Of all the holidays, today is my least favorite. My uncle had a heart attack while working at the haunted house St. Anastasia’s hosts every year. Everyone assumed Uncle was a prop, or someone who would grab your ankle, but he wasn’t. He lay there for eight hours before Mom called the police and reported him missing.
I fucking hate Halloween.
“Raaar!” Hattie yells, jumping out from behind a costume display with a T-Rex mask over her head.
I force a smile and shove her shoulder. She wasn’t around when my uncle died, and even though my friends were, they forget how hard today is. I grab a top hat I have no intention of buying and set it on my head.
“Anything catch your eye?” I ask Layla.
She’s staring at a wall of costumes, nibbling on that bottom lip of hers. She shakes her head, then frowns. “Everything is out of my price range, and their clearance section sucks.”
“Well, since you won’t let me pay for your gas…” I offer every weekend Layla drives down. I know she’s on a strict budget, which is why we don’t go out. Or if we do, I pay. Although she gripes about that too. “The least you can let me do is buy your costume so we can match.”
“I don’t want your money, Josh.”
“I know.” I take Layla by the wrist and p
ull her into me. I’ve held more girls than I’d care to admit, kissed them, tasted their most intimate parts, but they never made me feel the way Layla does. “I’d be a shitty boyfriend if I didn’t spoil my girl.”
“That’s right. I forgot you were my boyfriend.” She smirks and I know she’s playing. I don’t bother to fight my smile, falling into the trap she’s set.
“Did ya? I guess I should remind you then.” I dip my head and press my lips to hers. Kissing Layla is like breathing: easy, yet necessary to survive.
It kills me to watch her pull out of my driveway on Sunday. I usually stand there, waving with a smile on my face, while the Tasmanian Devil berates my insides with a sledgehammer. Every minute we’re apart feels like a lifetime in itself. So I throw myself into the farm, waking at four and working until I’m ’bout ready to pass out. The last thing I want is a rumor about me being at a party to drive a wedge between us.
Small towns bring big drama.
My phone dings in my pocket. I pull away from Layla’s lips with a grunt, and rest my forehead against hers. I don’t want to look at the message. The only person I care to talk to is in my arms.
“Are you gonna get that?” Layla whispers.
I open my eyes and she’s looking up at me. Her lips lift in the corners. She teases me with one more kiss before pulling back again, barely able to take a breath before Hattie pulls her by the hand to another part of the store.
I sigh, dreading tonight’s party, and look at my phone. I wish I hadn’t.
Amanda: There’s something wrong with the baby.
Amanda: One of the tests came back wonky. They think he might have something wrong with his spine.
Amanda: I’m so scared, Josh.
Me: I’m sorry. That sucks.
Amanda: Really? That’s all you have to say.
Me: Yeah. I’m sorry your kid isn’t growing right, but he’s not mine.
Amanda: Seriously! Bryson is your son. I wasn’t sleeping with anyone else!
Me: I’ll believe that when I see it. Either way, I hope your baby is okay.
“Hey!” Layla wrinkles her brows when she turns the corner, her smile falling. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah.” I shut my phone off. Amanda may be going through a rough time, but I don’t need to be dragged into her problems. She has a family and a baby daddy out there that should be helping her through this. Not me. I gesture at the costume packs Layla’s hugging to her chest. “Find something you like?”
“Maybe.” She smirks and I get this feeling tonight is about to get interesting. “Promise you’ll keep an open mind. Okay?”
Giving Layla shots may have been a bad idea. This girl’s the epitome of white girl wasted, but she’s adorable. Her hips sway from right to left, the flap of her Native dress creeping dangerously high with each movement.