Page 17

Layla

“Left foot forward.”

We eventually left the house and found a small cafe nearby. We drank coffee, ate breakfast tacos, and then spent a good amount of time playing our version of Twenty Questions. During our conversation, Teagan asked me about Salsa dancing and then demanded that I teach him when we got back to the house. Now we have the living room furniture pushed out of the way, and we’re standing side by side as I teach him the basic steps.

“Right. Got it, yeah. Step forward with the left, rock back on the right,” he repeats.

“Don’t forget to move your hips.”

“Show me how again.”

Turning towards him, I say disbelievingly, “I’ve shown you about ten times now!”

“Aye, I know. I just like watching you do it.” He grins at me like a Cheshire Cat.

Tanta problema.

Leveling him with a glare, I say, “You can’t Salsa without moving your hips. That’s half the fun of the dance.”

“I think we move our hips together rather well, if I do say so myself.”

Heat surges in my core thinking of how true his statement is, but I keep a straight face, letting him believe I’m not amused.

“Fine,” I say with a shrug, stepping away from him. “We don’t have to learn.”

“Hold on there,” he says, grabbing my hand and spinning me back towards him. I slam into his chest and he immediately slides his other hand to the small of my back, spreading his fingers to press me closer. Then he steps forward with his left foot, forcing my right foot back. His hips sway, then roll against me. Instinctively my body moves in tandem with his, as if we’ve been dancing together for years.

Teagan holds my gaze as he murmurs, “Was that right?”

A small smile plays along my lips and I nod. “Yeah, that was perfect.”

He leans in to capture my mouth with his in a softly passionate kiss that we could easily get lost in. Tumbling right back into bed would be so easy, but I’m determined to do more during this getaway than fuck Teagan all day every day.

Forcing myself to break the kiss, I clear my throat and say, “Let’s move to the next steps.”

I’m pleasantly surprised to find that not only is he a fast learner, but he has pretty good rhythm for a white guy. When I say as much, he barks out a loud laugh.

“You’d be surprised by how much dancing and football have in common when it comes to coordination and footwork. In fact, a lot of times during practice, Ro will have us do some viral dance he found on social media. Eamon is the only one who can’t seem to follow along.”

This little fact has me giggling so much, I have to sit on the couch. Teagan plops down next to me, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“Did you know he and Norah were taking Salsa lessons at the rec center?” I ask between outbursts.

His eyes widen in surprise. “No fucking way.”

“I’m so serious,” I wheeze out. “Norah said he’s a terrible dancer! But so is she, so they really are perfect for each other!”

Now Teagan is laughing right along with me, which only makes us both laugh harder. It takes a few minutes for us to get control of ourselves, but eventually, the giggles taper into the occasional chuckle.

“Thank God he’s good on the pitch at least,” Teagan says. “You’d think with as talented as he is with a ball, he’d be able to do basic dance routines.”

“He doesn’t strike me as someone who enjoys dancing anyway,” I reply.

“Nah, he’d rather play the music than move to it.”

“Speaking of,” I start. “How long has the Irish trio been playing together?”

“Football?” He looks completely baffled.

“No, music! I’ve seen you play at Paddy’s.”

The three of them are frequently requested to play at O’Nelly’s Irish Pub. Teagan usually plays the harmonica or banjo, Eamon is on guitar and lead vocals, while Ro plays violin.

“Oh right. We didn’t start playing music together until sophomore year. Our first year in the States was spent in survival mode—learning a new culture, bonding with the other Seahawks, stuff like that, yeah?”

“Did you play as a kid?” I ask.

Teagan leans back on the couch as he throws an arm around my shoulders, tugging me close beside him.

“A bit. My Mum put me in lessons when I was a wee wan. I enjoyed it, but I didn’t really have an interest in playing in front of anyone until Paddy’s. Even now, my skills don’t go past basic pub songs.”

It’s fascinating to hear about Teagan’s upbringing. It was so different from mine. My family is affectionate to a fault and wants to be completely involved in everything, while it sounds like Teagan’s parents were very hands-off and less nurturing. I’m amazed that he’s as sweet and tenderhearted as he is when his siblings sound just as aloof as his mom and dad .

We stay snuggled on the couch for a little bit longer before I ask if he wants to join me in the hot tub.

Teagan jumps up so quickly that I practically topple over to where he was sitting. Holding a hand out to me, he says, “Aye. Do I ever.”

Teagan

“Want to get in the hot tub?” Layla asks out of nowhere.

I’m immediately hit with the image of her in a bathing suit, and my mouth goes dry. I’ve seen her naked. My lips have kissed every inch of her, but I’m still chomping at the bit to see her in a strappy garment—one that only covers a fraction of her skin. Leaping from the couch, I extend my hand.

“Aye. Do I ever.”

Layla laughs, her eyes sparkling. She places her hand in mine and I pull her into my arms, kissing her forehead before leading her back to the bedroom. After digging in her suitcase, she pulls out something white and shuts herself in the bathroom. I quickly shuck my clothes, pull on my black swim trunks, then sit on the edge of the bed. When I hear the door open, I look up and feel all the air leave my lungs.

Goddamn.

Layla stands there in a white, triangular bikini top and high-waisted bottoms with strings on the sides making a lattice pattern. She’s put her hair into a messy knot on top of her head. It’s hot as fuck, but I prefer her hair down for the sole purpose of wrapping it around my hand to guide her where I want her.

Letting out a low whistle, I rise from the bed and prowl towards her. When we’re only inches apart, I brush the knuckle of my index finger over the swell of her breast, watching as goose flesh spreads over her skin.

“This,” I say, lifting my eyes to hers, “looks amazing on you.”

“Thank you,” she mutters, looking away in what appears to be embarrassment .

I can’t have that, so I grip her chin firmly between my thumb and forefinger, guiding her face back.

“Mo chroí, I mean it. And every other time I’ve told you how beautiful you are. You. Are. Perfect.”

Her cheeks darken and those rich brown eyes are full of doubt. If I could have any super power, it would be for Layla Diaz to see herself through my eyes. I don’t know what it’s like to be a woman, let alone a woman with a full figure in a world where being beautiful is defined by how thin you are.

“What does your ex look like?” Layla asks suddenly.

“My ex?” I’m completely flummoxed.

“Yeah,” she says. “What does she look like? Is she tall or short? Blonde hair or dark hair? That kind of stuff.”

“I mean, yeah, she’s tall and blonde, but what does that have…”

“Is she skinny or curvy?

“Layla…” I’m beginning to see where this is going, and I don’t like it one bit.

“Please just answer the question,” she begs, her voice beginning to tremble.

Sighing deeply, I say, “I will tell you whatever you want to know, but I want you to listen to me. There is no comparison.”

“You’re stalling…”

“Jaysus, you’re persistent,” I tease her. “Fine. Ashley is tall, blonde, and thin. But she’s also a cheating bitch, one that didn’t have the decency to talk to me when she started to feel our relationship going south.”

Layla opens her mouth to say something, but I push my index finger against her pillowy lips. “Just leave it, Lovely.”

She squeezes her eyes shut tight. “Teagan, I don’t think you understand. Regardless of what you say, or how you feel, that doesn’t stop the little voice in my brain that tells me I’ll never live up to your standards. I am the complete opposite of your ex, who apparently is the type you’re into since you dated for so long.” She sighs, shoulders drooping in defeat. “I’ll never be tall, skinny, or blonde. And while you make me feel sexy and desired when we’re together, I can’t help but feel that if you had to choose a girl out of a lineup based on looks alone? You wouldn’t choose me.”

My heart plummets. It isn’t because she’s right, but because she truly believes that. I wish I could go back to when I first met Ashley and lose her number. Had I known that Layla Diaz was in my future, I would have waited for her.

Tipping her head up, I hold her gaze. “The day we met, I watched Eamon run across the field to Norah. But from the moment I saw you standing there, I never looked away. I couldn’t. You were—and still are—without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. So no, Lovely, I didn’t choose you out of a lineup, but I did choose you out of a stadium full of hundreds. And I’d choose you, again and again.”

Layla’s eyes turn glassy, but her lips morph from a small smile to a full-face grin that is so radiant it nearly blinds me. But if that smile is the last thing I see before losing my eyesight, it will be worth it.