Hearts Like Ours | Red View Romance #1

🍎 Twenty Five

Dawson's alarm coaxed him from a dreamless sleep. After giving it a good smack to shut it off, he hummed with amused pleasure as Layla wriggled in his arms. The sun was rising, painting his room with light and making the ember hair strewn across his pillow shimmer with every sway of the willow tree outside. Sometime after everything—that mind-blowing, life-changing everything—that happened last night, the two of them had fallen asleep, sated and exhausted.

Hours later Layla was still in his bed, still in his arms—an undeniably good sign. She hadn't run away.

"Morning," he murmured, trailing his hand up to her shoulder and tracing feather-light patterns among the smattering of freckles. He never knew one person could have so many, all over. If he had it his way, he'd give each and every one it's own personal show of appreciation.

"What time is it?" she asked, eyes still shut.

If he told her it was early, she'd probably stay. But they both had work to get to, and if Layla wasn't there for the workout with Kenzie and Marshall, his sister was bound to come looking.

He wished he could tell Kenzie and everyone else the truth right now. The truth about Colin, and that he and Layla were involved. But it wasn't his choice to make, and it wouldn't do any good if finding the two of them in bed together was how Kenzie found out.

"It's six fifteen," he answered, and she sat up with a jolt. He didn't bother pointing out that the sheet fell, or that she was still naked. He liked the sight a little too much to risk her going modest.

"Oh, shit. I have to get ready." Apparently modesty was the least of her concern—she threw the covers off, hurrying over to where she'd discarded her dress the night before.

Despite what a wonderful sight she made, a sinking feeling settled inside of him. She wasn't even looking at him. This was hardly the sleepy, sensual round two that he'd been hoping for in that second after the alarm went off.

Since he knew she had too much respect for herself to fake the night before, he knew she wasn't bowing out because of a bad time. The reason he suspected, though, hurt just as much: it didn't mean as much to her as it'd meant to him.

"Layla," he said her name as he sat up, finally getting her to turn around once the dress was over her head. God, she looked pretty, bed-head and all. "Generally it's a bad sign, when someone runs out the morning after doing what we did."

"It's not... No." She sat down on the corner of the mattress, at last slowing down and taking a second to breathe. "It's not like that."

"So you didn't just use me for my body, then?" His voice was coated in humor, but there was the slightest hint of a genuine question that he couldn't manage to hide.

She smiled, a sight that Dawson hadn't realized he'd been waiting for. "No. Even though—and this is me speaking as a woman, not a trainer—it's a very, very impressive body."

That was better, he thought with a satisfied grin. He'd gotten her to flirt rather than to flee. Still, though, they needed more time. She needed more time, he thought. If he wanted her to not only feel the way he did, but admit to it... five more days wasn't enough time to get there. "I wish you'd stay, Layla."

"Well... I would, but... What if Kenzie comes looking for me, or if Jack comes to get you?"

That was good to know—that she'd stay now, if it were an option. That what happened between them wasn't just a one-time thing. But it wasn't what he meant. "I should have worded that better," he ran a hand through his hair, attempting to smooth down the locks that had no doubt gone wild in his sleep. "I'm bad at asking for things."