you married?”

  “Three. The third one stuck until he croaked eleven years ago. I learned my lesson by then and didn’t put his name on my skin, but by that point I didn’t have much room left anyway.” She latched onto his wrist and yanked him close. “Let me see your other arm.” For a woman in a wheelchair she sure seemed to have her strength.

  “What is God’s name is going on here, Freida?” an older gentleman with slicked white and gray hair demanded. His eyes locked on Freida’s hand.

  “I’m having a conversation, Arthur. Do you mind?” she said, acting as if he were a fly at her picnic.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He put his foot down and pulled his pants up, attempting to puff out his chest, but the only thing that puffed out was his gut.

  He’d been in plenty of crossfire in his life, but never between two people looking at death on the horizon. Declan tried to step away from the argument, but Freida’s hold on his arm tightened.

  “I’m not done with you, hot stuff.”

  The old man turned his lip up in disgust. The old man had balls, he’d give him that. He was probably a real hardass back in his day. He seemed like the take-no-shit-from-anyone type of guy, and that was someone Declan could respect. The old man tossed his thumb in Declan’s direction.

  “What does he have that I don’t?”

  “Youth and about a good eight inches.”

  “If you want eight inches, I can give you eight inches.” Arthur’s eyebrows waggled, and Freida’s eyes turned to molten lava. Declan stood, glancing from one to the other, trying to keep the smirk off his face. They were quite the pair, and he did not want to come between these two or say anything to egg them on, even though he found them to be amusing as all hell.

  “Arthur, inappropriate.” Layla came up behind them, hair tossed haphazardly in a messy bun. Strands of warm brown fell free from the front, framing her face and those sexy as hell eyes.

  Arthur swatted his hands, his lips pressing into a straight line. “Oh phooey. You’re all a bunch of fuddy duddies.” He eyed Declan before he tu
rned his attention back to Freida. “If you want to play with a child then I can’t stop you, but if you want a real man, you know where to find me. No offense, kid,” Arthur said, giving him a wink as he strutted away.

  “Men!” Freida said. “Can’t live with them, can’t keep the world population going without them.” She wheeled herself between Declan and Layla, stopping in front of Declan. “If you ever want to know what a mature woman could do for you come by room two-twelve and find out.”

  “Freida!” Layla exclaimed.

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Layla. “I always knew you’d have good taste in men.” Layla let out a sigh and Declan smiled. Freida blew a kiss to Declan and followed the path Arthur went, rolling down the hallway like a woman on a mission.

  “Damn it. Hang on.” Layla chased after Freida, jumping in front of the wheelchair. She hitched one hand on her hip and the other in front of the older woman.

  “Oh, come on!” Freida’s voice echoed down the hallway.

  Layla didn’t budge, hand held in place, blue eyes determined.

  Freida slapped something in Layla’s hand, and Layla stepped out of her way. “You may go now.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Freida grumbled.

  Layla walked back, holding up a Snickers bar.

  “Stealing candy from the elderly? That’s pretty low.”

  “She’s diabetic and this candy bar could do more damage than good. Anyway, I’m sorry about them,” Layla said. “They can be… Well, they can be extremely inappropriate.”

  “They’re hysterical.”

  “They are.” She tucked a strand of lose hair behind her ear. She pinned him with a stare that felt like a punch. “What are you doing here?”

  “You forgot this at the bar.” He held out the scarf, and she let out a relieved sigh, taking it into her arms and hugging it tight against her chest. She rested her cheek against the soft knit.

  “Thank you. You didn’t have to come here. I was going to stop by tonight to get it.”