Page 77 of Layla

“What’s going on in here?”

Layla’s gaze slips to me before she turns to face Dylan and I hastily remove my hand. “I wanted the quieter bathroom,” she says breezily. “And you know John. Had to check for a boogie man before he’d let me go.”

His gaze is fixed firmly on the hand now hanging at my side, his eyes still narrowed. He’s not buying it. Layla seems to come to the same conclusion because she rolls her eyes and moves to pass him. “Have fun with whatever skanky groupie you have meeting you back here.”

“Hang on,” he says, but she brushes him off.

“Lay off the tequila, Dyl. We have an early flight.” Then she’s gone, leaving me alone with him.

It’s strange, how nervous I feel in this moment. I have several inches and close to forty pounds on this guy. And he’s clearly drunk. Not to mention the fact that this isDylan—goofy, easygoing Dylan. I doubt he could hurt a fly.

But he’s glaring at me now, his expression the polar opposite of easygoing.

“It’s all yours,” I say, moving to pass him. But he holds his ground in the doorway.

“I’ve known Layla for a long time,” he says, his voice low. “I know she comes across as tough. Hell, sheistough.” He shakes his head, a rueful smile forming. “She can take care of herself.” Then he takes a step closer. “But there’s a lot more to her than the tough rock chick she wants everyone to see.”

“I know that.”

“She deserves the best.”

I know that, too, but I don’t say anything.

Dylan watches my face for a long time, like he’s looking for something. Finally, he sighs, stepping away from the door. “You might be a scary marine, or whatever, but if you hurt her, I will find a way to kick your ass.”

“Navy SEAL,” I mumble, and he frowns.

“What?”

I wave my hands. “It doesn’t matter. Look, I have no intention of hurting her.”

He nods, but I can’t help but think his expression is sad. He steps away from the door, leaving me room to pass. “I hope you don’t,” I hear him mutter as I leave the room.

* * *

I wakeup the next morning the way I have for the past few days—with Layla draped across me. She reminds me of an octopus in her sleep, tossing and turning, her long limbs spread across the bed. She’s a blanket thief, too. And a pillow hog. But somehow, I end up sleeping through the night whenever I’m with her. She seems to be a shield against my old nightmares. I’m pretty sure she’s been sleeping better, too.

“Too early,” she mutters against my chest when she feels me stirring.

“Flight’s in three hours,” I tell her. “We need to shower and eat.”

“Showers are for sissies. Let’s sleep more.”

I chuckle, kissing her shoulder. “I’ll make you some coffee.”

She groans into the pillow as I shift her off of me. “I fucking love coffee.”

“I’ve noticed,” I say drily.

I’m halfway to the bathroom when I hear her whistle behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see her propped up on an elbow, leering at me. “Your ass is better than coffee,” she says. “I’m totally awake right now.”

I snort. “Do you have to objectify me like this?”

“Yes. I absolutely do.”

I’m still chuckling as I step into the bathroom. I take care of my business then brush my teeth, knowing Layla will complain about kissing me before I do. Not that it will stop her. She doesn’t seem to have a lot of willpower when it comes to kissing me. It’s fucking awesome.

“Are you whistling?” she calls when I leave the bathroom. “God, it’s way too early for you to be this cheerful.”