Catch Your Breath (34 page)

L
ayla Sharpe held her composure until she reached her car. She looked discreetly over
her shoulder and then kicked off her heels and danced in the parking lot. Her pencil
skirt rode high on her thighs, and after receiving a few stares, she grabbed her phone.
Who to call first? Her parents or her best friends?

Her parents would still be at work, so she called Charlie and Felicity on a three-way
call. When she had them both on the line and was seated in her car to avoid any more
gawking, she blurted, “I had my interview for the summer internship today and you’re
not going to believe this.”

She paused for a deep breath. She wanted to remember the first time she spoke these
words.

“And?” Felicity’s voice wobbled across the line.

“And, what?” Charlie said. “We know you got the internship. They love you.”

Layla’s chest swelled with pride. “They offered me a job instead of the internship.”

Her words were met with a high-pitched squeal from Felicity and a “holy shit” from
Charlie.

“I can’t wait to tell you guys all about it. You’re both still going to be home for
spring break next week, right?”

Charlie answered, “I never left, remember?”

Felicity added, “Well, that was the plan, but don’t you think in light of your excellent
news, we should celebrate? I think we should all meet up for a proper spring break.
Let’s go somewhere touristy and get drunk and have fun.”

Layla straightened in her seat. Was that really Felicity talking? Partying she would
expect from Charlie, but never Felicity.

“Okay, who are you? Hey, Layla, are you sure you dialed right?” Charlie asked.

“Yes, she dialed right, smart-ass. Every year we talk about going somewhere and doing
something fun. This is our last spring break. After this, we’re all out in the real
world. We might be scattered all over the country for our jobs. I heard a girl talk
about going to South Padre Island in Texas. Let’s go.”

Layla considered her options. She’d always wanted to drive across country on a road
trip. This might be her only chance for a long time. “I’m in. I’m going to drive starting
right now.”

“Great. I’ll change my flight. Good-bye, Chicago, hello, Texas. What about you, Charlie?”

“I have a con planned for next weekend.”

Layla rolled her eyes. Charlie and her damn comic book/superhero/ video game conventions.
“So come for the first part of the week.”

Charlie became suspiciously quiet.

“Charlotte, we hear you breathing. What’s going on?” Layla asked.

“I don’t want to take away from your exciting news.”

“Spit it out.”

“I think Ethan is going to propose. I don’t want to take off and mess with his plans.”

Ethan. What a jerk. Layla had no idea what Charlie saw in him. He believed her love
of computers and games was a strange hobby that she’d outgrow. He had no idea. “What
makes you think he’s going to propose?”

“He said he wants to talk alone this weekend. We have dinner plans for tomorrow night.”

“It won’t be the same without you. Can’t you get the ring and then meet us?” It might
do Charlie some good to get out of the house away from games and from Ethan. Then
Layla tacked on, “It’ll be like an early bachelorette party.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But you guys go ahead and have fun. If I don’t make it, I expect
you to have my share of fun too. Especially Felicity. Get that girl laid.”

“Hey, that girl is listening. What makes you think I need to get laid?”

Charlie snickered. “When was the last time you had an orgasm with someone other than
yourself ?”

“Some of us have discriminating taste.”

“Yeah, and some of us are too shy to speak to anyone with a dick.”

“Now, girls . . .” Layla interrupted.

“Whatever, Charlie. Look, I’m going to book us a room. I don’t know how easy it’s
going to be since it’s last minute, but I’ll find something and text you the info.”

Layla thought briefly of her bank account. “Make it a cheap room.”

“I’ve got you covered. Consider it a graduation present.”

Felicity was the only one of the three of them that grew up with money. They’d all
met at the same prep school. While Layla and Charlie were there on scholarship, Felicity’s
parents paid full boat. Felicity was used to being generous with her money. Sometimes
too much.

“I can pay.”

“I know you can. Let me treat you. In return, you can teach me to pick up men.”

Layla felt her smile broaden. “Deal.”

They said their good-byes and Layla started her car. She’d only packed a backpack
before her interview. She’d spent the night in Maryland to be ready for the interview,
but now she wasn’t sure what to do. Should she just hit the road and buy a few essentials
on the way, or should she return to school and pack properly?

All the nervous energy answered for her. She’d change into something more comfortable
and hit the road. She had enough packed for a couple of days. She always overplanned
that way.

Screw it. It was time for fun and spontaneity. Everything she’d been working toward
was within her grasp. Graduating at the top of her class, a sweet job offer working
in the field she wanted most, and now a surprise vacation. What more could she ask
for?

If she hurried, she could miss rush hour traffic and log some miles before stopping
for dinner. She’d spend the night wherever she landed.

Her mother would kill her if she knew. She hated the thought of Layla being so far
away for school. The thought of Layla driving halfway across the country alone would
probably give her mother hives. Maybe she’d just confide in Dad and let him break
the news to Mom. That was a plan.

Layla stopped at the first gas station she found, filled up, and changed into her
favorite pair of jeans and T-shirt, one of her many geek girl shirts. It said, “Welcome
to the Dork Side. We Have Pi.” Right before she left for college, she began collecting
math geek T-shirts. They fit her personality, and they were always a good conversation
starter. She couldn’t begin to count the number of times a guy asked her to explain
her shirt (sometimes because he didn’t understand, other times because he thought
she didn’t).

Plus, the shirts gave her an identity. She didn’t have to worry about people trying
to figure out which friend she was—the smart one, the pretty one, the friendly one—her
shirt said it all. Layla grabbed a ginormous Coke and a Snickers bar and tried to
figure out the best route to Texas. She sat in her car and played with the GPS on
her phone. She wanted to take a scenic route, but not one that would put her in the
middle of nowhere. She was a city girl, after all.

With her GPS programmed, she headed south. Miles flew by and her mind enjoyed the
peace. At least for a while. She planned how to tell her parents about the job offer.
Although she hadn’t accepted it yet, she would. As a sophomore, she’d set her sights
on working as a cryptographer for the NSA. It was the stuff of spy novels without
the danger.

When she stopped for dinner, she called her parents, who offered cautious congratulations.
She heard her mother fretting at the thought of Layla working so far away. Layla opted
not to exacerbate her mother’s nervousness and only told them that she wouldn’t be
home for spring break. She allowed them to infer that she was staying on campus. She
told herself that the omission would be good practice for keeping government secrets.

After checking into a cheap motel for the night, Layla received a text from Felicity
with the resort information. With thoughts of the beach and sexy guys, Layla slept
for a few hours, but was woken by dreams of working in an office, shuffling papers,
and staring at a computer screen in a cubicle, boring herself to tears. The office
had no windows, just rows of partitions, where she could hear, but not see, other
people clicking on keyboards and answering phones.

She took a quick shower to clear her head and decided to hit the road early. Once
in her car, thoughts of the gray, dreary dream haunted her. There was no way her new
job would be that boring, right? She would be faced with numbers and problems to solve
every day. She drove and tried to think of sunnier subjects.

The tightness in her chest was a telltale sign of an impending anxiety attack. She
hadn’t had one since just before high school graduation, but she’d never forget the
feeling. A tingling itchiness invaded her limbs.

Pulling over to the shoulder of the highway, Layla rolled down her windows to get
some semi-fresh air. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Freaking out over graduating
and starting a new job made no sense. This was part of life. Everyone did it. She
shook her head, turned up the radio, and pulled back into traffic.

So growing up was a little scary. But she had this week where she didn’t have to think
about it. For spring break, she could be a girl without a plan, one who didn’t know
anxiety.

So much for not knowing anxiety. Layla walked down the busy street in Atlanta looking
for the nearest bar. She needed a drink.

After a leisurely drive through the mountains and taking time to enjoy the beauty
of rural North Carolina, Layla had been feeling better. Then she pulled into Atlanta
and everything went to hell. Her car just stopped. She probably shouldn’t have ignored
the clunking while she was in the mountains. She sat at the side of the road waiting
for a tow truck for a couple of hours. Not that she didn’t have offers from a variety
of good old boys to take her wherever she wanted to go. Because it was Saturday afternoon,
the mechanic told her straight-out that nothing would be done on her car until Monday,
but he’d promised to call her with a diagnosis before the end of the day.

She barely stopped herself before telling him to just fix it no matter what. Although
she didn’t like being stranded in Georgia, she wasn’t going to pay an exorbitant amount
of money for her hand-me-down car out of desperation. Pulling her backpack higher
on her shoulder, she stood still for a moment and allowed her eyes to adjust to the
dim interior of the bar. It was a dive, but there was a decent-sized crowd. Unfortunately,
it wasn’t her kind of crowd. They were mostly men and mostly grubby-looking. Even
the younger ones had a roughness about them.

Layla figured it was par for the course. All she wanted to do was drown her sorrows
in some beer and then pass out until her car was fixed. Maybe she could salvage part
of her break. She shot a text to Felicity to let her know about the car.

After ordering a light beer at the bar, Layla walked toward the back to drink alone.
In the back, she found a few men playing pool at the two tables. She grabbed a table
and sat with her back to the wall so she could watch the players. No one seemed to
take notice of her presence.

Within moments, one player easily stood out as the man to beat. He was tall, over
six feet, with long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. He wore a T-shirt that
looked intentionally too tight, showing off defined muscles, as if to say, “Don’t
fuck with me.” He didn’t chat with the other player. The only sounds he made were
to call his shots. He was smooth and efficient, and fun to watch as he cleared the
table.

Especially when he bent over in front of her. Maybe being stuck in Atlanta for the
night wouldn’t be so bad if all the guys were this nice to look at. With the eight
ball sunk, the man stood and collected the money sitting on the edge of the table.
The loser walked away, and another guy took his place, putting his twenty on the edge.

This second player was better than the first, but Mr. Nice Ass stayed ahead. After
a while, Layla began to wonder if he was just toying with his competition, like a
cat playing with its prey. He’d let the other man sink a few balls and then returned
to clear the table. Again, he sank the eight ball and swiped the cash.

The man was a pool hustler.

After the second loser left, the man looked around, his gaze landing on her. His eyes,
a gray-green, weren’t pretty, but mesmerizing. Something about the contrast against
his olive skin.

He pointed his pool cue at her. “Are you going to sit there staring all night, or
are you going to play?”

“Me? I’m not stupid enough to play pool with a hustler. My day’s been crappy enough.
I don’t need to lose anything else.”

He stalked closer to her. “I’m not a hustler. Hustlers pretend to be bad and then
show their true ability to win big. Make no mistake. I’m always good.”

“Thanks for the vocabulary lesson. I still have better things to do with twenty bucks
than lose it to you, especially since I’ve only played pool a handful of times.”

He took another step closer. Close enough that she could touch him if she wanted,
but he kept enough distance so she wasn’t crowded. “How about you buy me a beer, and
I’ll give you a lesson?”

She had nothing else going on and a game of pool with a sexy stranger might be fun.
“You’re on. What’ll you have?”