“You’re off to… shit… today,” Mollie said, jumping higher and higher onto the plyo box two feet above them. “You okay?”
Layla couldn’t reply. She wasn’t ignoring her best friend. She just didn’t think there was enough oxygen left in her lungs to allow her speak. Instead she nodded, sucking in a deep pocket of air as she lowered and then jumped, almost missing the box completely before Vaughn blew his annoying whistle and she and Mollie turned toward the kettle bells.
This was good. Exertion, distraction, utter exhaustion. This would keep her mind off Donovan, off his touch, his skin, the messages he had left her, all the ones she hadn’t bothered to answer.
What happened? Was Donovan’s way of asking why she hadn’t come to him, why she’d stayed away, but Layla caught the meaning behind his veiled worry. He wanted to know what had changed. He wanted to know why she wouldn’t speak to him.
“Autumn wants a Potter marathon tonight.” Mollie gritted her teeth, swinging the bells, twisting her waist, her defined arms bunching tight as she breathed through her movements.
“Where?”
“Her place and…”
“Numbers, Mollie…”
“Ugh, I’m counting, Semper Fi…” Mollie rolled her eyes at her boyfriend when his fussing became too loud. Her rep finished, she set the bells down and collapsed on the mat with Layla following her a minute later. Even with her eyes closed and her mouth open, sucking up the hot air in the studio, Layla could feel Mollie’s stare. That and the suspiciously Marine-scented breath fogging against the side of Layla’s arm. “If you’re worried Donovan will make an appearance, then don’t. Autumn said he’s out of town this weekend.”
“What?” Layla said, sitting up too quickly, acting too curious. Underneath her, Layla’s soaking yoga pants squeaked against the sweaty mat.
Mollie’s smirk was ridiculous and it gave Layla the impression that her best friend expected her to drill for details. But she didn’t, couldn’t actually as the heat, the quick lift of her body off the mat and exertion got the better of her and her heartbeat refused to slow. “Shit. I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“He’s a demon,” Mollie said, flipping her middle finger at her boyfriend as he passed by them. “God, you know what?” Mollie copied Layla, sitting up with her hands in her hair and elbows on her knees. “Me too. Ugh.”
And then the details of the night and the plans Donovan had made out of town were completely disregarded as Layla jogged after Mollie toward the bathroom and both girls hurled over the toilets.
A good two minutes of Layla trying to block out the stench and sound of her and her friend’s exercise-induced spewing, and she finally found her voice. “Mollie?”
“Yeah… ugh, oh God… what Layla?”
“I fucking hate your man.”
He waited for her outside of her Marketing class. Again. A quick glance down the hallway brought Donovan back to that day, months before, when he had taken her into an empty classroom to set her straight. That day, like only Layla could do, she had instead climbed right into his head, into his senses and he found himself tasting her, wanting to take her, right then.
But that was before she’d left. That was before Donovan had let things get complicated, before he’d throttled her ex for touching her. Before Donovan forgot about no emotions. God, what a jackass he’d been.
He leaned against the wall, surrounded by the damp heat from the furnaces in Marshall, the loud, thick crowd and the mingling reek of perfume and pine from the Christmas trees in the lobby. Donovan ignored the people that passed him. They were excited, anxious with Christmas break starting that afternoon, but he didn’t pay attention to the activity, to the quick smiles, the obvious winks he got. His eyes were on that door across the hall from him, on the activity behind it as he waited for Layla to walk through it.
He was damn tired of her ignoring him. Even more tired that her avoiding him had unsettled him. He thought he didn’t need anyone. He thought he didn’t need Layla or any woman, for that matter. But things had changed… for him at least, and pride—and passion—had him determined not to let her toss him aside without an explanation.
“Hi Donovan,” he heard, but didn’t acknowledge that soft, female voice with more than a dip of his chin. It could have been a Victoria’s Secret model who spoke to him, it could have been a troll, he didn’t care. His frustration led him here, right in front of Layla’s classroom intent on getting an explanation, whether the brat liked it or not.