Page 51 of Layla

Itisgood to see him—it’s been freaking forever. But it also sets something in my chest tightening in a not entirely comfortable way. I have a lot of memories wrapped up in my friendship with this man—and not all of them are good.

He pulls back but doesn’t release me, holding my shoulders as he peers down at me the way a father might a son. “You look tired, my boy.”

I roll my eyes, shaking him off. “And you look like a fucking asshole.”

He laughs, punching my arm. I punch him right back so he reaches out and ruffles up my hair. “Get the hell off, man!” I shout, pushing him.

“Aw, Johnny, are you afraid I might make your hair a millimeter off center?”

There’s a snort of laughter behind him and I peer around his shoulder to see most of the band walking down the hallway toward us. Layla is with them and my gaze immediately goes to her face. She doesn’t meet my eyes, but hers are narrowed.

“Dude gets you,” Lance says, pointing. I think he’s the one who had snorted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with hair as neat as yours.”

“I bet you’ll grow it out now,” Dylan says, brushing his own shaggy hair behind his eyes. “Now that you’ve been hanging out with some real men.”

Tim cracks up at that and I roll my eyes.

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Lance tells him. “You do realize that he wears his hair like that because he was like, a Green Beret or some shit, right? You really thinkhe’simpressed by your manliness?”

“Navy SEALs,” Tim and I mutter in unison, then grin at each other.

Normally Layla would chime in with some quip about my insistence on correcting the term, or Dylan’s manliness, but she keeps her mouth closed, her gaze darting between me and Tim. The others are looking at him too and he casts me an exasperated glance as he steps forwards, holding out his hand.

“Since my friend is a moody rude bastard,” he says, holding out his hand to Lance. “I’m Tim Fulton.”

“Sorry,” I say quickly. I’d been too busy staring at Layla to notice that I hadn’t introduced him. “This is my buddy, Tim.” I gesture at the others. “Tim, you’re meeting the hottest rock band in the country right now. This is Lance, Dylan, and Layla.”

Tim’s eyes have gone wide. “Shit, you guys are in Intrigue.”

Dylan grins, shaking Tim’s hand. “That we are.”

“Ignore him,” Lance says. “He gets that dopey grin every time someone recognizes him.”

“Hey,” Dylan argues. “It’s freaking cool, man.”

Tim shakes all of their hands. “I knew John was working with a band but I had no idea…It’s an honor, you guys. I’m a huge fan. Saw you open for Ransom last summer in London.”

There’s a chorus of excited exclamations from the guys as they start to talk to Tim about the tour. Layla remains silent and I can’t help my gaze darting back to her face. I can’t read her expression. She doesn’t look as pissed off as she did before but she sure as hell doesn’t look friendly.

“I cannot believe this guy is on tour with Intrigue,” Tim says, throwing an arm over my shoulder. I push him off. “He is most definitely not the rock and roll type.”

Dylan laughs. “We’ve noticed.”

“You guys should have heard the shit he listened to when we were deployed,” he says, his grin dangerous now. “Do you know he actually likesNickelback—”

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” I say, pushing him aside with my shoulder. Dylan and Lance are both smirking.

“This is awesome,” Lance says. “You have to give us all the dirt.”

“And why does he have to do that?” I ask.

“So, we can mess with you,” Dylan says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re all perfect and uptight all the time, we have zero ammunition.”

Tim’s expression is reminiscent of a little kid on Christmas, so I grab his shoulder. “And it’s going to stay that way. We’re heading out for lunch, I’ll see you guys before the show.”

“You’re going out?” Layla blurts out. It’s the first thing she’s said to me since I left her in the room this morning.

My eyebrows come down. “Did you need something?”