Page 110 of Layla

He releases my hip, slipping a hand into the pocket of his jeans. John rarely wears suits anymore. Sometimes I miss the way his chest looked in those white dress shirts, but I’ve decided seeing him barefoot and in jeans on a daily basis is even better. Barefoot John is hot. I’m so busy admiring those jeans, and the way they rest low on his hips, that I don’t notice for a second that he’s pulled a box from his pocket.

A small, black box.

I gasp, spinning in his arms to face him. “Shut. Up.”

He laughs. “I haven’t said anything yet!”

“Are you going to?” I yelp. “Rightnow?”

His eyes are dancing. “What’s wrong with right now?”

I flap my hands around my head. “I look like an idiot!”

His expression turns serious. “You look gorgeous. Just like you always do.”

I can’t seem to keep my eyes off the box. “When did you…I mean…holy shit!”

He takes my hand in his free one. “We don’t have to do this right now. I’ve just been carrying this thing around the whole time we’ve been here, waiting for the right moment.”

I raise my eyebrows. “And you thought this,” I wave again at the gunk in my hair, “is that moment. Not, say, last night when we watched the sunset on the beach.”

The corners of his lips twitch up. “Pretty sure you gave me—and everyone in a hundred-yard radius—an epic rant about the patriarchy while I was trying to watch that sunset. Didn’t exactly feel like a marriage-y kind of moment.”

I shrug. “We had just seen that loser in the Dockers tell his girlfriend her dress was too revealing. What in the hell was I supposed to rant about?”

He chuckles, squeezing my hand. Then my heart stops beating entirely when he drops to a knee.

“You’re on the bathroom floor,” I whisper.

“And you’re perfect,” he replies, flipping open the box to reveal the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen in my life. Well, I think it’s probably beautiful. To be honest, it’s kind of hard to focus on the sparkling, precious gemstone when John is right there, smiling up at me.

“Yes.”

He blinks a few times. “Yes?”

I nod, pulling on his hands, trying to get him to stand. “Yes, yes, yes.”

His lips twitch and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “I haven’t even asked you yet.”

“Then hurry the hell up, man!”

He does laugh then, the sound a deep warm rumble that’s become very familiar to me over the last twelve months. John and I laugha lot. Not all the time—it’s not like our life is perfect. His PTSD symptoms have gotten much better with therapy and time, but it’s not always easy. He really struggled a few months ago when his dad fell off the wagon and refused to go back to rehab for a second time. Cliff’s trial was another difficult time for us, all of that fear and stress resurfacing.

But we got through those rough patches, just like I know we’ll get through all the ones in the future. I’ve discovered that everything in life—the good, the bad, the stressful—is easier when John is with me.

And if he would just ask me the damn question, we could get started on making sure he always will be.

“Layla Marie Perry,” he says, his mouth still twitching with laughter. “I fucking love you. I always will. You make my life so much more fun, and happy, andgood. I want to spend the rest of it with you.” He pauses, just to drive me crazy, his grin growing. “Marry me, baby.”

I drop down onto my knees so I can wrap my arms around his neck. “Yes,” I say, kissing his neck, his cheeks, his shoulder. “In case that wasn’t clear the first four times I said it. Yes.”

He holds me close, burying his face in my neck. “Thank God,” I hear him whisper. “Thank God I found you.”

We kneel on the cold tile for a long time, just holding each other, his words echoing in my head. Finding him was one of the best things that ever happened to me. And I’m not going to let him go—I’m way too smart for that.

Finally, John pulls back, his grin huge. And I burst into laughter. Because the entire side of his head is covered in my hair gunk. “That is going to look amazing on you,” I squeal. “I’ve wanted you to loosen up on the hair for ages.”

He scowls. “I’ll have you know my hair is an entire half inch longer than it was when we met. That’s loosened up enough for me.” He pulls me up into a standing position. “I’m going to jump in the shower to wash this off before it starts to set. Why don’t you go call Dee? I promised her you’d call as soon as it happened.”