Page 45 of Faking It with a Single Dad
“Layla.” My name on his tongue sounds right.
I pull closer, and he does, too. My heart pounds in my chest as our lips linger just within inches of each other. Tristan’s hands find the curve of my hips and pull me closer to him. Still seated on the stool, I part my legs and allow him access as he stands between them.
“This isn’t right,” I whisper.
I think of Deanna, but I shrug her off my mind. The clothes I wear and being so close to Tristan make the whole thing seem off. My guilt nags me, but the alcohol makes it easier to ignore.
“I don’t care.”
Those are the last words I hear before his lips cover mine for the second time in forty-two hours. I kiss him back with a hunger I didn’t know I had. His hands explore my curves with urgency, and I give him my tongue. I know he can taste the alcohol on my tongue, and he likes it. His hardness presses against my pelvis, and I scoot closer to him, moaning into his mouth.
Suddenly, I feel the need to be honest with him.
“I found the mask,” I say into his mouth. “The mask from the party.”
Tristan breaks the kiss, his eyes glinting with lust. “So, you know—”
“I do.” I stare at him, a part of me scared he’d stop kissing me.
His lips return to mine. One of his hands covers my breasts, kneading my nipple with two fingers. I groan into his mouth, and I feel him get harder. I undo his belt as we kiss and stick my hand into his briefs. His cock is hard and warm as I wrap my fingers around it.
Then I realize something. Wait, he isn’t surprised. He knows that I’m the one from the party? He knew then, and he hired me all the same? What was his game?
Tristan must feel me stiffen because he pulls back. His lips are wet, and the tent in his pants is obvious. I watch him.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I straighten my rumpled shirt, my depths throbbing. “Yes, we, uh, shouldn’t. Tristan—”
“The food is ready,” he points to the pot. “Take what you can eat. I’m going to go to the bathroom. You can sleep in that room.” He points to the guest bedroom, where I had a shower.
“Tristan, what are you—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Layla.”
Tristan turns away from me and goes to shut the stove off. Afterward, he heads to the bedroom without looking at me. I watch him leave, and he doesn’t look back. Not once. I finish my drink in a gulp, set the glass down, and leave the room without touching the meal he made me.
This will never happen again, I think to myself as I leave the living room.
Chapter fourteen
Tristan
New York, with its loud honks and constantly chattering people. I look out the car window, watching strangers live their lives. Layla is on the other side of the backseat, but we don’t speak to each other. We haven’t talked since we entered the car.
It was awkward that morning. I’d have loved to go back to New Brooks, but the board members called to invite Layla and me out to celebrate the proposal. I’d thought we’d go to a nice restaurant, but they opted for a golf course.
My khaki shorts and cream-colored polo makes me feel like a rich asshole, and I’m not sure I like it.
“I don’t know how to golf. So, if I embarrass myself—”
I look away from the window towards Layla. “You won’t have to golf. You just have to be there.”
She was dressed in a white plaid skirt that stopped above her knees, a white collared shirt, and white sneakers. Her white hat lay on the seat beside her crossed legs and served as a barrier between us. We’d only bought the clothes this morning.
“Congratulations, boss.” My driver meets my eyes in the mirror. “Ma’am.” He looked toward Layla.
I give him a tight smile, and Layla does the same. He must sense the tension between us because he looks ahead, pretending not to hear a word we might say. Layla runs a hand through her black and white hair, hugs herself, then looks out the window.