Falling for You

Hattie pulls a handful of toilet paper from the dispenser beside her. She hands it to me so I can blow my nose. “She’s nothing but a snake. Trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about.”

“Layla?” Josh’s voice echoes in the bathroom. I freeze and stare at Hattie wide eyed. This is the girl’s bathroom, a sacred place, and he’s invaded it. I’m not ready.

“We're in here,” Hattie calls out. She pulls me to my feet and rubs her thumbs under my eyes. I probably look like I’ve gotten into a fight with a raccoon, but there’s not much that can be done. “I’ll stand guard,” she says, opening the stall door for him.

Josh hovers in the entryway of the stall with his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

I lean against the sink and cross my arms. I want to be mad or even feel the hurt I was drowning in only moments ago, but Josh looks like he’s been run over by a truck. I fight the urge to pull him into a hug, because all I want to do is make him feel better. It’s the mother hen complex in me. Stray dogs, lost cats, lizards without tails; I have a soft spot for them all. “Tell me about the girl.”

“She’s pregnant.” Josh runs his fingers through his hair.

I suck in a breath and it catches. I can’t let it go. Can’t feel anything over my heart beating against my chest. “She’s what?”

“It’s not mine!” Josh insists, closing the space between us and reaching for me. I let him take my hands because he looks like he might break if I don’t. “We slept together twice and I used a condom both times. Plus, she was on the pill.”

I pull my hands back and wrap them around myself. I feel dirty, even though I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m no fool, I know Josh has been with other people, but that doesn’t mean I want to hear about it. I must make a face because Josh runs his hands through his hair, then turns and kicks the trashcan bolted to the wall.

“Fuck!”

He backs against the stall and slides down it to the floor. This must be what Hattie was talking about, the things he’s got going on. I chew my bottom lip and watch Josh drop his head onto his arms. I can’t imagine what he must be going through, having someone claim a baby is yours. A baby that you’re ninety-nine percent sure isn’t, but then there’s that one percent haunting you. I sit down beside him and lean my shoulder against his.

“I wanted to make a good impression tonight.” Josh lifts his head and drops it against the wall behind him.

“You were batting a thousand at dinner.”

“And now?” Josh’s sad eyes look at me.

I don’t know. The whole maybe-baby situation complicates everything. Logically, I know I should jump ship and get as far away from Josh and his drama as possible, but my heart and my head are out of sync. A part of me wants to see where this goes, and I’m having a hard time ignoring it.

The bathroom door swings open, and Hattie hollers, “I hate to interrupt, but we are getting a line out here.”

Josh sighs and pulls himself onto his feet. He holds out a hand for me and says, “Let’s go home.”

It’s been a long night, and sleep seems unreachable. I’m antsy. My mind keeps straying, assaulting me with the same question, over and over: How could I have let tonight go so wrong?

Layla lays on the couch, her head in my lap. Things between us haven’t been the same since Cowboy’s. Tension lingers in the air, and I don’t know how to ease it.

I run my fingers through Layla’s hair while she picks a movie on Netflix. The strands are soft and smell like summer and strawberries. She moans and her head nuzzles against my crotch. Every cell in my body wants to react to the closeness. Restraining human nature, keeping myself from becoming even the slightest bit hard, is practically impossible. But I’m trying.

“So,” Layla says, turning in my lap to look at me. “I found my favorite movie, but you’re probably going to hate it.”

Mamma Mia waits on the screen. I recognize it as one Hattie made me watch a few months ago and stifle a groan. I hate musicals, but I’d give anything to see Layla smile again. So I nod.

The corners of her lips lift, and she turns back on her side. Her hand shifts under her head, unintentionally rubbing me over my jeans. I bite my lip and exhale a heavy breath. I can do this.

About twenty minutes into the movie Layla’s breathing slows and her eyes close. I watch her sleep until the credits roll, trying to figure out how I can fix things between us. I like this girl, more than I should, and I don’t want to fuck this up anymore than I have. “Layla?”

“Mmm?” she mumbles, eyes still closed.

“Are you sleeping?” I wait for her response. When she doesn’t answer, I add, “Just so you know, I have the world’s largest dick.”

“Mmm,” she mumbles again.

I smirk, feeling safe to say what’s on my mind. “I won’t tell you when you’re awake, not yet, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel things like you do. I get these stupid flutters, and sometimes it’s like I can’t breathe when you're around. I don’t know what you’ve done to me.”

When Netflix returns to the menu screen, I have to accept the inevitable—it’s time to put her in bed. Layla’s head falls upon my shoulder as I carry her down the hall to my room. She’s light, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying. Given the bad luck streak I’m on tonight, I’m liable to trip over my own feet and drop her. I don’t, thank fuck, and use the hand under her legs to pull the comforter back, then lay her down.

Strands of hair splay across Layla’s face when her head finds the pillow. I tuck them behind her ear, my fingers trailing across the soft skin of her cheek. She’s beautiful. It kills me that I haven’t made her mine yet.