Layla - Colleen Hoover Page 0,53

Willow remained downstairs.

Layla takes off her jeans and kicks them toward the bed. She pulls her shirt off, but gets caught up in it and almost falls. I help her out of her shirt. She’s laughing when I toss it to the floor.

That’s when Layla gets my full attention. She’s in a good mood. She’s laughing. She’s drunk and carefree in this moment. It’s very rare that Layla lets loose like this anymore. I can count on one hand the times I’ve heard her giggle since her surgery.

I like it. I miss it.

Maybe this house and this vacation really are helping us.

I kiss her this time, and I’m relieved when I do, because all the want is back inside me. I force Willow out of my mind and focus on Layla as much as I possibly can. She wrestles my shirt off me, and we’re still standing next to the bed when I unfasten her bra. She presses her body against mine, and we kiss until I can feel her becoming unbalanced, her body leaning to the right.

She gasps as I spin her around and bend her over the mattress. Her gasp is followed by a giggle, and my God, I love that sound so much. I don’t even remove her panties. I just pull them aside and then shove myself into her like I’m afraid this feeling will pass if I don’t rush it.

She moans, and it’s loud, and I don’t want her to be loud tonight. I reach around and cover her mouth with my hand as I fuck her. All the noises she makes remain stifled against the palm of my hand.

I don’t make a single noise when I come.

And then when I roll her onto her back and reach between her legs, I kiss her the whole time I’m touching her.

Willow may be in the back of my mind, but that means she’s still in my mind, and for whatever reason, I don’t want her hearing this right now.

When we’re finished, I fall on top of her, breathing heavily. Layla is running her fingernails down my back, but my eyes are closed, my face pressed into the mattress.

I should be satiated, but I’m full of impatience, even still.

I want to go downstairs and talk to Willow.

I think about that—how I brought Layla back to this place so I could focus on her, but that focus is beginning to blur.

Layla has a right to know what’s going on in this house around her. She’s ignorant of Willow’s presence. Ignorant of Willow’s use of her body at night. Ignorant of my culpability in the situation.

Yet I do nothing to change any of that.

Layla shoves against my chest until I roll onto my back. She walks to the bathroom to clean herself up. I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling, wondering how long it’ll be before Layla goes to sleep. It’s not very late. Four margaritas would normally be enough to ensure she calls it an early night, but she slept until eleven this morning.

I can hear the shower kick on in the bathroom, and I groan. Showers wake her up even more when she’s drunk. It’s like they breathe new life into her. She’s probably going to emerge from the shower and ask to binge-watch an entire Netflix series in one go. It could be hours before she falls asleep now.

I button my jeans and walk to the dresser. I study her prescription bottles, reading the names to see which one she normally takes to help her sleep.

I open the lid to the Ambien, shake one into my hand, and then put the bottle back in the dresser.

I go downstairs to make Layla a glass of wine. Wine mixed with margaritas will make her sleepier. The sleeping pill will exacerbate that. It’s not like she doesn’t take them on her own every night anyway. I’m just accelerating the process.

I use the back of a spoon to crush the pill up on the counter. I scoop up the powder and mix it into the wineglass until it’s completely dissolved.

I turn to walk out of the kitchen, but I don’t make it far.

The glass is knocked from my grip and shatters against the kitchen floor, several feet away from me.

I look at my empty hand, and then I look at the droplets of red wine as they stain the white cabinets on their descent to the floor.

The wine is everywhere. I just stand still, completely shocked.