Chapter One

 

 

 

Scott doesn’t look up when he hears Layla come in through the garage door, just listens to her bustling around the kitchen, setting her keys on the counter and opening the fridge for a bottle of water. She’s always thirsty when she gets back from rehearsal. Scott spares a glance for her long, slender legs when she pads into the living room still dressed in her tights and gauzy skirt, but the TV catches his attention again and he mumbles hello while Layla sits down beside him and plants a kiss on his cheek.

“Hey, baby, what’re you watching?” she asks in a tone entirely too bright for the dark evening.

Scott grabs the plastic cup sitting on the side table and takes a long drink to keep himself from sighing. He hates it when people talk during movies. But this one actually kind of sucks, and Layla’s all flushed and warm, and Scott knows she’ll be limber - she’s always extra flexible when she’s been practicing every day like this. He licks his lips and smiles at her and says, “Saw 2. But I can turn it off if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll watch with you,” she replies, sliding right up against his side and resting her head on his shoulder. Her hair’s pulled back in a tight bun, little wisps escaping here and there, and they tickle where they brush against his neck, making him smile.

She sits with him for a few minutes, but Scott can tell she’s bored with the movie already. It’s not really her thing, even though she says she doesn’t mind. He puts his hand on her knee, all gentle and smooth, hoping she won’t take it like he’s coming onto her right away. He likes to ease into these things - they both do. It’s almost like a private language between them, a look here or a touch there, so easy to read after all this time, and she reaches down to run soft fingers over his knuckles, a clear yes.

They’re only about three deaths into the movie before Layla’s sliding her thigh over Scott’s lap and pressing up tight against him, nuzzling his throat with her nose and soft, glossy lips. Her breath feels warm, blowing across his skin, but it makes the rest of his body feel cold, and he shivers, bringing one arm around her back to pull her more fully into his lap. She’s even smaller than he is, and he can lift her easily, like one of her ballet partners throwing her high into the air, but she feels fragile next to him, and he’s always afraid of being too clumsy with her, too unbalanced. Breaking her.

But Layla doesn’t hesitate, just leans in to kiss him again, pressing the length of her body to his, and he groans at the brush of her breasts against his chest. Her lip gloss tastes like strawberries, and Scott licks it off his teeth when she pauses for breath, watching her chest rise and fall, the stretch of her thin sweater. He brings his hands up to touch her through the soft knit, feeling himself starting to get hard as her nipples rise to points under his palms.

Her hips find an easy rhythm, and his fingers slide down to her waist, squeezing in tight. She’s so tiny he can almost wrap his hands all the way around, and he loves how small she is, but he can’t help but feel like they don’t quite match, like he should be bigger for her, stronger. He shifts one hand to the base of her spine, his fingers stretching down to her ass, and pulls her down against him as he thrusts his hips up. His dick grinds against the inside of her thigh, and she feels so warm even through Scott’s thick jeans. She must be wet by now, and he wants to feel it, wonders if she’ll drag him to the bedroom or if she’ll ride him right here on the couch with screams echoing out from the TV in the background.

His attention is diverted when his pocket starts to vibrate, right in the crease of his thigh. He startles and tries to hide it, shifting his weight so his phone isn’t pressing against Layla, and tries to fish it out without her noticing. He thinks his tongue is doing a pretty good job of distracting her, so he lets her take control of the kiss while he swipes the phone on over her shoulder, squinting to read through the glare.

The name on the display makes his breath hitch, just for a split-second, and he realizes he’s been waiting for this text all day long. Longer. Ever since the news hit.

i need a drink, u busy?

He thumbs a response one-handed, clumsy and misspelled, but Carter will understand. Carter always understands him. Carter’s reply comes less than a minute later.

can i pick u up? i can be there in a few min.

“Scott, who are you texting?” Layla murmurs, breathing hot against the hollow of his throat. Scott flinches, startled.

“Nobody. Carter. Sorry.”

Layla sits up and gives him a disappointed look. “Please don’t lie to me, Scott. I’ve had enough of that, okay? Just tell me the truth.”

Scott feels his face go stony, and his hand falls away from her body. “Carter just texted me. He wants to hang out. It’s just Carter.”

“You don’t have to lie, Scott. If we’re having problems, just tell me and we can fix them.”

“We’re not having problems! I love you. I’m not cheating on you. It’s just Carter, I swear.”

Layla climbs off his lap, then, and Scott deflates. “Stop fucking lying!” she snaps, and Scott feels her words like a slap to his face. She never swears, not unless she’s totally furious. “I know you’ve been with Lindsey. I know it. Don’t try and - I’m not an idiot. Is that her? Are you going to see her?”

He stands up and turns the phone back on, turns it around so she can see. “Layla, just look. Look!”

She looks at the phone. Then she looks at Scott. “You just agreed to go out with Carter while we were... What is wrong with you, Scott? What is even going on in your head?”

“Nothing!” Scott insists, then realizes what he said. “I mean... I didn’t mean to. He just needs me right now. He’s like, my best friend. His boyfriend just dumped him...what do you want me to do?”

She huffs and repeats, “Boyfriend,” and her tone makes Scott feel like he’s covered in something dirty, like he wants to go brush his teeth and get her taste out of his mouth.

He grits his teeth. “It’s just Carter. It’s not like anything’s going to happen with us. And I’m not going to see Lindsey anymore, okay? I promise. I won’t.”

“Well, at least I know you don’t want to fuck him,” she mutters under her breath. She stalks around the coffee table and flings her sweater off over her head. She looks so much more powerful standing across from Scott in her tank top, with the strong lines of her biceps showing as she crosses her arms. Scott runs his teeth over his lower lip and starts to feel awkward, standing there with his phone still clutched in his hand.

“You’re going drinking with him?” she asks, and Scott’s eyes cut to the plastic cup on the table before he can stop them. Layla’s still staring at him when he looks back. “Yeah, don’t think I can’t taste it on you, Scott. Are you even fit to drive?”

“He’s picking me up,” Scott murmurs.

“Why do you have to meet at a bar, anyway?”

“He just... wants to.” Scott rubs a hand over his eyes, suddenly weary. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it. He needs me right now.”

“And you always fucking go to him, don’t you? You’re like his pet. You always come when he calls.”

Scott’s phone vibrates again and he automatically swipes his thumb across the screen to unlock it. Layla glares at him. Scott resists looking at the text, just stares back at her, until he hears a car horn honking from the street.

Layla sighs and reaches up to untie her hair, shaking it out and running her fingers through it. She probably has a headache. Sometimes Scott lies in bed with her for hours, just listening to music and rubbing her neck and stroking his fingers across her skull. She probably doesn’t want him to touch her right now.

“Just...please don’t drive home. Get a cab or something,” she says, resignation in her voice. “And don’t kiss me when you get back. I hate the taste of whiskey.”

Scott doesn’t look at her as he heads to the door and pockets his keys and his wallet. Just before he leaves, he calls back to her, “I’m sorry. I’m gonna be better. I really will.” He leaves before she has a chance to argue.

Carter’s waiting at the curb, the car running, and Scott slides quickly into the passenger seat and takes a deep breath. Carter revs the engine a couple times, which Scott thinks is supposed to impress people, but to him it just sounds growly and loud. He looks over at Carter, and even in the twilight he can see the bags under Carter’s eyes, the determined set of his jaw. Scott reaches over and touches Carter’s hand where he’s clutching the gear shift and Carter seems to relax, just a little bit. It’s enough. Scott smiles at him and Carter returns it.

“Is Layla home?” Scott nods. “Sorry. Didn’t meant to interrupt your evening, I just - ”

“Oh, whatever,” Scott interrupts smoothly. “I’d rather hang out with you right now.”

“Are you sure? I just don’t think I can be alone tonight. The past couple days have been... bad. It was really awful, Scott.”

Scott squeezes Carter’s hand. “So let’s go get fucked up.”

At that, Carter grins, sharp and bright. “Fuck yeah. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

Scott laughs, ignoring the tight, happy feeling twisting in his gut. “Never tired of hearing it!”

Carter’s fingers flex on the steering wheel, and he turns to face front, staring at the road like he wants to attack it. Scott feels a sudden thrill, and he can’t help smiling. His guilt at leaving Layla behind is fading fast, but just as they peel out and away from the curb, he hears her voice in his head again, something she’d said that had caught and stuck in his memory like a burr.

At least I know you don’t want to fuck him.

Carter’s leather-clad thigh is right there, three inches to his left. Scott carefully keeps his hands in his own lap and stares at them the whole way to the bar. He’s never needed a drink so badly in his life.