Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
She draws a sharp breath. Holds up a hand. “I know.”
I sigh again. “I can’t do this to David. It’s wrong.”
She nods, looking straight ahead. “I know,” she repeats, crisply.
“It’s not fair to him,” I add, flicking on the signal as I switch lanes to the exit.
“I know,” she says in a three-peat. But she sounds more clipped with each answer.
I steal a glance at her. Her lips are pursed. Her jaw is clenched. And I’ve upset my beautiful woman.
My heart is stretched in too many directions.
I shut up as I drive the rest of the way to Kip’s house.
I’m a good guy as Layla introduces me to the secret society Yale grad. I’m a great guy as I make small talk and thank the guy swimming in family money. I’m a fucking saint as I carry the golf clubs out to the circular driveway in front of said family’s Greenwich mansion.
The polished blond in the mint-green polo and khaki shorts reaches for the bag as Layla pops the trunk. “I can put them in there,” Kip says, reaching for the golf bag as dusk covers us.
Like that’ll happen. With a jovial grin, I hoist it in. “No worries, kid. I’ve got this.”
Kid. Ha. Take that, all you fuckers who’ve called me sir.
With the bag in place, I close the trunk, then offer a hand to shake. “Thanks again for the donation. The golf lessons will be in high demand. David and I truly appreciate it,” I say with genuine gratitude. I might not like this guy, but he is helping my son, and that’s something.
“So do I,” Layla chimes in.
The Ken doll looks me in the eyes and says, a little smugly, “You’re welcome, Mr. Bancroft.”
Fuck. You.
“It’s Adams. Nick Adams,” I correct.
“Oops. My bad,” he says, but he doesn’t sound apologetic one bit. Bet he doesn’t know how to apologize or why it’s important.
Yup. He’s an asshole. I was right.
When he lets go of my hand, he turns to Layla, holds out his arms wide. “It was so good to see you again, Mayweather.”
As he hugs her goodbye, I roll my eyes. I want to laugh at him. Good luck, Kip. No woman wants a man who calls her by a buddy name—her last name.
“Good to see you too, Kip,” she says, and I’m not truly irritated since I know Layla’s heart and body and mind, but I do want to rip him off her, because he’s touching her far too long.
If I can’t touch her, he sure as shit shouldn’t.
Finally, he lets go, flashing her a smooth operator smile. “I’ll see you after the auction.”
I glance down at the ink that I just couldn’t scrub off my palm. And that feels like a goddamn metaphor right now.
Only, I don’t know what to do with the figure of speech on my hand.
When we get back in the car, Layla’s quiet again as we drive away. But she’s the kind of quiet that says she’s working through something. When I come to a stop at the end of Kip’s road, she whips her gaze to me, sets a hand on my arm.
My skin burns with desire.
Just. Like. That.
“You’re right, Nick,” she says carefully, like she’s been mulling something over. “It’s not fair to David. Or right. But life’s not fair. And there’s a side road by the country club about a mile away. You’re probably going to turn me down. You’re probably going to say no. But what if we just—”
“I’m there.”
I hit the gas and go.
23
THE WILL AND THE WAY
Layla
Backseats of expensive sports cars were meant for Hermes shopping bags and tennis rackets.
But where there’s a will, there’s a way. And I know exactly how to find the intersection of the two.
As Nick drives into twilight, I point right, giving directions with a determined efficiency. “Turn there.” Then, right again. “There’s an access road with a turnout.”
“Got it,” he says, all business as he drives. He doesn’t ask how I know the layout of the Greenwich Country Club and its golf course.
Maybe he’s connected enough dots.
Spend enough time visiting family friends in Greenwich and a girl and her pals will wander. My ride or dies and I found our way over here as kids, exploring the outskirts of the club and the course.
Finding all its hidden nooks and crannies.
Good thing I was a curious kid since it’s paying off as an adult. Only, I’m curious about other things now. Namely, how long it’ll take Nick to make me come.
“There,” I say, pointing to the final turn onto a dog-leg road.
Once Nick reaches the dead end of that road, he cuts the engine then turns to me, heat in his eyes.
“Backseat’s tiny,” I say, in a coy breath.
He grabs my face. “Don’t care.”
“Me neither,” I say.
I twist my body over the console, diving onto the black leather.