Page 70 of Layla

Louis clears his throat. “Bus is leaving early tomorrow. You should all call it a night.”

I can’t help a small sigh of relief. That’s the second time today Louis has come to my rescue. If I’m not careful, he’s going to force me to start being nice to him.

Dylan looks annoyed but he soon consoles himself by finding a groupie of his own to sneak off with. Since Haylee and Lance are both eager to get back to the hotel, and some of the members of Downlow—including Conner—have joined the burgeoning party in our dressing room, I decide to join them. And try to ignore the heat of John’s gaze on my back as he follows us out to the waiting van.

“Since when do you leave a party when it’s just getting started?” Lance asks me once we’re in the van. Even in the dark of the back seat I can see the suspicion in his eyes

Haylee snorts. “Conner was in there,” she says. “This is why we don’t hook up with people we work with, Layla.”

Do John’s shoulders tense in the front seat or am I imagining it? I pinch Haylee’s arm. “Says the girl who banged Lennon Ransome all across Europe last fall.”

She pinches me back. “It wasn’tallacross Europe,” she argues. “We only banged in three cities.”

“What restraint you have,” I say, laughing. I catch John’s eye in the rearview mirror and look away immediately. “Speaking of Lennon, you guys have plans for the break?”

She spends the rest of the short ride to the hotel gushing about some mystery trip Cash Ransome is planning for all of them before Christmas. I study her face while she talks. It still catches me off guard to realize how much happier she is these days. A year ago, I never would have used the words “gush” and “Haylee” in the same sentence. It’s nice to see, for sure, but I can’t help the little pang I feel while I watch her. She has this whole life with Lennon and his brothers, a whole new family. Which is good—Haylee’s mother sucks almost as much as mine did, and she never got the second chance that I did with Dee. But sometimes it seems like her life has moved so far away from mine.

Since Haylee and Lance are eager to get to their significant others, we bypass the crowd of fans in front of the hotel so we don’t feel obligated to do the whole picture and autograph thing. Instead we go through a back entrance directly into the parking garage. I move to leave the van, startled when I feel a hand grasp my elbow, steadying me as I climb down. John. Our gazes lock and once again, I can’t quite read the look in his eyes. But I also can’t ignore the shock of electricity that erupts over my skin from the place where his fingers touch my arm.

We ride the elevator up to our floor, Lance and Haylee chatting about their holiday plans while I try to ignore the pull that John’s warmth is exuding over me. I have the strongest urge to lean back against him and have to keep reminding myself that I’m mad about yesterday. And that my friends are standing two feet away.

Haylee and Lance’s rooms are on the floor below mine, so we say goodnight in the elevator. “You doing okay?” Haylee whispers in my ear when I hug her.

“Tired,” I reply, knowing it sounds lame. But it’s also true.

“Come down here if you can’t sleep.” Then she squeezes my arm once and exits to her hallway.

Leaving me alone in the elevator with John. Never had the trip up a single floor felt so long. I can’t help my sigh of relief when the elevator stops again. My eyes remain glued to the carpet as we walk the short distance to our rooms. John is the first to break the silence. “You didn’t eat before the show.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that he noticed. That is his job, after all, paying attention to what I do. But I am surprised by what he says next. “Want me to grab you a burger or something?”

I risk a glance at him. He’s staring down at me, his expression almost…hopeful.

“I was just going to get room service.”

He nods and I get the strangest sense that he’s disappointed. When we get to my room, he pulls out his keycard. “I’ll just be a minute.” I wait in the hallway while he does his scan. I can’t help but remember the first time he was in that room, watching a movie on the couch. Helping me dye my hair. Sleeping next to me.

When he comes out, his expression makes me think he was remembering the same things. He’s standing close to me, blocking just enough of the door to prevent me from going in without touching him. We lock eyes, the moment seeming to stretch out between us, a tension thrumming in the air. Then John reaches out a hand, just barely grazing the end of my ponytail where it rests on my collarbone.

“I hope you can sleep tonight,” he murmurs, voice low and gravely. His gaze shifts from the lock of hair he’s still touching over to my lips and his eyes darken. My heart immediately starts to hammer, my mouth going dry.

I want to invite him in. I could suggest a movie, suggest he join me in ordering that room service. Maybe it would be the way it was the other night—comfortable and easy. The total opposite of how everything has felt since then.

Don’t think about that night,I try to warn myself.Think about the next morning when he took off like the room was on fire.

But it’s no use. I’m trapped in his gaze, my heart pounding, every cell in my body seeming to reach out to him.

“I slept the night you stayed here,” I whisper, and his eyes darken even more.

“Maybe we should try that again,” he rasps out. And then, before I can think of a response, before I can even take a breath, his hands are cradling my face, his lips crashing down on mine.

It’s just like the kiss yesterday morning. Fast and intense, his mouth so hot against mine. All the breath leaves my lungs and I’m clutching his strong arms just to stay upright. But unlike the last kiss, this time he doesn’t pull back. Instead he pulls me flush against him, lifting me until my feet are off the ground—fuck, he’s strong and it’ssohot—and walking backwards into my room, letting the door slam behind us.

“John,” I whisper against his mouth, and he must hear the question in that one little word because he pulls back enough to look down at me. And holy shit, his expression. His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them, his jaw clenched with what I assume is the strain of his control.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks.

I shake my head before he’s even finished voicing the question and then his mouth is on mine again, his insistent tongue pressing against my lips until they open for him. When our tongues meet his groan is loud enough to seep into my bones, igniting a fire in my veins.