Golden Trail (The 'Burg #3)(121)
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Layne was standing outside with hair wet from his shower wearing thick socks, track pants and a freshly laundered, white, long-sleeved thermal. He bent down to pick up the tennis ball Blondie had just dropped at his feet, tipped his head back to see she’d inched back, front legs out and sprawled, chest to the cement patio, behind in the air, tail wagging and her eyes were riveted to the ball.
Layne tossed it and she went racing after it.
Then he straightened, turned to the table, picked up his coffee mug steaming in the cold air, sipped at it and turned back to Blondie who was dropping the tennis ball again at his feet. He repeated his actions, she raced away and Layne reached to the table and grabbed his cell, flipping it open.
By the time it was ringing in his ear, he’d thrown the ball for Blondie three more times.
He heard the connect then, “You’ve reached Lieutenant Garrett Merrick, I’m unable to take your call but leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
After the beep, Layne said, “Merry. Layne. Call me when you get this.”
Then he flipped the phone shut, tossed it on the table, bent and tossed the ball for Blondie and turned to the table to get his mug. Something caught at his peripheral vision, he twisted his neck to look through the sliding glass doors and froze.
Rocky was walking down the stairs.
Not even ten minutes ago he’d left her in the bathroom. After he’d finished his workout, he got in the shower when she was blow drying her hair and when he got out of the shower, she was still blow drying her hair.
He could see this. His woman had a lot of hair.
After he’d dressed, he’d left her bent over the basin applying mascara.
Now she was strutting down the stairs wearing a tight, dark brown skirt, a blue sweater with one of those cowl necks, the one on Rocky’s sweater hanging deep, passed her tits and showing skin at her chest, the rest of the sweater skintight and a pair of dark blue pumps with a high, thin heel, a closed toe and a thin, sexy ankle strap. Her makeup was done full on. Her hair was back and he couldn’t tell how she’d pulled it back this time but he thought it was a waste of all that effort with the blow dryer to pull it back and he’d be pulling it down about two seconds after he found out what in the f**k she was up to, dressed like that on Sunday morning.
He grabbed his phone and was nearly to the door when Blondie caught him and dropped the ball at his feet. He transferred his phone to his hand carrying the mug, bent, grabbed the ball, tossed it side arm as he straightened, she dashed after it and Layne slid open the door and walked into the house.
Rocky was now at the island transferring shit from one purse to another. Vera was at the sink, doing dishes. His boys were both camped out on the couch watching TV and he couldn’t see but parts of their bodies as they were lounging.
“We don’t usually dress to watch the Colts play, sweetcheeks,” he remarked after he slid the door closed.
He thought it was telling that she didn’t lift her head when she answered and he knew why with what she said.
“I’m going to church.”
Layne stopped dead and felt his eyes narrow. Vera turned slowly from the sink and her surprised eyes hit Rocky. Both his boys’ heads popped up over the couch.
“Come again?” Layne asked quietly but he couldn’t keep the rumble out of his tone.
Rocky lifted a compact at the same time she unscrewed the lid of a tube of lip gloss and her eyes skidded across him before she flipped the compact open, her eyes going to it and she repeated, “I’m going to church.”
Then she calmly slid the applicator across her lips, transferring a glimmering, peachy gloss to them as Layne watched and wondered if counting to ten actually worked.
Then he decided, f**k it.
He walked to the island and stood at the end of it next to where she was at the front, put his mug and cell down and asked, “You’re going to church?”
She rubbed her lips together, shoved the applicator in the tube and snapped the compact closed, taking this time, he knew, to pluck up the courage to meet his eyes.
Then she met his eyes. “Yes. I’m going to church.”
“When’s the last time you went to church?” Layne returned.
She pulled in breath then shrugged.
It was then, Layne was done.
“You’re not goin’ to church,” he stated firmly but his voice was pitched low.
“Yes I am,” she replied firmly but her voice was pitched a little high.
“No, Roc, you aren’t.”
“Yes, Layne, I am.”
“Why?” Layne asked sharply.
“I feel in the mood for fellowship,” she answered and Layne heard both Tripp and Jasper laugh, Tripp’s was louder and Jasper’s was more a chuckle.
“Roc –” Layne started, wondering if his mother and sons would find it inappropriate if he threw her over his shoulder and carried her up the stairs, knowing at least his mother would, and then wondering if he gave a f**k.
He was cut off by Vera. “That’s an excellent idea. Let me check my hair. I’ll go with you.”
Rocky’s startled eyes turned to Vera, who was definitely not Rocky’s best friend and she’d made this clear beyond yesterday morning. Re-ironing Layne’s shirts was just the continuation of it. They’d been in détente during the Paige drama but Vera laid it on after they got back from Cal’s. When they’d arrived home, Vera had been in mid-October-Spring-clean of the house which now, top to bottom, was sparkling. And, after Layne had brought in the cookies that Rocky made and his sons devoured them like they’d never tasted anything but sawdust in their lives, Vera had demanded to make dinner then demanded to clean up after dinner. She also practically raced Rocky to the washing machine any time Rocky looked to be heading that way and, therefore, they’d engaged in a hostile tag team to do Layne’s laundry. Through this, Vera was making clear whose house this was and who was welcome to make themselves at home in it and clear whose it wasn’t and that person was Rocky.