I could feel it radiating off her like heat from the stove. She must’ve heard Alexis’ voice and our conversation.
“I have company,” I said evenly. “Need you to set an extra place.”
Layla turned then, wooden spoon in hand, her eyes sharp and unforgiving.
“Company,” she repeated slowly. “That the bitch you been fuckin’?”
I didn’t blink.
“Layla.”
“‘Cause you sure as hell ain’t been fuckin’ me.”
I exhaled slowly through my nose.
“Cut it the fuck out,” I said. “You know what this is. You’ve always known what this is. So do your damn job and cut the attitude before I do it for you.”
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then she set the spoon on the counter with a deliberate click.
And walked toward me.
Slowly.
Her hips swaying in a way that was both a challenge and an invitation.
She stopped directly in front of me, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of her perfume mixed with the garlic and butter from the stove.
Then, she reached out and caressed my dick through my slacks.
Her hand moved slowly, deliberately, her fingers tracing the outline of me with the kind of familiarity that came from months of knowing exactly how to get a reaction.
“You know exactly how to get rid of my attitude,” she said softly, her voice dropping into something low and dangerous.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t pull away.
Didn’t lean into it.
Just stood there and let her make her point.
Because she was right.
I did know.
And part of me—the part that was still wired from the day, from Truth’s recovery, from Alexis showing up uninvited, from the guilt sitting heavy in my chest—wanted to take her up on it.
Wanted to bend her over the counter and fuck the tension out of both of us.
But I didn’t.
Because Alexis was sitting in the other room.
And because I was already juggling too many women and too many lies.
I reached down and gently removed Layla’s hand from my dick.
