“Layla, I’m not going to let you do this two nights in a row,” he said to her back, after getting into bed himself. “If you’re angry at me, tell me. I won’t put up with the silent treatment.”
“What is there to say?” she asked, her back rigid. “I’m leaving in two weeks. I’m just trying to get ready for my contractually-obligated move.”
He could feel resentment and anger radiating off of her, and even worse, he started to get angry at himself for forcing this move, even though he had his reasons for demanding she leave Pittsburgh altogether.
“I get that you want me when you want me, however you want me for a limited period of time, then you won’t want me anymore,” she said. “I get it. I do. But it makes me feel terrible inside. I’m sorry that sometimes I have a hard time acting like it doesn’t. I’m not a robot, like you.”
He wanted to hold her. He wanted to tell her he would never get tired of her, because at that moment, as much as he didn’t want it to be true, he could feel it’s truth in his heart. He wanted to tell her he loved her, had been in love with her for ten years, even when he had thought he hated her. But every word, every action he considered was a Pandora’s box that couldn’t and shouldn’t be opened.
So instead he stayed quiet. The next day when he woke up, she hadn’t disappeared like the two mornings prior. But somehow watching her get ready for work without a word was even worse. She usually played music or rattled on about her patients, the ones she was worried about, and the ones who were recovering faster than expected. For someone who was used to getting ready in solitary silence, her chatterbox ways should have been irritating, but he’d liked her stories, liked hearing about the ups and downs of her job, which was so different from his own.
But that Monday morning it felt like he was dealing with the ghost of the woman he’d come to know. And by the time he made it to work, he was furious with both her and himself.
He couldn’t help but think back to ten years ago, to the night that had changed everything.
***
When Nathan had invited Layla over to the Sinclair mansion to help him choose a college, he’d only had a vague idea of what he’d do after she arrived. Yes, he wanted her in his bed, but he had no idea how to get her there. Usually, he didn’t have to do any work when it came to girls. If he saw one he liked, he said “Hello,” and then an appropriate amount of time later, “Where do you live?” which eventually led to sex. Sometimes he didn’t even have to go this far. Girls would just throw themselves at him, making any effort on his part moot.
But Layla wasn’t like other girls. Although, they’d been getting along since the double date, she’d never given any indication she thought of him as anything more than her boyfriend’s twin brother. There’d been no sly looks behind Andrew’s back or even a hint of mild sexual interest. And sitting with her legs crisscrossed in the library’s large window seat, going over the brochures for the five schools that had accepted him for next fall, she’d actually seemed intent on helping him choose one.
“I know you just got me over here for the company,” she said, after putting down the last brochure. “But I really think you should go with Yale. You’re probably leaning toward Harvard because your dad went there, but I think Harvard will only exacerbate your douchebag tendencies.”
He laughed. “My douchebag tendencies? Wow, tell me what you really think.”
“I am,” she said with a gentle pat on his knee. “Keep in mind, I didn’t suggest you should go the small Ivy liberal art college route, because you might need those douchebag tendencies later, and I don’t want them to beat that out of you. Yale seems like a happy medium: name recognition, but less cut-throat than Harvard. I think you could be happy there.”
He grabbed the Yale packet and said, “Okay, Yale it is.”
“What?” she said. “Just like that?”
“I respect your opinion.”
“You’re not serious,” she said, even as she watched him sign the acceptance letter and a few more forms before sliding them into the return envelope.
“Completely serious,” he answered. “I’m going to put this in the mail tomorrow. Thanks for the advice.”
“No, thank you,” she said. The giddy smile that broke out across her face just about stopped his heart. “No one’s ever trusted me with such a big decision before.”
And then she hugged him, enveloping him in her warmth and curves, so he could barely think, much less keep himself from saying, “I love you.”
She pulled back, her face going from smiling to confused. “What did you say?”
“You’re beautiful,” he repeated, unable to stop himself now that he had started. “And I’m in love with you.”
Layla let him go, un-crisscrossing her legs and turning away from him. She balled her hands in her lap and stared at them, obviously trying to think of a nice way to let him down.
He, too, turned to face front, and he stared at his own hands folded in his lap as he said, “I know you belong to Andrew, but I love you, more than he does, more than anyone else ever could, and I had to tell you.”
He waited for her to let him down easy. He’d never been let down easy before, but Layla seemed like the kind of girl who would be good at that: attracting the wrong kind of boy, then having to break his heart.
But when she looked up, her eyes were glistening with tears. “I think I’m in love with you, too,” she whispered. “No, actually, I know I am. I’ve been fighting it so hard, because I didn’t want to hurt Andrew, but I don’t love him. I love you.”
Nathan wasn’t sure who reached for who, but the next thing he knew, she was in his arms and they were kissing. And it was better than anything he had daydreamed. If not for the hard sexual need burning inside of him, he could have stayed there kissing her forever. But she was rubbing her body against his, and his body was also demanding more. He barely had time to sheath himself in the condom he kept in his wallet, before he’d pushed up her skirt and entered her. Sinking into her warmth felt like a dream come true. Not until she audibly winced with a sharp intake of air did he remember her virgin status.
“Oh, shit, Layla, I’m sorry,” he said, freezing inside of her. He stroked a hand over her short hair and laid his forehead against hers. “If I had remembered, I never would have—” He stopped himself there, because he didn’t want to lie to her. As crazy as he was about her, nothing would have stopped him from making love to her. But now he found himself wishing he could have made her first time more romantic, or at least laid her down on a bed before mauling her.