Page 21 of Fighting Chance

“Why would I want to do a thing like that?”

Now heading in the right direction, her brow quirks. “Boredom?”

My voice is thick as I drawl, “Do I seem bored to you?”

Coming to a stop, her gaze trails down my body and fuck me, as she takes her lower lip between her teeth, I want to kiss her so badly my grip turns white on the cart.

Layla has no idea how attractive she is.None.

She makes ahmphsound as she turns away, but not before I catch the blush blooming along her cheeks. Shaking my head and getting a wrangle on my emotions, I face the endless aisles, entirely overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the baby section. “Christ,” I curse. “Where the hell do we start?”

“I had a feeling we were going to need more than just clothes,” she explains. “Emmy doesn’t have much, does she?”

My eyes shutter closed at the memory of the very small trash bag the matron handed me containingallof Emmy’s belongings. And the few clothes in there don’t even fit her.

“Emmy essentially has nothing.”

Forcing out a deep breath, I open my eyes and see the same sadness mirrored in Layla’s.

“I know,” I whisper, feeling utter devastation for what Emmy has had to endure.

She’s fucking three years old, and was found next to a woman who overdosed on heroin.

Layla wipes a tear from her cheek. “People can be so cruel.” She seems to mull something over before nodding to herself. “Well, she has you now and you won’t let anything bad happen to her.” She says it with such conviction I’m momentarily stunned.

There she goes again, having no idea the effect she has on me.

“While we’re on the topic of that,” I say, watching her brows furrow in concentration as she reads the labels on— “Wait, does she still wear diapers? How do we know if she needs them, and what kind?”

I take my hat off for a moment to run my hand through my hair before sliding it on again. It’s quiet for a beat too long before I catch Layla staring at me.

I give her a lopsided grin. “See something you like?”

She narrows her eyes. “You have dandruff.”

“I do fucking not,” I scoff.

She shrugs. “Only reason I was looking, and yes, I think we should get nighttime diapers for her to sleep in.”

Layla takes off without another word, ignoring me completely. As she inspects the labels again, trying to find the right one, I quickly remove my hat to double-check.

A snort escapes me.

Dandruff my fucking ass. She was ogling me.

“What were you saying?” she calls over her shoulder as she moves onto the next thing.

My smirk is now firmly in place.

Little Miss I-Don’t-Text-Back was checking me out.

Layla all but growls as she snaps her fingers. “Earth to Kieran, what were you going to say?”

“Are you still looking for a job?” I ask. Before she can answer me, Layla places a handful of oddly shaped plates in the cart. I frown. “What the fuck are these and why do I need them?”

Layla’s sigh is more humor than annoyance. “They’re plates with suction cups on the bottom. It sticks to the table so kids don’t throw their food.”

My nose wrinkles. “Three-year-olds throw food?”