by Kendall Ryan
I expect him to make some noise of agreement or sympathy, or maybe offer a bit of encouragement. Instead, his face contorts into a frown.
“That’s what this is about?” he asks, a line forming in his forehead. “Your desire to become a mom?”
I nod. “Of course.”
“Fuck, okay then, that’s easy.” He blows out a breath as he says this. Then he leans forward, meeting my gaze with a serious expression. “Let me give you what you want. I can put a baby in you.”
The tequila must be hitting me harder than I thought, because I think Griffin just suggested he be my baby daddy. There’s absolutely no way he suggested that. But one look at his face tells me this has nothing to do with tequila and he is dead serious.
I sit there for a moment in stunned silence. Then my hazy, alcohol-soaked mind starts going a mile a minute, racing with all the reasons this is a very bad, very crazy idea.
“Griff . . .”
He grins wickedly. “Fully functioning baby maker,” he points to his crotch, “right here.”
I roll my eyes and chuckle at him.
“Look, before you say anything, hear me out. I’m not saying we need to get married, or anything. Hell, you don’t even have to date me and I can simply be Uncle Griffin. You said your clock is going to run out in a few years, and I know how important being a mom is to you. I could help. All I’m suggesting is a simple transaction that’ll lead to something miraculous. The oldest one in the book, really.”
I stare at him, barely able to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. Is he actually serious? There’s no way he’s serious.
“Griff, you’re an idiot. A sweet one, but an idiot nonetheless.”
He makes a small scoffing sound, collecting our empty glasses and taking them to the kitchen. “I’m going to pour us another drink. Just think about it,” he calls over one shoulder before he steps out of view.
I shake my head, waving him away with the back of my hand.
It’s not unusual for Griffin to be forward with me, whether it be with a corny pickup line or a full-blown come-on. But this? This is a whole other level. Of all the lines to try to get into my panties . . . a baby? Besides, he’s still a college kid. Even drunk on a little too much tequila, there’s no way I could ever take him seriously.
Plus, there’s the not-so-little detail that I don’t want to be a single mother. While I might be a strong, independent woman, I’m not one of those who thinks single motherhood would be a piece of cake. I work seventy hours a week and would need a support system. Tackling parenthood alone was never part of my plan.
When Griffin returns, he sits closer to me, so our legs are practically touching. He hands me my glass, and I drink, even though I know I should have stopped after the last one. But all memories of Brian must be erased, no matter how shitty I’ll feel in the morning, so that’s what I focus on as I continue drinking.
“Drink up, buttercup. And, seriously—the offer stands.”
I take a sip and level him with a stare. “That offer being your sperm, just so I’m clear?”
He chuckles and flashes me a sexy smile. “Exactly.”
I ignore him, as I often do, and merely smile back, but I can’t ignore that tight feeling inside my chest.
Griffin laughs, tipping his drink toward his full lips. “What? I’m guessing I have very strong swimmers.”
He’s gorgeous, but he’s also ten years younger than me and a cocky playboy. He can’t possibly know what he’s saying, offering to put a baby in me. I would never even consider it. Still, he’s sweet . . . in a misguided, juvenile kind of way.
I’ve polished off half my drink before I realize that I need to slow the heck down. I’m already halfway to Drunkville and when I arrive in Drunkville all bets are off.
“So, tell me, Griffin, how’d you get so sweet?” The words slip out before I can think about them, my body leaning into his, and it’s my first warning that I’m not halfway to Drunkville, I’m already there.
“Just born that way, I guess. Having an older sister helped too.” His gaze lazily roams my face, moving from my hair to my eyes before settling on my lips.
“Are you this sweet to all the girls?”
He doesn’t reply, slowly shaking his head and tucking a stray hair behind my ear.
His fingers are warm and soft as they graze my skin, sending a shock wave straight through my chest. Without thinking, I bring my mouth to his, our lips merely brushing at first. We hold still, his warm breath grazing my lips, electricity pulsing between us.
“Layne?” he whispers, his mouth still hovering over mine.
“Kiss me,” I whisper back.
He moves closer until our lips touch—tentative at first, and then with growing urgency as he takes control of the kiss. He tastes like tequila and youth.
God, why can’t I just throw caution to the wind for once?
Our mouths crash together, my hands hungrily raking over his firm chest. Holy hell, he’s so solid. Every inch of me lights up with the need for his touch, my body suddenly aching for more. His hand cups my jaw, and he tilts my head, lining up our mouths as he deepens the kiss, his tongue eagerly tasting mine.
Hello, hormones. It’s either the alcohol playing tricks on me, or Griffin is by far the best kisser I’ve ever had.
With a hungry groan, I crawl into his lap and straddle him. His hands move up my spine, and I feel the evidence of his heavy arousal pressing between my thighs. Holy hell. Every muscle south of my belly button clenches at once. The man is obviously sporting a serious package.
Dear God, I shouldn’t know that detail about Kristen’s little brother.
His hands smooth over my hair as I grind against him, loving the low groan that escapes from deep within him. I peel his jacket off so I can feel the firmness of his muscles under his shirt, his pecs tensing beneath my touch. Every fantasy I’ve ever had about him comes rushing to the surface, starting from when we first met in my office over a year ago.
The more I remember, the more my need for him grows, and the more ragged my breathing becomes. My hands go straight for his jeans, searching out the button, and end up brushing his erection instead. It twitches against my fingers just as his thigh meets my center, causing a moan to escape from my lips.
I don’t care if he’s too young.
I don’t care if he’s in college.
I don’t care that he’s my best friends little brother.
Right now, in this moment, there’s only one thing I can think.
More.
I want more.
6
* * *
GRIFFIN
Have you ever wanted something for so long, and when you get it, it’s even better than you could have imagined?
Yeah. That’s exactly how it feels to finally have Layne in my lap, grinding against me like her life depends on it. Our mouths are fused together in a hungry kiss, and her full, soft lips coax my tongue into her mouth and I’m more than happy to oblige.
She moves to kiss along my neck, her lips moving over the stubble of my jaw and then back down. I groan at the feel of her mouth on my skin. How did she know my neck is my secret weak spot?
As she runs a hand up my chest, I pull her hips, bringing her closer against my erection, and she inhales sharply as my full length presses into her. She leans into me, grabbing my shoulders, and uses the leverage to grind against me, giving me a small smirk before kissing my lips again, gently biting my lower lip.
Clearly, she likes to be in charge in the bedroom as much as she does in real life, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to complain. The little moaning sounds she’s making as she writhes against me are about to completely push me over the edge.
A year of wanting her and running through every possible fantasy is finally paying off—I know exactly what I want to do with her. I can’t help but touch her, and my hands explore her curves, lingering on her full breasts. Thrilled to learn she’s not wearing a bra beneath her sweatshir
t, I run a thumb firmly across her nipple, eliciting a needy whimper that nearly makes me come in my jeans. Fuuck.
She feels so perfect in my arms, and the pressure of her rocking against me is heaven. This is everything I’ve ever wanted, but an annoying little voice in the back of my mind is telling me the timing isn’t right.
“Layne,” I say quietly, pulling back. “Wait.”
Still straddling me, she sits up, her lips parted in confusion. We’re both breathing heavily, and the sight of her chest rising and falling sends an ache to my groin that makes what I’m about to do all that much harder.
“Was I doing something wrong?” she asks, her emerald eyes glittering with desire.
“No, you’re perfect,” I say, using all my willpower to lift her off my lap. There’s still a pulsing between my legs, but I swallow hard and keep my resolve. “But you’re drunk. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret in the morning. Fuck it’d kill me if you regretted anything you experience with me.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Come on, I’m an adult. I can handle my liquor. I’m not going to regret it,” she says, reaching for the button of my jeans again.
“Layne, I’m serious.” I grab her hand and meet her eyes with a serious expression, hoping I’m not ruining the already very slight chance I have of being with Layne in the future.
“Seriously? You hit on me for over a year, and now you decide to be a Boy Scout?” Frowning, she slumps back on the couch. “Weren’t you offering me your sperm, like, thirty minutes ago?”
I stay silent, watching her. Even in an old sweatshirt, her eyes puffy from crying, Layne looks beautiful. Her dark hair is swept up in a ponytail that highlights her high cheekbones, which are flushed from our kiss.
She glances at me again, and her face softens. “I guess I did drink half a bottle of tequila. You’re probably right,” she says with a sigh, then gives me a sly look. “For once.”
I laugh, rising to my feet in front of her, and take a deep breath to try to cool off. “Let’s get you to bed,” I say, holding out a hand to help her off the couch.
She leans on me as we walk to her room, and I can’t help but smile. Confident, capable Layne is relying on me for once. And it feels pretty damn good. Like she trusts me. Maybe even needs me. When we get into the bedroom, she pulls out a white tank top and a pair of boy shorts, and I raise an eyebrow at her.
“What?” she asks, her face composed into a look of mock innocence. “In case you didn’t notice, I spilled half of my last margarita down my sweatshirt. I can’t sleep in wet clothes. Now turn around.”
I turn so I’m facing the doorway and listen as Layne pulls off her yoga pants and sweatshirt. Jesus. She’s less than ten feet away from me, almost completely naked. The universe is really testing me right now. But I know that she’s only coming on to me like this because she’s drunk, and the only thing worse than not being with Layne at all would be for her to regret it or feel taken advantage of. Breath, Griff. You’ve got this.
I try not to imagine how she looks in the skimpy tank top and panties, and let out a sigh of relief when I finally hear her climb into bed, the blankets rustling around her.
“Okay, you can look,” she says, and I turn to find her underneath several blankets, her hair now loose around her shoulders.
“Don’t fall asleep yet,” I tell her.
She nods, sitting up against her pillows, and the blanket slides down enough to reveal the top of her breasts. I swallow hard and look away. Not the time to get all hot and bothered again, I think, turning to leave the room.
I head into the kitchen and fill a glass with water, then stop by the bathroom, searching through her medicine cabinet to grab a few Advil. When I get back into the room, Layne’s eyes are closed, and she looks shyer and more innocent than I’ve ever seen her before.
“Hey,” I say, gently touching her shoulder. “Before you go to sleep, you need to drink this. And take these. You’ll thank me tomorrow, trust me.”
She blinks her eyes open, groggily taking the water from me and swallowing the pills. Once she’s had a few more sips of water, I set the glass on her bedside table.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks as I move to turn off the bedside lamp.
I pause, gazing down at her. There are a million things I want to say, but none that I want to tell her when she just drank enough tequila to kill a small horse.
“If you think this is nice, just wait until I turn on the charm.” I wink at her before turning out the light, press a kiss to her forehead, and shut the door.
I decide to stay over at her place, just in case. I’m sure she’ll be fine, but I haven’t seen someone down that much tequila since my first college frat party. I know I won’t be able to sleep if I’m worrying that she’s sick and needs help, so I set up a pillow and blanket on the couch.
As I pull the throw blanket over me and settle in, I can’t help but smile. Even though I just had to basically beg the woman of my dreams not to sleep with me, I feel strangely happy and content. Being around Layne puts me at ease, and I like knowing that I can be there for her in a real way.
Tonight has taken some unexpected turns, but I wouldn’t change any of it.
“Rise and shine,” I say the next morning, pulling open the curtains so the sunlight spill into Layne’s bedroom. It’s already after ten, and I figure if I don’t wake Layne up myself, she’s going to stay in bed all day, wallowing in her hangover-induced post-breakup depression.
“My head feels like it’s going to explode,” she mumbles, pulling the blankets over her face.
“The best way to beat a hangover is to pretend you don’t have one,” I say with a smile, gently pulling the blanket off of her and handing her a sweatshirt and another two Advil.
She sits up, pulling the shirt on before swallowing the Advil with a gulp. Groaning, she lays her head back against her headboard.
“Are you always this cheerful in the morning?” she asks, shooting me a dirty look. “How does Kristen deal with you?”
I smirk at her. “Normally, I’d be offended by that, but I’ll give you a pass since you’ve had a tough weekend.”
As she climbs out of bed and grabs a pair of sweatpants from the floor, I catch a glimpse of her long, toned legs before she pulls them on, and my heart speeds up. I clear my throat, trying not to stare, but Layne doesn’t even notice me as she stands up, yawning and stretching. Her hair is a mess and her eyes have that bleary, hangover look, but she could still turn heads.
Damn, how does she manage to look that good, even at her worst?
“First I get dumped, and now you won’t even let me sit here and feel sorry for myself.” She sighs, giving me a fake punch in the shoulder.
“First of all, you didn’t get dumped. You made a mature decision to split with someone who couldn’t give you what you wanted. And second, you’re about to feel pretty bad for being such an asshole to me,” I say, leading her to the kitchen.
She pads after me reluctantly, her eyes widening when she sees her kitchen table, where I’ve laid out a huge spread. I made my famous cheesy scrambled eggs, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and picked up coffee and muffins from the coffee shop down the street.
“Okay, I’m officially the worst,” she says with a laugh as I hand her a latte and a plate.
“I got the biggest size they had,” I say, gesturing at the coffee.
“You’re amazing. Sunflower Café has the strongest espresso in town, bless them.” She sips the latte gratefully before turning to me incredulously. “You made all this? Since when are you so domestic?”
“One of the perks of being a former party boy is that you learn all the best hangover cures,” I say, ushering her into a chair. “Believe me, these scrambled eggs have gotten me through some of the roughest mornings of my life.”
Layne snorts. “I can only imagine.” She takes a bite of the eggs and her eyes light up. “How is this so good? Did you put crack in here or something?”
she asks, forking another huge bite into her mouth.
“It’s a trade secret,” I tell her with a wink. “If you’re lucky, I’ll give you the recipe someday.”
“Or you’ll just have to come over here every time I’m hung over to make it for me,” she says before sipping her orange juice.
“Deal,” I say, grinning.
“I’m still in shock that you did all this for me. You’re full of surprises, Griff.” She looks into my eyes, holding my gaze for a few moments before she shakes her head and looks away. “But, seriously, thanks for all of this. It’s so thoughtful. And I know I’m not exactly being Miss Sunshine right now.”
I wave her concerns away. “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to help a friend in need.”
“Speaking of our friendship,” she says, setting her fork down.
Oh no, here it comes.
“About what happened between us last night. I’m sorry. I crossed a line.”
I shake my head. “Layne, don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there before. You were depressed and drunk. I just happened to be here, and you were looking for some comfort. Believe me, I get it.”
Smiling, she nods. “Thanks for understanding. Having you here truly is helping. I almost don’t feel like I want to throw myself off a bridge this morning.”
“Anytime you need someone to give you back your will to live, you know where to find me,” I say, lifting my glass of orange juice. She follows suit, and we clink glasses.
Frowning, she shakes her head at her plate. “God, I can’t believe I wasted so much time on that guy.”
“You want me to kill him?” I ask innocently, and she snorts.
“Could you?”
“Jokes aside, I’m always here for you, Layne,” I say, looking into her bright green eyes.
She nods back at me. “I know, Griff. What would I do without you?”