Layla - Colleen Hoover Page 0,8
was gonna say rich and empty, but I don’t think you’re rich, or you wouldn’t be playing for that band.”
I would tell her I’m not poor, but admitting that I play for the band willingly and not out of necessity is kind of embarrassing, so I’d rather not say anything at all.
“If you’re destined to be poor, it’s better to be the happy kind of poor,” she adds.
She’s right. I kiss her neck, then her breast. Then my mouth is resting against hers again. “I think I’m glad I met you.”
She pulls back a little, then smiles up at me. “You think? Or you are?”
“I am. I am very glad I met you.”
She trails her fingers over my mouth. “I’m very glad I met you.”
We kiss some more, and it’s full of lazy anticipation, as if we know we have all night and there’s no rush. But I already put on the condom, and she’s already guiding me into her.
I still take my time with her. So much time.
Minutes feel like they matter more when they’re spent with her.
She’s on her stomach, and I’m trailing unworthy fingers up the smooth curve of her spine.
I reach the base of her neck and then sweep my fingers into her hair and begin caressing the back of her head.
“I’d kill for a taco right now,” she says.
I’ve never wanted inside a girl’s mind more than I want inside Layla’s. Her mind doesn’t work like other minds work. There’s no filter between her brain and her mouth, and there’s no conscience telling her she should feel bad for whatever it is she might have said. She just says things unapologetically and without any remorse. Even when her words sting.
I didn’t know brutal honesty was sexy until tonight.
I told her a few minutes ago she was the best sex I ever had. I expected her to return the compliment, but she just smiled and said, “We always think that when we’re in it. But then someone new comes along, and we forget how good we thought it was before, and the cycle starts all over again.”
I laughed. I thought she was joking, but she wasn’t. And then I thought about what she had said, and she was right. I lost my virginity at fifteen. I thought it was the best thing I would ever experience. But then Victoria Jared came along when I was seventeen, and she was the best sex I’d ever had. And then Sarah Kisner, and the girl who snuck into my dorm freshman year, and two or three after that, and then Sable. Each time, the aftermath made me think that was as good as it would get. But maybe they were all equally as good as the one before.
None of them compare to Layla. I’m certain of that. As certain as I was all the times before Layla.
“Are you religious?” Layla asks.
Her thoughts are as sporadic and intense as her actions. I think that’s why I’m so intrigued by her. One minute she’s on her back screaming my name as she digs her nails into my shoulders. The next minute she’s on her stomach, telling me how badly she’s craving a taco. The next minute she forgets about the tacos and wants to know if I’m religious. I love it. Most people are predictable. Every word and action from Layla is like being handed a gift-wrapped surprise.
“I’m not religious. Are you?”
She shrugs. “I believe in life after death, but I’m not sure I’m religious.”
“I think existence is simply luck of the draw. We’re here for a while, and then we’re not.”
“That’s depressing,” she says.
“Not really. Imagine what heaven is like. The incessant positivity, the smiles, the lack of sin. The thought of living eternally in a place full of people who spent their lives spouting off inspirational quotes sounds way more depressing to me than if it all just ends with death.”
“I don’t know if I believe in that kind of afterlife,” Layla says. “I look at existence more as a series of realms. Maybe heaven is one of them. Maybe it isn’t.”
“What kind of realms?”
She rolls onto her side, and when my eyes fall to her breasts, she doesn’t try to force me to make eye contact with her. Instead, she pulls my head against her chest as she rolls onto her back. I lay my head on her chest and cup one of her breasts as she casually fingers pieces of my hair and continues talking.
“Think of it