Layla
“Uh, is this the address?”
I look up, blinking to clear my blurry vision, and see that we’re idling at the rusted front gate to the Gregory Estate.
“Yeah, this is it.”
“I gotta be honest with you, ma’am. I don’t think my car is going to get down the driveway.” My driver’s not wrong. His sedan practically scrapes the ground as he pulls forward. The decaying concrete juts up in places, forced skyward by the relentless roots cutting through the cement.
“It’s fine. I can walk.”
“You sure? I could walk you down–”
“Don’t worry about it,” I mumble, letting myself out of the car and shutting the door behind me. I take off my heels and rest my bare feet on the cool, solid ground. It feels good. The air is heavy with humidity, but a slight, chilled breeze clears my head enough for my gin-induced stupor to finally give way. “Thanks for the ride.”
With that, I walk away, the Uber’s headlights fading behind me. Eventually, I hear the driver carefully turn his car around and speed off into the night, leaving me alone with nothing but swampy darkness as company.
Cicadas hum and chirp all around me as I pad barefoot down the long, winding driveway. The long walk cuts through my buzz like a blade, knocking me down a few pegs. I blink up at the clear night sky and take a deep, restorative breath. I hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since I started working here, and I went straight to gin, my arch nemesis? No wonder I practically hallucinated on the dance floor. I’m not even sure anyone had been dancing with me now that I have a clearer picture of the situation. Just like my weird, illicit dreams, this is obviously something I cooked up in my absolutely deranged and sex-starved mind.
Right?
“I need to get laid,” I grumble to myself, swinging my strappy heels as the house comes into view.
A snapping sound catches my attention, and I whirl around.
Someone is standing fifty yards away in the shadow of the trees, and this time, I’m sure what I’m seeing is real.
Whether from the lingering whispers of liquid courage in my veins, or an onslaught of fresh adrenaline, I puff up my shoulders and glower at the shadows, my eyes locked on the figure now walking in my direction. “Hey!” I shout, and not kindly. “What are you doing out here in the dark? Go away!”
The figure stops walking and stands just out of sight, nothing but the outline of their body visible to my eyes, which are strained from having to peer through the darkness.
A shimmering red light erupts–the cherry of a cigarette–and for whatever reason, that calms me down significantly. This is real. This is happening. There’s actually someone standing mere yards away in the darkness, and it’s not a trick of my mind this time.
“What the fuck are you doing out here barefoot, Layla?”
I sag with relief. “I could ask you why you’re here, too.”
Dalton comes into view. In the near total darkness, his features are shadowed, nothing but the brief outline of his lit cigarette to cast a shred of light over his chiseled face. Compared to the finance bros from the club, Dalton is ruggedly handsome with an edge of mystery I find fascinating, not the classically charming Ivy League type at all. He’s the type of guy I’d expect to run into at a dark poetry reading at a bookstore in Seattle, and that’s not a bad thing.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
He shrugs, resting his cigarette between his lips as he looks me up and down, his gaze lingering on the swell of my breasts in my tight mini dress. “It’s a nasty habit.”
“Why not quit?”
“I don’t want to,” he deadpans, a slight rasp to his already low, smoky voice.
I lick my lips, unsure what to say next. There’s tension between us. I’ve felt it since the moment I met him for the first time. It’s electric, dangerous, and delicious. It’s everything it shouldn’t be.
“I thought you were spending the night in NOLA.” He takes another step toward me, close enough I can smell the leather of his jacket and the slightly musky spice of his skin.
“Well, obviously I’m not.”
“Why?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because now you’re walking barefoot in the dark.”
“Well, you’re creeping around in the dark. What’s the difference?”
“I’m not creeping around–”
“Stalking me, then?” My words were supposed to be a playful little jab, but I say them with more force than I mean to.
Dalton’s mouth ticks up at the edges into a cocky smile, his eyes the shade of raw, uncut emeralds in the slices of moonlight drifting between the branches overhead. His tongue darts out, slowly pressing against the inside of his lower lip. “Why do I feel like you’re going to be disappointed when I tell you I’m not stalking you, Angel?”
“I don’t believe you.”
He stares down at me, slowly bringing his cigarette to his lips. His throat tightens as he takes a long, exaggerated drag and lets the smoke fall from his lips. “I don’t think you want to believe me. I think you like the thrill, Layla, of being hunted.”
Chills lick up and down my spine, settling low in my belly. He searches my eyes and smirks.
“I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
He walks past me toward the house.
“I knew you were kind of fucked up. You’d have to be to take a night shift at this place.”
I whirl toward him, chasing after him. “I’m not fucked up!”
“What would you call it, then?” He stops walking, stubbing out his cigarette with the toe of his shoe and looks down at me expectantly.
I curl my hands into fists at my sides, gripping the straps of my heels like a weapon. His gaze sweeps over me, slow and thoughtful, like he’s drinking me in. Again, he lingers on my breasts.
“Take a fucking picture, Dalton. It’ll last longer.”
“Oh, don’t tempt me,” he rasps, taking a single step toward me, which effectively closes the distance between us. “Say the word, and I’ll do you one better and paint you naked, Angel. Every curve.”
I find it hard to catch my breath as his words brush over my cheek. Another step and he’s mere inches away, his body casting mine in his shadow. He chuckles to himself as he runs his knuckles over my chest, his fingertips grazing the low neckline that does nothing to hide my cleavage.
My nipples peak, aching to be felt. I hate that his touch ignites a fire within me that pools between my thighs.
What’s worse is that he notices the way I melt, and his eyes darken, his expression shifting from feline amusement to something dripping with hunger, maybe even desire. When I don’t immediately shy away from his touch, he smooths his hand up my side, caressing my left breast.
I don’t dare take a breath. I just stand there, stupidly, letting this perfect stranger touch me.
His eyes don’t leave mine for a single second as he hooks his thumb under the top of my dress and tugs down.
The flimsy fabric rips, the sound echoing around us. It’s enough to break me from whatever trance he put me under.
I swing my heels by the straps, aiming for his head, but with a dark chuckle he backs out of my range of motion.
But to my surprise, he doesn’t retreat. He stalks toward me and rips the shoes from my hands and presses me up against a tree. “Hey! Get off!”
“Do not come out here alone at night again,” he commands, his voice dropping to something low and fierce, a tone that sends ripples of fear through my body.
I squirm, trying to get out of his grasp, but he clutches my arms and shoves me back against the tree. “Dalton!”
He releases me, stepping back, his expression unreadable. He points to the house. “Go.”
I sniff indignantly, brushing bark and dirt from my ass and thighs. I almost tell him to fuck off, but the look on his face makes me want to shrivel up and die.
“Go to the house, now.”
“You act like the boogeyman is out here hunting me, Dalton!”
“I’m not entirely sure he isn’t.”
I keep my eyes on his until I pass him. His footsteps behind me fill the air around us until we finally reach the house. He tosses my shoes toward the screen door. “Go to bed.”
“Who do you think you are?” I whirl to face him.
“You’re drunk, Layla. Did that man who picked you up earlier really drop you off at the gate and make you walk–”
“I got a ride back here, asshole. And, Adam? Bailey’s cousin?” I step toward him. “You were watching me when I left, weren’t you?”
He tucks his hands in the pockets of his jacket.
“You were. You watched me leave.” I advance on him, closing the distance between us. “Were you at the club tonight, Dalton?”
His steely expression shifts, his mouth quirking up at the corners. “Why would I have gone to a nightclub in New Orleans, Layla?”
“I don’t know. Were you there?”
“I don’t know where there is–”
“Did you come up behind me and–and–” I can barely finish the sentence. “Touch me.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks, but his eyes give nothing away. “Sounds like you had a grand old time, but not with me. You would’ve known it was me touching you, Angel, because you would’ve been screaming my fucking name.”
“Fuck you,” I snarl, and walk to the house, throwing open the screen door. Deciding I’m not done railing on him yet, I turn back, but the driveway is dark and empty.
That fucking dickhead probably ran along the side of the house to get away from me. Good. Fuck him, anyway. I stumble into the quiet house. It’s probably 2:00 in the morning. I’m not actually sure. In fact, I’m pretty sure Bailey has my purse, which is just fantastic, and I also think I must have left my phone in the backseat of the Uber.
“God damnit,” I hiss as I trudge up the stairs. A light is on in my aunt's room. Vera is probably still awake tending to her, so I don’t bother checking on Aunt Penny. I’m off until Monday, anyway.
My room is cool and dark, shadows dancing in every corner like usual. The curtains drift with the soft breeze coming through the screened windows, the song of cicadas filling the room.
I lean against the door and close my eyes, trying to calm my racing heart.
Part of me wants to go find Dalton and give him another piece of my mind. The other part of me wants to find him and let him paint me naked like he offered. Or, more likely, threatened. I groan, sinking into a crouch and resting my face in my hands.
I can still feel his touch on my skin and smell his smokey, spicy scent as I get out of the shower sometime later and fall naked into bed. My fingers immediately drift between my thighs, gliding through the wetness pooled there.
And while I tease myself, I imagine it’s Dalton’s thumb circling my clit. I imagine his mouth on my neck and his taste on my tongue. I imagine it’s him nudging my legs apart, and his cock dragging over my pussy before pressing inside of me.
Something about him has me conflicted. I don’t like him. I think he’s mean, honestly. I think he’s rude and trying to scare me for some reason.
But after tonight, I also know my body craves his touch.
I fall asleep, and the last whimpered word on my lips is his name.