Page 14 of Labor of Love

STETSON

Torturous light beams burn red through my closed eyelids. Morning could change its name to hell. A sour layer coats my mouth as I dare to open my eyes. Shifting to my side, it’s instant karma. My brain pounds against my skull, desperate to find a nicer body. I rub my heavy eyes, before cracking one. They bolt open at the site in front of me. For a second, my tortured body forgets it all.

Layla sits with her back to me crossed legged on her kitchen counter. An easel in front with the sunlight hitting the canvas perfectly. Sultry music pulses through the air—only now registering in my brain.

Is she painting animals to this music?

Her sleep shorts ride a little too high, and a strap from her tank top falls loosely off her delicate shoulder. God, I miss the taste of her soft skin. Dark curls pile on top of her head as some wispy strands hang about. The paintbrush loosely twirls around her fingers as she thinks. A portrait of beauty.

Coffee whiffs through the air, but my body seems unsure if it’ll act as poison or fuel. Fragments of my night at the bar drift in and out. Layla shoots me an unsure gaze over her shoulder. I remember our conversation before she puttered off to bed like a deer in the headlights.

“Once you’re able to stand, please close the door on your way out.” Her eyes track to the door as if leading me to it, but then her gaze returns. She’s fighting curiosity, and I’m too weak to strut over.

“Did you remove these?” I’m in nothing but briefs, though very confident there was no sexy time. That’s shit I’d remember.

“Nope.” Layla blows out a breath, clearly more frustrated than expected. She turns back around pretending to focus on her work.

“So, what happened last night?” I test to see what she’ll bring up. It’s foolish of me to sit up. My body is heavy and wobbly.

“Water is on the table beside you.” She doesn’t face me, but her ears pick up on movement despite the low base of this song pulsing on beat with my head.

“I remember you left the bar early and discreetly paid for my tab within seconds of me turning to chat with a buddy.” Emasculation resurfaces because never have I let women pay for my drinks or their own. My dad would tan my ass for that.

“Mhmm.” Her tone remains annoyed.

“Why?”

“You punched Clint.” She holds onto her paintbrush like an emotional support item. “Don’t worry. Karli made sure you bought drinks for everyone when I got the call at 2 am.”

Maybe don’t check the visa…

“Can you please look at me when we’re talking?” Her eyes have always said what she couldn’t…wouldn’t.

Layla turns, but her eyes focus on my new bicep tattoo. Now is not the time to acknowledge her checking me out again—especially with that damn music.

“Interesting song choice.” Using all my strength, I stand. “Trying to set the mood?” Her eyes narrow but she bites the inside of her cheek, fighting a smirk.

“It’s what I paint to.” Her eyes glue to mine because staring at me in nothing but my briefs would be too obvious.

“The beat’s a little loud and thumpy.” But it’s a tempo I’d like to thrust into her to.

“Not to those sober.” She rolls her eyes.

“You’re too old to roll your eyes.” Though, her sass twitches my cock.

“There’s only one place I’ll take orders from a man, and we’re not there.” The beat of silence between us cues the music to hum a moan of seduction to a slower base. A raspy female voice sings about the story of her and a man giving into temptation.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Universe thinks it’s so damn comical. Opening my eyes, Layla’s flick down my body, then past me like she wasn’t caught.

“What? No comeback?” Her head tilts to the side with attitude.

“Guess I have restraint.” Fuck, I wanna feel her mouth pressed to mine.

“You were really drunk last night.” The distaste in her voice is enough to prevent me from having more than a drink or two from now on.

“I’m sorry.” It’s sincere, changing the energy.

The paintbrush taps against her thumbnail as her molars clamp her cheeks.