Layla

“I don’t know. I had over twenty in-box messages from her when I turned on my phone this morning. I only read two of them before I told her to get a life. Then I blocked her.” Layla walks her fingers up my leg, leaning in. She grins like she finds this amusing. “Did you sleep with her?”

Since I’ve known Layla, I’ve never once lied to her. I’ve never felt the need to. She’s the least judgmental person I’ve ever met. “We dated for a couple of months. Figured out real quick that relationship was a mistake.”

Layla grins, like she finds that amusing. “Well. She doesn’t think it was a mistake. She thinks I’m the mistake.”

Sable was the mistake, but I don’t want to say anything about Sable that might worry Layla. But the girl is definitely someone worth worrying about. It took me several weeks to figure it out, though, probably because I was only paying attention to how much my dick liked her and wasn’t aware that the way she felt about me was on a completely different level.

I initially thought our meeting was organic, but I found out from Garrett that Sable ran a fan club for me that she’d started a year before we even met. I confronted her about it, and things got weird after that. I tried to break it off, but she didn’t take that very well. At first, it was just incessant phone calls. Messages. Voice mails. But then she started showing up to shows, demanding I give her another chance.

Garrett and the guys started calling her Unstable Sable.

We finally had to have security escort her out of a show one night—a couple of days before I blocked her on my cell and social media. I also blocked the account she used to run her Leeds Gabriel fan club.

The whole thing was bizarre. She was bizarre.

And it really unnerves me that she’s still out there, watching my page, reaching out to people I post pictures with.

“It’s people like Sable that make me question whether or not I want to be in the public eye at all. Why am I even trying when I hate everything it entails?”

Layla crawls on top of me. “Sadly, you can’t really sell music without an online presence. Crazies and success are a package deal.” She kisses the tip of my nose. “If you ever do become a household name, you’ll have enough money to hire someone to delete the trolls for you. Then you won’t have to deal with them.”

“Good point,” I say, even though I have enough money now to hire someone to deal with my social media. My finances haven’t come up in conversation between me and Layla yet, though. She assumes I’m a starving artist yet somehow still loves me as if I could give her the world. There’s no better feeling than being loved for who you are rather than for what you’re worth.

Layla smiles. “I’m full of good points. That’s why you’re in love with me.”

“So in love with you.” I kiss her, but this kiss is coupled with concern.

In the beginning, I liked Layla. I was attracted to her. But concern for her didn’t accompany those feelings. However, over the last few weeks, I’ve started to worry about her.

Concern might be the only difference between liking someone and loving someone.

I debate telling her to be extra careful while I’m gone because now I’m even more apprehensive. I’d like it if she’d never answer my door when I’m not here. I’d really like it if she’d delete all her social media accounts. But she’s a grown-ass woman, so I don’t say any of that.

I don’t know why I have this pit in my stomach because essentially, I’m a nobody right now. One unofficial fan club and five thousand followers does not make me a somebody. A few comments from some fans online isn’t really something that warrants an overprotective boyfriend. Even still, I’m having a security system installed while I’m gone. It’ll put my mind at ease.

“I have to meet Garrett in two hours. And I still have to shower and finish packing.”

Layla kisses me and then rolls off the bed. “I’ll put a frozen lasagna in the oven so you can eat before you leave. Want some garlic bread with it?”

“Sounds perfect.”

She closes the bedroom door, and I begrudgingly head to the bathroom.

Maybe we should get a dog. A protective one, like a German shepherd. It’d make me feel better when I have to leave Layla here by herself.

I turn on the water in the shower and take off my shirt, but before I unbutton my jeans, there’s a knock at the door. I told Garrett I’d meet him at his house. Maybe he got impatient.

“I’ll get it!” I yell out from the bathroom. I really don’t want Layla answering the door after I read some of those comments. Not to mention, Sable knows where I live. She’s slept in my bed.