Page 68 of Layla

She points at me. “In that case, stop hovering over there like a creep. Sit down. You can braid Jessy’s hair.”

“I don’t know how,” I argue, failing to keep the sudden panic from my voice.

Layla shakes her head at the girls. “He likes to think he’s some big tough Army Ranger but he’s a big scaredy-cat.”

“You’re a Ranger?” The sullen girls face has lit up.

“No.” I give Layla a pointed glance. “But I was a Navy SEAL.”

Now the girl is staring at me with every bit as much awe as most of the kids had shown the band when they walked in. “Seriously?” she gasps. “Oh my God, I totally want to be a SEAL. I’m going to be the first woman SEAL ever!”

Layla watches me for a long moment before finally patting the cushion next to her. “Sit down. You can tell us all about your Army days.”

“Not Army,” I growl, and the sullen girl makes a similar sound.

“SEALs are totally different,” she agrees.

Layla rolls her eyes. “Looks like you have a fan.” She looks pointedly at the seat next to her. “You joining us, or not? I bet Justine over there could teach you how to braid like the best of them.”

I know I shouldn’t sit down with them. I should make an excuse, should continue to make my rounds, keep an eye on things. But I can’t make myself argue with her. Layla looks happy, happier than I’ve seen her maybe ever, and I find myself wanting to be as close to her easy joy as I possibly can. So, I join them on that couch, answering Cassidy’s—she doesn’t look half as sullen now—questions about my time in the service, and learning how to apply nail polish with a steady hand after it was quickly determined my skills with hair start and end with helping Layla to dye hers.

After half an hour or so, I notice the Rolling Stone reporter has arrived. She’s taking notes while James shows a little boy about Simon’s age how to hold a guitar. A photographer shuffles around, taking pictures of the band while they hang out with the kids. I watch as he notices Layla in the back and starts to move toward her, camera out. But then Louis gets in front of him and even from here I can see he’s shaking his head. She’s off limits.

I catch Layla’s eye and know she noticed it, too. She blushes a little before turning back to the brightly colored extensions she’s clipping into Justine’s hair.

The kids all groan when Beth tells them the band needs to get going—but they freak out all over again when Louis announces the band is giving them all tickets to the show tonight. Layla hugs the girls she spent the entire afternoon with, and I’m pretty sure I see her hand Justine a scrap of paper with her email address before we go.

Out on the sidewalk, Layla is the last one to climb into the van. Just before she does, she turns around and throws her arms around Louis’s shoulders. “Thank you,” I hear her whisper.

He hugs her back. “You’re welcome.”

I catch sight of her face as she releases him. I’m not surprised to see her obvious embarrassment—Layla doesn’t do sentiment very well.

But she also looks happy. Really happy.

I wait until she’s safely inside before climbing into the front passenger seat. I don’t even consider riding in the car behind the van. Any intention to give her space melted away in the walls of Brighter Chances, replaced by a need to be as close to her as I can.

There are a million reasons why that’s a bad idea, a million reasons I should stay away from her instead. But right now, I don’t give a damn about any of them.