Golden Trail (The 'Burg #3)(38)

“You gonna share?” he prompted.

“Yes,” she bit off. “But not now. We have a football game to get to.”

“You gonna get this apartment?”

“I don’t know,” she replied irately.

“Sweetcheeks, get the apartment.”

“Layne –”

“Do it,” he prompted.

“Layne!”

“Your attorneys tell you what you got doesn’t allow you to f**k him over so bad he’ll reconsider any relationship he ever thinks of starting, you tell me, baby. I’ll find enough shit on him to make him move to another state.”

She didn’t speak, she just stared at him with her lips parted.

When this lasted awhile, he repeated, “Get the apartment.”

She stayed silent.

So Layne made a decision.

He left her on the stair and walked to the door.

He opened it and the blonde was on her cell phone outside.

She whirled to face him and Layne declared, “She’ll take it.”

* * * * *

“I can’t eat this,” Rocky announced quietly and Layne looked down at her.

They were standing three feet away from the concession stand and he’d just handed her a hotdog and a diet and she was looking like she was either going to heave or bolt.

He knew why she’d lost her appetite.

They’d just walked the length of the field from entrance to concession stand. The game was four minutes in and the ‘dogs were already on the board and, still, Rocky and Layne walking into the game with their arms around each other had diverted the attention of the vast majority of eyes in the bleachers and folks standing at the fence around the field. The parents were looking and the kids were looking and they weren’t being secretive about it.

They also fielded a variety of greetings from giggling girls pulling up the courage to say at the last minute, “Hey, Mrs. Astley,” to full grown men, some of them married fathers, married fathers of kids who probably sat in Rocky’s classroom, giving Rocky the once-over and saying to Layne, “Tanner,” in a way that could easily be read as, “Nice work, dude.”

If that wasn’t enough, Gabby, who always came early so she could sit front row, fifty yard line, had come early so she could sit front row, fifty yard line and she did this by Stew. That meant Rocky and Layne had to walk right in front of her while she glared fire at them both, her face so hard, Layne wouldn’t have been surprised if it shattered.

Nevertheless, he’d tipped his head to them both, keeping his arm firm around Rocky’s stiff shoulders as her fingers dug into his waist and he greeted, “Gabby, Stew,” a greeting which was not returned by either of them, and then he guided Rocky right by.

“It’s fine,” Layne assured her.

“It’s not fine!” she leaned in and hissed. “Did you see Josie?”

Layne felt his brows draw together. “Josie?”

“Josie, Layne, Josie Brand, now Josie Judd!”

“Chip’s wife?” Layne asked.

“Yes,” she snapped. “Chip’s wife and my best friend. My best friend who I haven’t called to inform that I’ve reunited with my old boyfriend!”

Jesus, that was all it was?

Layne grinned. “She’ll get over it.”

She threw her hands up and almost lost the lid of her cup as well as the dog out of the bun. “You obviously do not know Josie.”

He did, he knew Josie Brand but as far as he knew he hadn’t seen her in over twelve years.

“Sweetcheeks, calm down.”

She leaned closer. “If you call me sweetcheeks in front of one of the students –”

Like he had the previous day at the Station, he hooked her around the neck and yanked her into his body and both her hands flew out to the sides to avoid her not very exciting dinner getting crushed. This time, instead of her coming to his side, she was full frontal and that was better. Much better.

He dipped his face close to hers. “Baby, I’m not gonna call you sweetcheeks in front of the students.”

“Don’t kiss me either,” she hissed. “I haven’t read my contract for awhile but I think it has an express clause that I can’t make out with seriously hot private detectives at football games or during any other school activity.”

His body went still as his mind tried and failed to sort through how f**king great it felt that she referred to him as a “seriously hot private detective” at the same time he wanted, with no small amount of desperation, to laugh out loud for a long f**king time.

Instead, he joked, “It’s good they had the foresight to include that in your contract.”

“I’m not being funny, Layne,” she warned.

“You’re wrong, Raquel,” he replied.

At his words, she went smack into stare down which, unfortunately for her, Layne thought was cute.

Therefore, he asked, “Your contract says you can’t make out but does that mean I can’t kiss your neck?”

“Yes!” she hissed.

“Your forehead?” he went on.

“Yes!” Her voice was rising.

“Your nose?”

“Layne, this is not amusing.”

He smiled. “Wrong again, sweetcheeks.”