Jace gave Layla a concerned look before going to help someone at the other end of the bar. She had to get out of there. The beat up couch in the back of Bertie's store was looking better and better. She'd hang out there until she could drive, then she'd go home where she should have stayed in the first place.
She was halfway down the street before she realized she should at least send Amelia a text to tell her she left so the other woman wouldn't wonder what happened to her. She reached for her purse, except she didn't have her purse.
Which meant she didn't have her keys, including the one to get into Holstein's.
"Fuck." She stomped her feet as she came to a stop next to the mailbox. She'd been in such a hurry to get away from all the bad memories and bad news that she must have left her purse on the stool. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Her voice escalated so it bounced off the darkened shop fronts that lined either side of the main road. Well, mostly darkened. The light was on in Emmett's hardware store for some reason, and there was the Rooster of course, the neon sign on the side of the building flickering from down the street.
If only she'd stayed home and worked on the score for the school musical like she wanted to. Then she wouldn't be standing drunk on the sidewalk with no keys and no ride home.
She took a deep breath. When she was around Brody, she turned into many things, but a coward wasn't one of them. She'd just march back in there, take her purse, and dare anyone to say anything about it. Maybe she'd even pay her tab and say goodbye to Amelia while she was at it.
"Layla?"
The already too familiar voice, smooth and sexy as ever, came from behind her shoulder, knocking her muddled senses around inside her like a bag of spilled marbles.
She couldn't do this. Not now.
Layla smoothed her features into what she hoped was a look of utter composure then turned to face him. "Oh...hi."
See. Totally cool. Totally collected.
Never mind that she was pretty sure she was swaying on her feet.
Derek cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head as he took in her appearance. The path of his eyes burned as it traveled up her legs and glided over her bared shoulder. He held a paper shopping bag in the crook of his arm, which made as much sense as her running into him over and over when he should have left her for better things days ago.
Layla wobbled again, bracing herself with one hand on the mailbox. "I'll save you the trouble of asking. Yes. I'm drunk. Now if you'll kindly move, I'll bid you adieu and be on my way."
Derek did not move. Instead he shifted the bag to his other arm, that devilish smile she loved so much creeping across his lips and softening the edges of her discomfort at being blindsided in the bar.
"Why are you drunk?" He lifted his brows. "And where exactly are you going?"
So...they were going to do this. They were going to pretend that the whole awkward, angry post-casual sex thing didn't happen.
Fine. She had just enough alcohol in her to go along with that.
Layla took a step closer to him, folding her arms across her chest. "Uh-uh. I'm the one asking the questions."
"Okay, Ms. M." Now he stepped closer to her, the epitome of lazy confidence even now, in the middle of the night on an empty street in a middle of nowhere town. Hell, he made that paper bag look like a hella cool fashion accessory.
"Okay. What are you doing here?" The magnet-pulse of his proximity tugged on her, but she stayed put. She tried not to think about the way that long, lean body had covered hers, had moved against her, inside her, making her forget for a few minutes all of her problems, all of her guilt.
"I was shopping." He nodded at the bag. "I needed to pick up a few things, and Emmett offered to open up his shop for me."
"Emmett." The world had turned upside down, and all the grumpy old men had gone soft. First Ed, now Emmett. "Glad you're all getting so cozy. What could you possibly need from a hardware store at this time of night."
"Sandpaper. A few tools. They're for a project I've decided to work on." He looked away, his smile gone.
"Oh, great. That explains everything."
Suddenly his eyes were on her again. Searching. Uncertain. The marbles rolled around inside her in response.
"About last night..."
And here it was. She wanted to both think about last night and put it out of her mind forever.
"Yeah," she said. "That was awkward, wasn't it? I suppose it shouldn't have happened--"
"I don't." His voice was firm. It held an edge she hadn't heard before. He moved closer, the distance between them melting away to almost nothing.
"Oh, come on. You know--"
"Don't tell me what I know. Don't tell me what I want or what I feel. I meant it when I said it was amazing. You're the one who tried to convince me otherwise."
Now she looked away. The expression on his face was too real for someone who she was only supposed to know through magazine covers and her stereo.
"Look at me," he said.
The soft-spoken command drew her eyes back to his.
"I understand why you said what you said, but I trust you. I know you're not like..."
"Not like your other women?" Layla finished helpfully.
His face hardened for the briefest of moments. "No. I trust you."
"You don't know me."
"I trust you. And I wish you would try to trust me, just a little. You are not a game to me, Layla."
She squeezed her eyes shut. With the booze and Brody's manipulations--the anger, the guilt--this was too much for her. She couldn't handle what Derek was saying, too. And she most definitely couldn't handle what it might mean for her.
"I just..." She ran a hand over her face. "After everything else, I can't do this right now."
Silence stretched between them until she thought she might have imagined the entire conversation.
"Okay," Derek finally said. "We won't do this now. Tell me...what's the 'everything else.' Maybe I can help."
So she told him. She left out all the parts having to do with the fire--she couldn't tell him that--but she told him about how she didn't want to come out in the first place, about her escapades with whiskey, and most importantly how she left her purse and had no way home. Derek's face darkened when she told him about Brody and the way he'd enjoyed watching her suffer.
"So that's why you were dropping the F-Bomb at the top of your voice when I came out of Emmett's?"
"That was so not the top of my voice...but yeah."
He nodded and grabbed her hand. "Let's go."
She followed him, every nerve in her body focused on the way his warm, strong fingers closed around hers.
In front of the Rooster, she reluctantly squirmed her fingers out of his grasp. Instantly she missed the connection, as if part of her limb had been severed. "You can wait here...I'll just run in and grab my stuff."
"Nope."
He grabbed her hand again, and the knot of apprehension that had wrapped around her chest loosened. Layla frowned. She didn't need help. Ever. So why did it feel so right knowing Derek was by her side?
He pulled her gently away from the door, the light from the rooster-shaped neon sign on the side of the building flickering in his eyes as he backed her up against the brick exterior of the building. "Hey. I got you. No way am I letting you go back in there alone. Not with you being so upset."
"I really am capable of handling it myself. I--"
"I know you're capable. You're strong as hell...don't think that wasn't one of the first things I noticed about you. But that doesn't mean you couldn't use a little back up every once in awhile." He squeezed her hand. "And just so you know, I love how capable you are. Turns me on."
"It does?" She hated the way her voice came out, soft and husky. Since when did she do soft and husky?
The door opened, and a few of her fellow teachers emerged, the sound of one of Morphium's songs pounding at their backs until the door closed behind them and muted the song to a low rumble. Derek shifted his body so his back was to them, effectively blocking her from their view as they headed toward the parking lot.
His lips tilted into a crooked grin. "At least someone in there has good taste in music."