She nodded but I could see she wasn’t happy with the way things were going but I just couldn’t deal with it. My mind stubbornly stayed focused on Layla and Matthews and the thoughts of what they were doing tortured me to exhaustion.
Against my better judgement, I’d had more to drink than I should have, so I called a taxi.
We drove to her place in silence. As if the cab driver sensed something was wrong, he didn’t make small talk either. It was the complete opposite of when I’d picked her up earlier. I was grateful for the quiet, although I knew it usually meant my date was pissed off.
I told the driver to wait for me while I opened the car door and helped Sloane out. I led her to the front door and watched as she inserted the key and turned to unlock it. Her back was stiff and she wasn’t smiling or flirty like she’d been earlier.
Feeling like a jerk, I took her hand in mine. “Thank you for a lovely evening. You are a beautiful woman, Sloane.”
She looked up at me and smiled. “Just not the one for you, huh?”
Stunned into momentary silence by her accurate assessment, my mouth twisted into a wry smile.
“That obvious, huh?”
“You’re just not that in to me.” She laughed, trying to make light of it. “Do you mind me asking . . . is there someone else, Grayson?”
How to reply? Honesty was usually the best way to go. Besides, I was half drunk and thinking up anything else was more like hard work.
“I honestly don’t know the answer to that question. Maybe it was just the whole ball scenario. It’s not you, Sloane. You are lovely and any man would be a fool not to like you. To prove it, I’d love to take you to dinner sometime this week if you’re free?”
Right now I’d do anything to stop my mind being consumed with my stepsister. And Sloane truly was lovely, I wasn’t lying. Maybe if I gave it more time, something real would happen between us?
“That would be awesome,” she said, her wide smile returning to her lovely face.
I leaned in and kissed her on the lips, making an effort to focus on her. Sloane was sweet. She’d be the perfect wife for some lucky bastard.
“Goodnight.” I smiled down at her. “I’ll call you to set up a time for dinner, okay?”
She nodded. “Cool. Goodnight, Grayson. And thanks for being my date tonight. I had fun.”
Back at the mansion, I went straight for the fully stocked bar next to the pool area. I needed another drink—or two—to help me sleep. If there was one thing I hated, it was tossing around restlessly in my bed.
I threw back a shot of tequila, and then another, making a face as the liquid fire burned down my throat to my chest. This kind of pain I could deal with. I understood the cause of it. It made sense to my logical brain.
I poured a stiff drink from the hundred-and-fifty year old top notch whisky Dad kept hidden inside the cupboard. He’d argue that I didn’t know the difference between this and cheap shit, but I did. I had a feel for the good things in life and because it was kinda off limits, it tasted so much better.
Sliding the door open, I made my way outside to the pool. I loved sitting out there between the plants, listening to the water fall from the fountains while the cool breeze swirled around me.
As soon as I finished my drink, I stripped down and jumped into the cool water. I swam a few laps until my muscles were fatigued and exhaustion took me over. I was ready to pass out and let sleep take over.
19: Grayson
Wrapping a towel around my waist, I scooped up my clothes and made my way to the laundry room, depositing them on the counter to be dealt with later.
As I made my way up the stairs, I noticed that a light was on in Layla’s room. Was she home or had she left a lamp on before she left? It was only when I crept quietly toward her door that I heard the sobs coming from her room.
Layla was crying? What the fuck! If Matthews hurt her, I’d go hunt him down and fucking kill him.
Tightening the towel around my hips, I stood at the door for a few minutes unsure what to do. My brain wasn’t as clear as it normally was. Damn. I cursed at myself for getting carried away with the booze.
Her sobs were growing louder, tearing at my fucking heart. I had to see her. Check that she was okay.
I knocked on the door. “Layla?” My voice sounded out louder than I intended. It echoed through the otherwise silent house. Fuck. I didn’t want Taylor to wake up and find me like this, but I had an urge to see Layla that I couldn’t ignore.
“Y . . . yes?”
“Can I come in?”
Silence.
“To talk?”
“Okay.”
I turned the knob and pushed the door open. My gaze lingered on her tear stained face as she looked up at me. She was lying on her stomach, clutching a pillow that had black blotches all over it presumably from her mascara. Her hair was a half-up, half-down mess.