“Then why were you fighting my tip so badly? I don’t understand. You could use that money to take some of the pressure off.”
Layla sniffled, and that little sound pierced his heart. She brushed her knuckles under her lashes quickly and slid out from his embrace. “Sit on down, and I’ll get you cleaned up.”
“What?”
“You’re all cut up,” she said with a shrug as she avoided his gaze.
Cut up? He looked at his reflection on the glass insert cabinet near the fridge and cringed. Some faux-date he was. Harrison had popped him good right under the eye in the fight, and it had been a gusher. The cut was mostly healed now and hadn’t bothered him at all, but half his face was covered in a dried stream of crimson.
All he wanted to do right now was take care of Layla. To ease her burden somehow. Money? He could make all of her problems go away, but that wasn’t what she wanted or needed from a man. And now he was utterly confused on what he could do to make her feel better. The hug had made her shoulders relax, but then she’d pushed him away.
He leaned back on the counter, mystified by the woman’s needs. With gorilla females, they needed protection, sex, and to be provided for. He could protect Layla and could certainly provide for her, but she didn’t want that. She was independent, and a gaping piece of him admired her for that. She didn’t need his help. He crossed his arms over his bare chest as she filled up a tea kettle with water and then disappeared down a short hallway.
Pushing off the counter, he studied the pictures stuck to her refrigerator with colorful magnets and clips. Most were of her smiling with a gray-haired man with glasses who, from the look on his face, truly adored Layla. And along the top was a row of postcards. Most were from Florida. He plucked one out from under a zombie magnet and read the back.
Miss you bunches. Merry Christmas. Mom and Dad.
The writing was scribbled and messy, as if whoever had written it was in a hurry.
“Pretty lame, huh?” Layla asked.
Kong jumped and turned a startled gaze on her. “What is?”
“Keeping their letters where I have to see them all the time.”
“Do you talk to them on the phone?”
Her lips turned up at one corner as she shook her head. “It’s easiest if we don’t talk.”
Kong dragged his attention back to the postcard. The only correspondence between Layla’s parents and her. It was postmarked three days before Christmas a few years ago. “Easiest for you or for them?”
“Your eyes are glowing.”
“Well, this shit pisses me off.”
“Why? It doesn’t piss me off. I have Mac. Now sit.”
Kong snorted an offended sound as he replaced the postcard under the zombie magnet. “I’m a gorilla, Layla, not a Labrador.” When she lifted her eyebrows and waited, he growled softly and sat in a creaking chair at the table, clearly not made for weight like his.
With a distracted smile on her lips, she filled a bowl with warm water and pulled up a chair in front of him. She wasn’t close enough for his liking, so he pulled the backs of her knees until her chair scooted toward him and her legs settled right in the apex between his. There. Better. His animal quieted the beating of his chest and settled inside him. Fight nights always riled him, but Layla was proving to be a worthy balm. Damn, she was close to his throbbing dick. Focus. You signed a contract.
“Tell me about your crew,” she murmured as she dabbed a moist washrag under his eye.
“My crew or my friends?”
“You dislike Rhett?”
“And Kirk. They’re my handlers, nothing more.”
“Okay, then tell me about your friends. Your real ones. I’ve seen you with the bear crews at Sammy’s.”
“Matt is the guy I go to when I need to get something off my chest.”
“Matt Barns of the Gray Backs?”
He nodded slightly as she wrung out the water in the bowl and began the gentle stroking of his face with the rag.
“I wish they were my crew.” Kong swallowed hard, but the words were already out there in the air between them. He’d never said that out loud before.
Layla stopped cleaning and looked up at him with startled blue eyes. From this close, he could see green flecks in the middle. Beautiful. He felt drunk. As if she’d given him a truth serum. Siren. Enchantress.
“The Gray Backs are notoriously violent misfits who don’t fit in with any crew. I know because I’ve served them since before they registered to the public. Those are some scary bears.”
Kong shrugged his shoulder. She hadn’t seen scary yet. Hadn’t seen the monster inside of him.
“Can I tell you something?” Layla asked as she began rubbing the washcloth gently down his neck to the red splatters on his chest. “I like the Gray Backs. Even wild, they’ve always been nice to me. Easton almost killed a man for groping my ass a couple of months ago. Or Beaston, I guess they call him.”