The trust factor, p.9
The Trust Factor, page 9
“Lyla, it’s three in the morning,” I interrupted gently. “You’re not walking home.”
She scoffed. “Yes, I am.”
I lept toward the door and placed my hand above the handle. Lyla eyed me as I pressed my weight against her only exit. We continued our stare-off for about a minute or two, but I knew when her eyebrows pulled together in the middle of her forehead that she wasn’t going to let up.
She didn’t have to let up. I could accommodate to fit the situation. I always did.
“Fine,” I said, smirking. “Then I’m walking with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
I snagged the keys from her hand, speaking over my shoulder as I walked back into my room. “Three paces behind you. You won’t even know I’m there.”
I threw on a hoodie and grabbed my hat. When I was close to the front door again, I handed Lyla her keys. She assessed my outfit change and let out a hollow laugh. Lyla was in for a rude awakening. I’d never avoid pissing her off because she wanted to do something that wasn’t in her best interest. She wasn’t walking home by herself at three in the morning. That was prime time for the bars to let out, and all it took was one creep to notice that she was alone.
“You’re ridiculous,” Lyla snapped. “I’m fine. I just don’t want to stay the night here.”
I shrugged. “No worries. Five paces back then.”
“Deacon!”
I took a few steps toward her, and she took a step back. I pretended not to notice, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She was guarding something, and I worried I might have come on too strong. It looked like she was waiting for me to get angry—like I would blow up and yell back at her.
I took a deep breath and raised my hands in defeat. “If you need to pick a fight with me so you can leave, that’s fine. I know you don’t know me that well yet, but one thing you should know is I’m the type of guy who walks you home in the middle of the night. I’m the guy that makes sure you’re okay even when you’re pissed at him.”
I opened the front door, and she hesitated, giving me one last chance to change my mind. When it was clear I wasn’t budging, she rolled her bright green eyes and sighed. “Five paces back?”
I gestured for her to lead the way.
“Fine.”
“Atta girl,” I murmured, shutting the door at the same time so she wouldn’t hear me. Without turning around, she stuck a middle finger in the air. Even with our dramatic exit, she heard me loud and clear.
Bowling Green came to life on the weekends after closing time. The bars let out, and everyone flooded fast food restaurants, local food joints, and nearby gas stations. Taco Bell had crowds circling the building, and Circle K became the hot spot for late-night cigarettes and snacks. The streets were loud and packed, and the way Lyla weaved across Wooster, I had to break into a jog to keep up.
“Could you just—” I grabbed her hand and guided her to the left to avoid a group of guys crossing the street.
We stopped before Manville Avenue, and she pulled her hand from mine. “Five paces back, Scott,” she warned without looking at me.
I laughed and let her get a few steps ahead.
Manville was a side street and a straight shot to Falcon’s Pointe. Lyla probably could walk the rest of the way by herself. We had passed the after-party craziness, and the chances of running into anyone moving forward were slim to none. But I was committed at this point, and the way Lyla was ignoring me was somehow making this fun. Was fun the right word?
The last time I walked a girl home was Cassie after she had too much to drink. She was upset with one of the girls she went out with and called me from the bar. I wasn't out with her and her friends, but I met her before she walked home. I didn’t stay, and she didn’t ask me to. I wondered if that should have been my first clue. Had her feelings started to shift for me back in April?
I pulled out my phone. Maybe Cassie updated her story, or maybe—
“What did you say?” Lyla asked over her shoulder.
I looked up, and she was still facing forward. “What?”
Lyla turned around and kept walking backward. She slowed her pace so I could catch up, and whatever anger she had back at the apartment was gone. She wore a mischievous grin when I tucked my phone back into my pocket.
I shook my head. “Nothing. So you’re okay with three paces, huh?”
“Three paces is fine. If you do two, I might have to break into a run and try to lose you.”
I smirked. “Please. That would require you to actually run.”
“Believe it or not, I’m pretty fast. I just don’t like to run for enjoyment.”
“But running from someone on the street, that’s a good enough reason?”
“I’m practical, Scott. Running away from a fake boyfriend who followed you home is much more newsworthy than running for personal enjoyment. Shit, that might clear up all of this Aaron Brooks nonsense. Make me some kind of empowered and independent woman instead of Stripper Pole Girl.”
“Hey, that Stripper Pole Girl happens to be my girlfriend, remember?” I chuckled at her disgusted expression. Apparently, the G-word was worse than the B-word. “And speaking of Aaron Brooks, what’s the next item you need from me?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Tonight was a good move for me. Cassie saw us together, and we were happy. You let me kiss you. Now, what do you need from me?”
“'You let me kiss you,'” she echoed through a laugh. “You know you’re the first guy who has ever asked if you could kiss me?”
Nothing about that surprised me. Lyla told me about her monthly trial periods with guys and how she never let anything go past bedroom benefits and casual conversation. Lyla was the girl who kept it at a good time, and most guys wouldn’t budge at the opportunity to be with someone as gorgeous as her. She left no lines blurred.
“What’s more boyfriend-girlfriend shit you could do until my dad asks about you again?”
It didn’t take me long to think of the one thing I always did for Cassie. I had done it every week since I started dating her. “I could buy you flowers?” I offered.
Her eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead. “Flowers?” She said the word like I had just offered to buy her expired bread.
“Cassie loved flowers,” I explained. “I always made sure she had flowers in her bedroom. It might hit a nerve if she sees me buying you flowers.”
“Yes, sweet Deacon. You can buy me flowers.”
“Don’t call me sweet Deacon,” I objected, even though I loved how it made her smile. “I’m not this helpless little animal you get to tug along.”
“You’re literally following me home. You’re also the first guy to do that, too.”
She spun back around so she was facing forward. I sped up to walk next to her, and she didn’t seem to mind that I broke her three-paces rule.
“All those guys you—” I cleared my throat. “Let me rephrase.”
She giggled at my attempt to save my next sentence from making me sound like an asshole.
“All of the fun you’ve had with guys—none of them ever walked you home?”
She scowled. “Please. Most of them don’t even notice I leave.”
“Not even the next morning?”
“I don’t stay until the morning,” she said, like I already should’ve known this information.
The thought of Lyla walking home all those times by herself irked me. Not only was Mr. September interfering with our plan, but he was also an asshole.
“So this wanting to leave tonight didn’t have anything to do with—” I caught myself again. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that was causing me to have word vomit. What happened at The Attic wasn’t my business. As her fake boyfriend, I should have moved on to a different topic of conversation. But as her friend, I decided to pull our line. It was a much safer option and something she couldn’t fight me on. It was one of her stupid rules anyway.
“We don’t lie, Lyla Brooks,” I said softly.
Lyla stopped walking, and I knew she was thinking about what to tell me. Even though everything about this relationship was fake, I didn’t see anything made up about our friendship. Lyla didn’t have guy friends, but I might be the safest start she’d ever get. She wouldn’t have to worry about me getting caught up in feelings that weren’t there.
Chapter twenty
Lyla
We don’t lie, Lyla Brooks.
First, Deacon had the audacity to pull another “atta girl” on me, making that two in the same twelve-hour period. Now, he was pulling our line to talk about something I wasn’t even sure how to talk about.
Our line. What the actual fuck was happening to me? I gestured for us to keep walking, and another gust of wind rippled through the trees on the street. While Bowling Green’s campus was beautiful in the fall, it was also in the middle of nowhere, which meant that when it was windy, it was windy.
Suddenly, my leather jacket and jeans weren’t cutting it. I picked up the pace, and Deacon followed my lead. All we had to do was cross the street, and we’d be at my apartment.
Deacon was waiting for me to speak. So, to buy some time, I crossed my arms and said, “We don’t lie.”
He was fighting a smile, and when he stripped off his hoodie and handed it to me, I had to remind myself what the original question was.
So this wanting to leave tonight, it didn’t have anything to do with—
Oh, that’s right. My episodes that happened every now and then when I was feeling overwhelmed. Maybe overwhelmed wasn’t the right word. I hadn’t felt overwhelmed when Jake grabbed my hand. It was like someone strapped a belt around my chest and pulled. I couldn’t explain it. I just had to escape the scene, and somehow, Deacon knew that.
I stared at his hoodie, and he shook it in front of my chest. “Take it,” he said. “You’ve been pretending you're not cold for about ten houses now.”
I rolled my eyes and took his offer. I’m sure my loose curls looked horrible after being laid on and thrown back into the dewy morning air. I pulled the hood over my head. “It happens sometimes.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I repeated, surprised to see him so accepting of my simple response.
Deacon threw his arms out in front of him. “What? You told me I’m not allowed to ask about your past. You know these rules sometimes get in the way of each other.”
“Touché. I like the new line, by the way.” We approached the last road we needed to cross, and Deacon slipped his fingers through mine. He looked both ways and then once more at me. “Atta girl,” I said before I dragged him across the street.
He dragged his teeth across his bottom lip, trying to hold back a smile. “I wasn’t sure about that one.”
“Definitely hot boyfriend shit. Did you talk to Cassie that way?” I was officially intrigued. I was dying to get to a level where I could talk about sex with Deacon.
He was hot and undeniably sweet.
He was hot and seemed sure of himself.
He was fucking hot, and I just wanted a preview—a snippet of what Deacon Scott was like in the bedroom.
He took too long to answer, so I bumped his elbow with mine. “Is that a yes?”
Deacon let go of my hand and pulled out his phone.
“Do you have recordings?” I exclaimed.
He laughed, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “No! I was making sure my brother got in okay. But to answer your question . . . I did sometimes. It just depended on the mood for the night.”
“What kinds of moods were there?”
Deacon shrugged, and my cheeks hurt from smiling. “I don’t know, Lyla. I guess the mood depended on if Cassie still needed to get off.”
Damn. Now, why did that sound incredibly sexy leaving his mouth?
“I had a hunch you were a pleaser.” I squeezed his forearm, and when he glanced up at the sky, I knew he agreed with my statement. “Deacon, I have to say. I am really struggling to see the reason for the breakup here.”
“I always make sure whoever I’m with is taken care of. What’s the fun of one-sided sex?”
“You just said a mouthful there, sweetie. Have you met half of the guys on this campus? Or any college campus ever?”
We approached the staircase leading up to my apartment and slowed our pace. Deacon licked his lips, and a playful light appeared in his eyes. “My turn to ask you a question.”
I looked right past his innocent expression.
“All of your fun. All of the guys.” He cocked his head while he thought of what to say next. “You can say—with confidence—that your satisfaction rate is . . . let’s say eighty percent.”
“You lost me at numbers, Scott.”
“Just answer the question.”
“It’s three-thirty in the morning, and I’m discussing percentages with you. I don’t really know how to answer that,” I argued.
“Pick the last ten guys you’ve slept with,” Deacon urged, holding up ten fingers.
Fortunately, my calendar method made it pretty simple to retrace my history. I crossed my arms and played into his demonstration. “Okay. Done.”
“Now, with all of those guys, how many times did you get off?” Deacon ticked his fingers down one by one the longer I took to answer.
I laughed and shoved his hands. “It’s sex, okay? It has to be worth it to keep them around.”
I turned to head up the stairs, and Deacon reached for my hand. I wasn’t sure if the familiar scent of cedarwood and lavender had been in front of me for the last few minutes because I was wearing his hoodie or if I just noticed it because his face was dangerously close to mine.
He tilted my chin with his hand and smiled down at me. “Baby, there’s a difference between having sex and being satisfied.”
If there was a moment when I thought my stomach could fall out my ass, it was this one. My breath caught in my throat, and suddenly, every witty response I had a moment ago flittered away with the butterflies in my stomach. Alarm bells sounded in my ears. Red flags were waving at such a concerning speed to keep the fucking butterflies out of the picture. My body was betraying me, and it was bullshit.
Deacon’s sexy smirk returned. He skimmed his thumb across my cheek, cupping the back of my head through his hoodie and placing his mouth on my forehead. “Goodnight, Lyla Brooks.”
He backed away slowly and started walking across the parking lot. I forced my mouth to close before I opened it again to respond. “Wait.”
Deacon looked over his shoulder, surprised to see me standing where he left me.
What was I doing? I didn’t share beds with guys. Was I really about to offer my fake boyfriend a spot on my couch? I couldn’t have my roommates walk out to my knight-in-shining-armor boyfriend on the couch. That shit wouldn’t fly.
I did have the futon in my bedroom. That was always an option.
I gestured to the stairs behind me. “Did you wanna just stay here?”
Deacon didn’t ask questions. He didn’t comment or shoot me a look that read, “This bitch is crazy.”
Instead, he walked back over to me, wearing a soft smile. “Yeah, Lyla. I can just stay here.”
Chapter twenty-one
Deacon
Two weeks passed since that night at The Attic, and I couldn’t believe it was almost October. During those two weeks, Lyla and I fell into a routine that seemed to work for both of us.
I met Lyla on campus every morning before her first class. Sometimes, I brought her a drink or a donut from Dunkin. The mornings I was empty-handed, I greeted her with a charming smile and a kiss on the forehead. She never looked completely awake when she arrived and always offered me the same sleepy smile. Regardless of how she appeared, it was adorable, and I was always happy to see her.
Lyla spent Mondays and Wednesdays at my place. Ordering food started getting expensive, so we decided to try cooking together. Lyla’s recipes were simple since she could only make chicken and pasta, but she loved that my skills were a little more advanced. I’d tell her what I could make based on what I had in the fridge, and she’d pour over the possibilities. I was a good cook as long as I had the right ingredients, and seeing a girl who wasn’t ashamed to eat was incredibly attractive.
After dinner, we’d put on a movie and let it play in the background while we did schoolwork. It was nice just sitting in silence together. It had been a while since I had someone I could just be with.
We followed the same agenda at her place on Tuesdays and Thursdays. If I didn’t feel like heading back to my place, I crashed on the futon in her room. The sleeping arrangements never bothered me since I had no expectations. I didn’t mind sharing a bed with Lyla and always made it clear that she could stay at my place if she wanted to. She never did, and I never prompted her with questions to try and figure out why. I’d do whatever made her comfortable, and this arrangement seemed to fit her rules.
Lyla’s mom would call and FaceTime her at least two nights a week. I became a regular guest appearance, and after a few conversations with Jane Nichols, I was pretty sure she liked me. She insisted I call her Jane instead of Ms. Nichols, and she always asked Lyla if I was there with her. We’d talk about her current work in progress and if she had any good book recommendations. She was easy to talk to and always busy doing something in the background during our conversation. I understood why Lyla was so good at multitasking.
Lyla had her mom’s smile and smooth, olive skin tone. They had the same laugh and a tiny freckle near the corner of their lip. I had seen pictures of Aaron Brooks a few times, but Lyla’s mom could be her twin.
“His eyes,” Lyla told me one night during dinner. “Aaron also has green eyes. But other than that, we have nothing in common.”
Lyla avoided talking about her dad, and I understood the complicated relationship factor. My instinct to plan things out was starting to invade my headspace, and I felt completely unprepared to meet him in two months. If I had to convince this man that I was dating his daughter, I’d need more to go off of. I just had to wait for Lyla to open up about a topic she tried to forget existed in the first place.
