“I thought I was going to shit my pants when your granddad came over. I thought he’d be the hardest of the lot.”
I shake my head, stepping away from him to lead him to the tables. “He’s the easy one.”
“Oh yeah? Anyone else easy?”
“Guess you’ll have to find out.”
ChapterEleven
SIMON
“We’re not prepared for this. I know nothing about you.” Layla twists her hands in her lap as I pull into the ranch.
“Layla, love. You have got to stop worrying. It’s going to be fine.”
Dropping my hand over her clasped ones, she stills instantly. A warmth spreads through me at the innocent contact.
“It’s a newlywed game night. How can Inotworry?”
She turns those fierce blue eyes to mine.
“We don’t have to know every little thing about one another.” I put the truck I rented into park and turn to face Layla.
My fiancée now.
“But it has to look believable.”
“You want my dossier?” I quirk a brow at her.
“Couldn’t hurt. Especially since you have mine.”
“It doesn’t tell me the little things,” I point out.
“Like Whitney Houston is one of my favorite singers? Or that watermelon Starburst are my favorite candy?”
“Watermelon?” My face screws up. “How can you like watermelon? Licorice Allsorts are my favorite.”
Layla’s face mirrors my own—a look of disgust. “Licorice? What are you, a serial killer? Who eats licorice?”
“I don’t know if this relationship is going to work.”
That gets a smile from her.
“Next you’ll tell me you’re a dog person.”
I shake my head. “Cats. My grandparents had them growing up, so I like them.”
“Acceptable.” She nods her head at me, a lock of blonde hair falling in her face. It looks silky soft from here. It’s hard to suppress the thoughts of what it would look like wrapped around my fist as I pound into her.
“Aside from questionable taste in music and candy—” I start, trying to get my brain back to more neutral thoughts, but get interrupted.
“Questionable?” Her voice goes high. “There is nothing wrong with Whitney Houston.”
“She’s not The Clash.”
“Of course you like The Clash.”
“Well, you probably don’t watch football.”
