Page 42 of Layla

He grins but it looks a little shaky and his eyes keep darting to my lips. “Better go get that washed out.”

I stand, wishing my PJ pants had pockets so I could hide my hands. I’m pretty sure they’re shaking. It’s not until I get to the bathroom door that I realize John has followed me. “You’re not coming in for this,” I inform him, and his brow creases in confusion. “John, I’m washing my hair in the shower,” I say.

Understanding dawns on his face, along with a flush of red. Oh my God, he’s blushing. I made himblush. I don’t know why that makes me feel so giddy, but I can’t stop grinning as I slip into the bathroom and close the door on him.

In the shower, I watch as purple pools in the water at my feet. It feels weird, being naked in the shower with him just a few feet away. He’d been a hell of a lot closer to me when I’d showered on the bus, of course, but that felt different. Probably because all the assholes in my band were just as close. Now we’re alone.

But it’s not just that. Something feels different tonight. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but there’s a hum in my blood, an excitement coursing through me. He’s being nice, not grumpy and gruff the way he normally is. And I’ve barely said two snarky words since he got here—definitely not like me at all. There have been a few times when it almost seemed like he was flirting with me.

A delicious shudder rushes down my body as I remember what it had felt like to have him help me dye my hair. His fingers brushing against my scalp, ghosting across the skin of my neck. The way he’d had to stand so close, the look of concentration on his face while he worked. The heat of his body, so close to mine. His big strong hands careful and so gentle as he worked.

And he’d wanted to kiss me just now on the couch. Iknowhe did. I have more than enough experience with guys to know when they’re thinking about putting their lips on me and John had been like an open book.

You need to get a grip,I tell myself as I step out of the shower and wrap up in a fluffy hotel towel. I’m still not used to things that are this luxurious. Maybe it’s just because John had asked me about Dee, but I feel like the ghosts of my past are closer to me tonight than they usually are.

I towel dry my hair before pulling out the blow dryer. Even this is fancy, nicer than any I’ve ever owned. On our first tour we’d been lucky if we’d have a clean shower in the roach motels we’d been forced to stay in. And now I’m in my very own suite in one of the nicest hotels in Miami.

With an insanely hot man out on the couch waiting for me.

Once my hair is dry, I wrap the cord around the blow dryer and slip it back into the vanity. I brush out my hair, grinning at the way the purple strands stand out against the blond, happy that I didn’t go with the blue after all and wondering what John will think.

As I move to open the door, I’m struck by the realization that he might not actually still be here. I was taking a shower, after all, and it’s more than likely he would think I might not want company. The thought of him leaving without saying goodbye has a pit burrowing deep in my stomach.

But when I step back into the room, he’s sitting there on the couch, a second beer in his hand, flipping aimlessly through the channels.

He stops when he sees me, looking up. He stares for so long I start to feel self-conscious. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head quickly, but doesn’t speak. Instead he opens and closes his mouth a few times. Finally, he stands and walks over to me, his steps swift and purposeful. He stops half a foot away, close enough to touch, his eyes intent on my face. I hold my breath when he reaches out and touches a strand, his fingers brushing across my collarbone so lightly that goosebumps erupt on my skin.

“It’s good,” he mutters, his voice gravely. “Really good.”

I swallow. I don’t know if I want to turn around and go hide in the bathroom or if I want to fall into his arms. There’s something so powerful in his gaze and it both thrills and terrifies me. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a guy look at me quite like John is looking at me now.

“Better than the blue?” I ask, my voice uneven.

He swallows again and nods. “Much.”

I don’t know how long we stand like that before my phone buzzes. This time we don’t jump but John drops his hand, closing his eyes, disappointment and some unknown struggle plain on his face.

“I should get that.” I step away, the spell broken, and grab my phone from the coffee table. I snort when I see the picture on the screen. It’s a selfie of Haylee and James. She’s grinning widely while James scowls his usual scowl—he hates selfies. Dylan is standing behind them, photo bombing with a rude gesture.

Wish you were here,Haylee wrote and I wait for my stomach to clench, for my heart to twang with a familiar disappointment. But it doesn’t come. Because I don’t wish I was there, not really. I want to be right here.

“What’s funny?” John asks, coming to stand beside me. It doesn’t escape my attention that he’s left a more than appropriate gap between us this time. I hand him the phone and he looks at the picture, smiling. “They’re something else.”

I laugh at that. “That’s a polite way of putting it.”

“You guys have known each other long?” He heads over to the fridge, grabbing us both a water before joining me as I sink on the couch.

“Years,” I say. “Haylee and James went to school together, they used to play all these shitty gigs at dives around Detroit. I was trying to sing back then and—”

“You were?” his eyebrows are high on his forehead, clearly surprised, and I can’t help but scowl a little.

“Why does that surprise you?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, I guess I can’t picture it. I’ve never heard you sing.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I was pretty damn good. Until I met Haylee at one of their gigs.” I smile in spite of myself, remembering it. The guitarist they were working with back then sucked, their drummer even worse. I’d been drinking a beer with a few friends when they started and I almost got up and left. Until Haylee stepped up to that mic and started singing. I had never heard anything like it. Her voice was bluesy and deep with a rich raspy quality and this little hitch thing when she hit the high notes. My mouth had literally dropped open when she started. And it wasn’t just her voice, it was…everything. The way she moved, her confidence, her style. Thefuck-everyone-that-gets-in-my-wayattitude. I knew in that moment that I wanted to know this girl, to be her friend. To make music with her. Haylee had that indefinable star quality that you don’t see too often in a lifetime and I knew I needed to connect myself to her if I had any chance of getting out of the city and my shitty life.