Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I fumble to smooth my braid over my shoulder, wishing my cheeks weren’t still hot.
“Well. We made it.” Safe and sound and no worse for wear, albeit a bit mortified.
He side-eyes me, giving a look that’s equal parts suffering and resignation. “Barely.”
A single heartbeat of silence follows before Benny blurts out, “Dad, can Layla have dinner with us? Pleaseee?”
“Benny—I’m sure Layla has other shi—stuff to do. She said she is very busy.”
Benny clasps her hands together and turns those wide pleading eyes on me. “Please, please, please, you guys? It’s just dinner. Layla saved us. She deserves a steak.”
Her lashes flutter at him.
I open my mouth to politely decline, but right on cue my stomach lets out a loud, humiliating growl that vibrates in the silence of the cab—the way it used to growl back in middle school in a silent classroom before lunch.
Hayes’s head turns slowly, his gaze narrowing on me like he can’t believe what he just heard. The betrayal.
Benny gasps, triumphant. “See! Dad, she’s starving!”
Horrified, I press a hand to my stomach, wishing I could melt into the cracked vinyl seat. “That was, uh—ignore that. Really, I should g—”
Another louder grumble interrupts me.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
Hayes groans. “Unbelievable.”
Benny practically bounces in her seat, giving her dad a shove toward the door. “That settles it. Three for dinner.”
“I don’t want to intrude,” I try again, voice thin, but Benny’s already reaching over her father’s massive frame to pop the door open.
“You’re not intruding!” She tugs at my sleeve. “You’re rescuing me from my dad’s bad mood.”
He glowers. “Bad mood?” The sigh that follows is resigned, his large hand pushing the door open farther.
“You’re coming. End of discussion,” Benny says.
And just like that, I’m being herded toward the glowing doors of Velvet and Vine, cheeks hot, stomach still growling like I haven’t eaten in days.
Chapter 6
Hayes
What is supposed to be a classy, quiet, exclusive atmosphere feels like I’m walking in a spotlight with a nine-year-old holding a microphone.
I want to pull Benny aside, march her to the restroom, and tell her to knock it off. But What Would Be the Point? She’ll just smile up at me with that mischievous glint in her eye and pretend innocence.
Then the second I sit back down, she’ll start in again.
This is what Benny does. Push, prod, and needle with the youthful enthusiasm she throws at every single thing she does.
Except right now, she’s unknowingly doing it at Layla’s expense.
And mine.
The second we’re seated around a small table in the back corner of the dimly lit restaurant—Benny between us again, of course—she’s back at it, firing off questions. “Do you cook? Ever been on a date that went horribly wrong?”
Heat creeps up my neck. My grip tightens on the menu in my hands. “Bernadette, stop. You’re being rude.”
She only glances at me. “We’re getting to know her.”
Layla hesitates. “You know what? I think I’ll use the restroom. Please excuse me.” She pushes back her chair and stands, napkin on the chair as she crosses the room and heads toward the toilets.
I go straight for my daughter. “You need to knock this off right now. We are not going to date Layla.” I shake my head. “It’s not happening—and don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
Benny’s shoulders move up and down as she innocently inspects her fingernails. “It’s not a crime to ask questions.”
“That isn’t the point, Benny. You’re not asking normal questions. You’re interviewing her.” I breathe in. I breathe out. “We met this person today. Give her a break.”
She’s probably climbing out the bathroom window as we speak to escape us. Wouldn’t blame her. If I had the option, I’d be halfway down the alley by now too.
Benny retrieves a little chunk of bread from the basket and goes about buttering it. “You like her.”
My eyes bug out of my skull. “Excuse me?”
“You like her,” she repeats, pulling off a hunk of crust and jamming it into her mouth.
“I don’t even know her.”
Benny smirks. “Doesn’t mean you don’t like her.”
I lean back in my chair, scanning the restaurant just in time to catch Layla coming back from the restroom. And damn it all—she’s different now. She’s more put together, glowing under the soft light; a new braid drapes over her shoulder, flirty and sweet.
I lower my eyes to the front of her sweater. It’s cream colored, simple, and makes her skin look warm—and outlines the shape of her breasts.
Do not stare at her tits . . .
Layla is cuter than she has any right to be, which makes this circus with my daughter a whole lot worse.
A grumble leaves my chest. “Do me a favor, Benny. For the next sixty minutes, eat your food and please try to have manners.”
She gasps dramatically, clutching at her chest like I’ve wounded her. “You want me to sit here in silence?”