Hattie’s idea of group costumes lasted about as long as Landon does in bed, two minutes.
Hattie is dressed as a sexy cop who’s caught her fugitive. Sam is a vampire intent on leaving his mark on as many girls that will let him tonight. As for Layla, she wanted to braid her hair and be a Native. Instead of being her Squanto, we agreed I could be a cowboy, but she wouldn’t let me wear my work clothes. Layla’s got me in fringe chaps, a faux-leather vest and holsters with toy guns. At least I get to wear my own hat.
I take Layla by the hand and spin her once, then pull her into me. She laughs, tripping over her feet and falling against my chest.
“Damn boots,” she mumbles, her cheeks flushed red. Hattie’s fringe boots are two sizes too big for Layla’s tiny feet, but she insisted on wearing them because they matched the costume.
I sway Layla’s hips, seamlessly taking us from standing to dancing as the song changes into something slower. “Kind of a fan of them right now.”
“Really? Because I’m kind of a fan of you right now.”
“Careful, you keep talking like this and people are going to think you like me.” I lean down and press my mouth to hers. Layla tastes like strawberry Jello, likely from the shots she’s pounded back.
“Let them.” Her breath hitches when my lips graze the crook of her neck at the sweet spot that makes her squirm. Hands that were just at my hips grip the sides of my shirt. My lips move up her neck leaving a pathway of kisses behind them. She takes a step back, putting too many inches between us. “I...uhh… I’m going to go to the bathroom.”
I twirl a strand of fringe draped over her chest around my finger. “Want me to come with you?”
She smirks, walking backwards. “I think I can manage.”
I stare up at the stars from one of the six folding chairs surrounding Landon’s makeshift fire pit. Empty beer boxes burn on top of logs, cracking in the warm fall air. My lips twitch, curving into a smile as I take a sip of my soda. For the first time in years, I don’t hate tonight.
“I thought I’d find you out here.” Amanda takes the chair beside me, dressed like a scarecrow with a pumpkin over the beginnings of a bump. She’s all belly, although there’s not much belly to be. She’s so tiny, it’s scary.
“What do you want?” I refuse to look at her, instead crossing my arms behind my head and scooting down in my chair until I’m comfortable.
“The doctor said Bryson’s spine looked good. He’s thinking that the lab made an error on my test, but doesn’t feel comfortable releasing me back to my OB. Apparently, I’m considered high risk now.”
“I’m glad your baby is okay.” I am. I may not give two shits about Amanda or the kid, but no one wants to hear their baby has an abnormality. As a parent, you deal with whatever you’re given, and you love the kid no matter what, but still.
“Our baby, Josh.” Amanda shifts in her chair and stares at me until I give in and look at her. “Bryson is our baby. Why won’t you admit it?”
“Because he’s not my kid.” Plain and simple. If the condom broke, I might be worried, but like I said, the odds of him being mine are slim to none.
“If you’re worried about that tramp you’ve been fucking the last few weeks, I took care of her.” Amanda says that bit so matter of factly, I’m shaken. There’s no malice in her tone, or even bitterness.
She sounds almost remorseful, which is the only reason I’m not yelling. I’m confused. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Lula, or whatever her name is, isn’t going to come between us anymore.” Amanda reaches out and sets her hand on my arm. “She knows and understands.”
I stand and shake Amanda’s hand off of me. I scan the backyard but don’t see Layla anywhere. There’s a chance that she’s in the house somewhere, but I’ve got this gut feeling that something is wrong. “What the hell did you say to her?”
“The truth!” Amanda yells, pushing out of her chair. “I told her that once Bryson is born we’re getting married.”
“Have you lost your mind!?” I run my hands through my hair and look up at the sky again. This woman is pushing my last nerve.
“I won’t raise our baby in a broken home, Josh. Not happening.” She sets her hands on her hips and shoots me a look that I think is supposed to make me nervous.
I am nervous. Nervous Amanda may have fucked up the best thing I’ve got going. I run towards the house, leaving Amanda and her pleas to talk behind me.
That baby isn’t mine, but even if it was, I still wouldn’t marry her. I refuse to trap myself in a loveless marriage and raise a kid in a toxic environment. What the hell am I thinking? It’s not mine. I don’t need to worry about this.
I yank the door to Hattie’s cottage open. There’s only a few people inside, but none of them are Layla. I cross the tiny house in quick strides and reach for the handle of the bedroom. It’s locked, as expected, and I don’t have my keys. Shit.
I run out the door again and across the field to the church parking lot. I gave Layla my key ring when she had to go to the bathroom. I don’t think she’d drive drunk, she seems smarter than that, but people do stupid things when they’re upset. Considering how badly things went the last time Amanda showed up, I’d say tonight is about to take a downward spiral.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding when I see Layla sitting on my toolbox, staring up at the sky. My keys are beside her, along with a bottle of water and her cellphone.
“I texted you a few minutes ago,” she says, turning her head to me when I lean against the side of the truck. “I don’t feel much like partying anymore.”