Lusting After Layla

by Theresa Paolo

  “I knew you’d need it before then. The temperatures are going to drop tonight. Wouldn’t want your neck to be cold.”

  “And why would you care?” she asked. “You completely blew me off last night, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

  His brain was screaming for him to abort, but he’d already crossed the line. She stirred something inside him he’d never felt before, and he liked it too much to turn back now. For years he’d kept his distance, but somehow in the matter of a night, he’d allowed Layla to break down his walls and get under his skin with that single look. That look infiltrated his thoughts, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it or thinking about her and the possibility of living a normal life. He no longer wanted to watch Layla from a distance. There was no distance between them now, and he wasn’t strong enough to create the barrier that his mind was insisting he create. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

  “You don’t exactly make it easy.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “I get it,” Layla said. “I’m the girl whose dad walked out on a wife and four kids. The girl whose mom died when she was twenty and she had to leave college and come home and be a mom to two teenagers. I’m the woman whose dad started popping up on all the tabloids and news channels trying to profit off of my brother’s relationship to an actress.” She rested her hand on his arm, and he ignored the electric shock that sparked to life inside him. “I get complicated. My life is one big complicated mess, but you’ve always been a friend, and if I said anything yesterday or did anything that changed that, I’m sorry.”

  “It had nothing to do with you,” he said, needing her to understand.

  “Nothing to do with me and all to do with you. That’s how it goes, right?”

  “Something like that.”

  She smiled, her lush bottom lip jutting out past the top. So many times, he imagined kissing them, tasting her, feeling her mouth move against his. It had always been a fantasy, but he was starting to wonder if it had to stay that way.

  It’d been five years since he’d left his past behind, and in that time, it had not once come back into his life. Was he supposed to punish himself forever because of a lifestyle he was born into? If they wanted him dead, he would’ve been dead by now. They would have found a way. They always found a way.

  “Hey!” an old raspy voice said.

  Declan turned to see another woman in a wheelchair. She looked like a jewelry store had thrown up every piece of black and red accessory they had. Her red framed glasses took up her entire face, each individual lens the size of the top of a pint glass.

  “Have you seen Freida?” the woman asked Layla.

  “She went that way.” Layla pointed down the hallway.

  “That snotnose was supposed to wake me up for the movie.”

  “Maybe she was heading that way when she bumped into me,” Declan offered, remembering Freida was headed in the opposite direction before they started chatting.

  “And who the hell are you?” she demanded.

  “Ethel, this is… my friend, Declan.”

  Ethel’s penciled-in eyebrows rose above her big framed glasses. “You have friends?”

  Layla rolled her eyes. “Of course, I have friends.”

  “News to me. Hey sonny, do the girl a favor and get her out of these scrubs.”

  “Ethel!” Layla exclaimed.

  “What? All I’m saying is you need a night out, and he should take you.”

  “I’m sure he can’t,” Layla said, eyes meeting his with a challenge. She was throwing his own words back in his face, and he couldn’t blame her.

  “Nonsense. Take her out and make sure she’s wearing something you can’t buy at Nurse Depot.”

  Layla ran a hand over the front of her scrubs. “I like my scrubs they’re comfortable.”

  “And they look like they are that’s what makes them ugly. Tell her they’re ugly.” Ethel turned to him, and she had to have been off her rocker because he would never insult a woman, especially Layla. He might not have been brought up under the best circumstances, but he still knew when a woman deserved respect.

  “They don’t bother me.”

  Ethel tossed her arms up, bracelets clacking together in unison. “Don’t trust him, he’s a liar.”

  “Don’t you have a movie you need to get to?” Layla asked.

  “Fine get rid of me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need a night out of those pajamas.”

  Layla laughed. “Goodbye Ethel.”

  “It was nice meeting you,” Declan said.

  “I wish I could say the same, but I don’t like liars.” Ethel dragged her feet on the ground, scooting across the hallway to where he assumed the movie was playing.

  Layla nodded toward where Ethel disappeared to. “That was Freida’s partner in crime.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?”

  “I really hate to cut this short, but I have to get back to work.”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you for bringing my scarf to me.” She held it up to her face then pulled it down and smiled.

  He should’ve said you’re welcome and walked away, leaving it at that, but Ethel’s request sat in his mind. “Why don’t you stop by the bar tonight?”

  Her eyes dropped, and she shook her head. “I’m working a double.”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “I don’t want to bother you in case, you know, you can’t.”

  He wondered how long she would use that against him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She met his gaze, her eyebrows narrowed and confusion shining in her eyes. “I still don’t understand why you did.”

  “Like you said, it’s complicated.”

  “Maybe, but why don’t you try to uncomplicate it for me? Before I read into things and complicate it even farther. I like you, Declan.” His heart slammed against his chest at her admission. “But I respect myself too much to let someone make me as crazy as you did last night. I don’t want to be the girl who tries to read in between the lines, always wondering what you’re thinking because you won’t tell me. Questioning everything I think and feel and afraid that you’re going to blow me off because it’s too complicated for you. I spent years watching my mom walk on egg shells, and I refuse to do it.”

  If she only knew his hesitation had to do with her safety. “I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, but—”

  “You can’t.”

  “I can’t.”

  She pressed her lips together, and tension and disappointment curved those lips down. She blinked up, meeting his gaze with an icy glare. “Thank you for my scarf. I think we’re done here.”

  She pivoted, and he couldn’t just let her walk away. “Layla?” he called to her.

  Her body tensed as she turned to him. Sadness reflected in the glass of her eyes and it gutted him.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too,” she said. He was losing her, the tiny sliver of hope he’d held onto that one day he could put his past to rest and finally take things to the next level with Layla was quickly slipping away. If he didn’t do something, he’d lose her forever and he refused to let that happen. He was taking a stand and stepping over the lines he had drawn. He only hoped he didn’t live to regret it.

  “Please just come by tomorrow.”

  “Why, Declan?”

  He closed the distance between them, resting a finger beneath her chin and urging her to look at him again. “Because complicated or not, I like you, too.” The slightest of smiles tugged at the edge of her mouth, and relief ran through his veins. “And that scares the ever-living shit out of me.”

  “You? Mr. Big Burly Biker Man scared by little ol’ me?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “I promise I don’t bite,” she said, causing him to laugh.

  “I’m not sure I would mind that too much.”

  She patted his chest. “Why don’t we start with a date
first? Then we can discuss biting.”

  “Does that mean you’ll come by the bar tomorrow? You can come dressed in anything you want, a potato sack if that’s what you like, but if Ethel asks tell her you wore something nice.”

  “It’s killing you that she called you a liar,” Layla joked.

  “Maybe.”

  Layla laughed. “I’ll be there, and I’ll leave my scrubs at home for Ethel’s sake.”

  “I can’t wait.” Declan headed to the elevator, already excited to see Layla again, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she might wear.

  Chapter 5

  There wasn’t much Declan needed in life. His bar, a good beer at the end of the night, and his bikes. He had his baby that he rode everywhere, but then there were the old vintage bikes he found rusting in fields and paid next to nothing for. He spent his time away from the bar restoring them in his garage. It was a hobby, but it was his way to relax.

  He’d picked up a 1958 Ducati 125 TV he’d found abandoned in a field a few towns over. He located the owner of the property and scored the bike for next to nothing. The old man was just happy to let him haul it off. Parts unfortunately were hard to come by, but luckily, Charlie down at Charlie’s Garage had great contacts. By the time he was done restoring the sad rusted hunk of metal, it would be purring like a kitten and ready to ride. Granted he could probably buy a new bike for the amount of money he’d dumped into this one, but there was no fun in that. At least when this bike was done, and he rode it through town, he’d know that he’d built it back up from nothing just like he’d done with his life and Calhoun’s. Building shit up from nothing to something was pretty much his MO.

  He gripped the new exhaust and held it up to where it would eventually go. He smiled, thinking about the finished product, but it would be some time before he got there. He was hoping by spring the bike would be ready to ride. He imagined cruising the backroads with Layla on the back, her long brown hair tossing in the wind, her arms tight around his waist, and her head pressed against his shoulder.

  With the reality of their feelings out there in the open there was no use fighting it anymore. She’d be coming by the bar tonight, and it could be the start of something great. He had been so scared of all the bad that could happen he hadn’t taken a second to think about all the good.

  Besides, he kept tabs on those he wronged, and not one of them had been sprung from jail. He had been living in fear for so long, and maybe it was time he stopped. Fear showed weakness, and after everything he had been through, he sure as hell wasn’t weak.

  “What do we got here?” Declan looked over his shoulder to see Bert—or as the town called him, Old Man Simpson—coming up his driveway, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

  Declan had lived next door to the old man since Declan arrived in Red Maple Falls. For the most part, Declan had kept to himself and let the old man live his life as he wanted to. He didn’t want to poke his nose where it didn’t belong, but a few nights he’d find Bert sleeping in the bushes after a binger, and he’d pick him up and help him back inside.

  It had been a while since any of those episodes; Bert had quit drinking and started selling the moonshine he’d been making. He’d asked Declan to stock a few jars at Calhoun’s which he had. Declan had expected the jars to collect dust, but to his surprise, people actually wanted to drink it. He began coming up with cocktails to mix the alcohol with and was going through at least two jars a week.

  “My new winter project,” he said. “1958 Ducati 125 TV.”

  “That was a good year. The year they built the movie theater. The first film they showed was Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.”

  With the way the old man used to drink, Declan was surprised he remembered anything. Yet, he surprised Declan time and again with stories of the past and his knowledge and history of the town. He was a walking encyclopedia, and Declan enjoyed when he stopped by.

  “It was also the year my daughter was born.”

  Declan’s eyes widened as he glanced at Bert. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

  “Haven’t seen her in years. She left this town and never looked back. Can’t say I blame her.”

  “When’s the last time you saw her?”

  His lips pressed together beneath his yellow tinged beard. “A long time ago.”

  This was all news to Declan, probably because he made it a point not to probe. If people wanted to give him information, which as a bartender happened more so than not, then he was more than happy to listen, but he wasn’t the type to try and get people to tell him their life stories. As far as he was concerned, the less he knew the better.

  He also knew when someone didn’t want to talk about something any longer, so he changed the subject. “I’m going to need a new jar of moonshine soon. I’m just about out.”

  “I have a couple new flavors I’m working on. Coffee and chocolate cherry. I’m bottling it now, but I can get you a couple if you want.”

  Coffee made him think of Layla. The two of them could taste test it tonight, and he could try out some new drink recipes and see what she thought. He valued her opinion, and she would be the first to tell him if something tasted like shit.

  Declan wiped his hands on a rag and tossed it onto the work bench in the garage. “I’ll walk over with you and grab them,” he said. “And if you have a bottle of the apple pie, I’ll take that, too.”

  “You bet your ass I do.”

  Declan laughed as he followed the old man across the lawn. The yard had been cleaned up, thanks to Caleb James, the owner of the Chain and Spoke, who’d befriended Bert. He’d also helped the old man sober up and get his business off the ground.

  Bert opened his garage, and Declan followed him to where Bert had an entire set up for his moonshine. The copper equipment had come a long way from the garbage pail and cinderblocks set up he used to have on the side of the house. Shelves lined the sides of the space stacked to the gills with filled and sealed mason jars. Labels hung from the shelves marking the flavors. Bert grabbed a jar of apple pie and handed it off to Declan.

  “I just got a bar in North Conway to start carrying it,” Bert said, a huge smile forming beneath his beard. “I told them they’d be calling in a week to order more, and sure enough, they called yesterday requesting three jars.”

  “It’s good stuff,” Declan said.

  “Wait until you try this.” He handed Declan the coffee. “You like those dark beers so I think you’ll love this.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. I’ll try out some new recipes and let you know when they’re on the menu. You can tell people to come down and try them out.”

  Declan would offer for Bert to come down, but Declan didn’t want to influence him more than he could handle. Declan would leave that up to Bert.

  “Sounds great! I might hire you to make a drink list for me if I ever get a tasting room up and going.”

  A tasting room was a viable business and would only help the community, producing jobs and bringing in people who would spend money at other businesses in town. It was a win-win, but Bert made a name for himself, and the town drunk opening up a moonshine tasting room had raised red flags.

  Caleb and Mason had taken on an active approach with Bert, doing what they could for him to get the permits and find a person who would sell him the property he needed to make Bert’s dreams a reality.

  “It’ll happen,” Declan said. “Just have to have a little faith. And I’ll tell you what. I’ll write a drink list for you as a grand opening gift.”

  “That would be mighty kind of you.”

  “Neighbors helping neighbors,” he said. “If you need my help in any way, just let me know.”

  Declan figured the old man deserved it. He made it this far in life and was still standing. If Declan could help in some way, then he wasn’t going to let his own personal reasons keep him from doing so.

  “I appreciate that. Mason said if I could get all the permits together, he’d build the tasting room on part of
his property since he has such a huge space and an area that’s not being used. We talked about throwing a fundraiser, so if we ever get there, I’ll be asking for a favor.”

  “Just let me know,” Declan said.

  “Will do! And let me know what you think of those.” Bert pointed to the mason jars Declan had stacked in his hands.

  “Absolutely. I’ll catch you later, Bert.”

  Declan walked back to his place and put the moonshine in the black leather saddlebags on his bike. He looked at the time and started to clean up the garage. While he’d love to spend the rest of the day tinkering with his new project, he had a bar to open and a girl to see.

  ***

  Declan mopped the floor where his new waitress, Rina had dumped an entire pitcher of beer. In her defense, a guy pushed his chair out in front of her, but still, this was not the first time Rina spilled something. She was a terrible waitress, but Declan was desperate. It was hard to get good help, and she showed up every day on time and seemed like a genuinely nice person. In his book that was as close as he was going to get.

  Ever since Brooke left, he’d been struggling to find someone to replace her. Brooke was the best waitress he’d had in the five years he was in business despite her feisty personality. Seeing her go was hard, even though he was proud of her for following her dreams. The kid deserved it after the shitty cards life had handed her and her family.

  “Declan, I’m so sorry.” Rina ran both hands over her pulled back black hair. “I really didn’t see him.” Her dark brown eyes framed by even darker lashes widened and squinted like she was trying not to let tears fall.

  “It’s fine. It was an accident.”

  The bell from the kitchen rang. “Order up,” Ashton, his chef, called out. The crowd was starting to pick up, and Rina needed to get her head back in the game or she’d never be able to get on top of things. “I got this. Go get your orders and just be a little more careful.”

  “I can do that. Thank you.”

  Rina hurried to the kitchen, and Declan focused his attention back on drying the floor out. All he needed was for a customer to slip and hurt themselves.