Page 81 of The Score We Never Settled

She’s bent over the bar top near the register, talking excitedly to Sherry, the most veteran waitress here, but then my attention falls on her ass…and, yeah, still on her ass.

I don’t know how or why she isn’t realizing that anyone in this place might be able to see up her dress, but damn, I picked the wrong booth to sit in.

It’s pink, floral, and that’s all I know. Her dark curls lie across her back when she slides into one of the stools, while Sherry heads back to the kitchen.

And that’s my moment.

“Be right back,” I tell my sisters because I can’t help myself. I’m drawn to her in every way, right and wrong, and it doesn’t seem to matter because I am glued to this woman.

She can not shake me.

Abandoning my breakfast, I stride up the bar, feeling everyone’s damn eyes on me as I slide between Layla and the adjoining bar stool and lean over, smelling something sweet and sinful as hell on her skin.

“Layla Jean, if you’re not the sexiest fuckin’ thing that’s ever graced this town, I don’t want to see it. Because if you bend over this bar one more time, the shit I’m going to do to you is going to have to make you move in with me in Memphis.”

Slowly, she turns her head, and those hazel eyes lock in on me like it’s a normal day in paradise, and I’m still here to turn her on my side.

“You’d better hope your voice doesn’t carry,” she replies low, her stare hardening like she’s going to punch me in the dick. “Because if I gotta hear one more rumor about you and me today, I’m going to go live in the mountains.”

“We don’t have mountains.”

“Exactly.”

“But there are some in Tennessee.”

“There are some in Alabama, too. Just not here.”

“You’d look better in Tennessee, Short Stop. You were glowin’ there.”

“I’d look better if you’d stop starin’ at me like we’re happily married when we’re not.”

Ouch.

“I’m happy,” I claim. “Regardless of your attempts to annul me out of your life, Layla Jean, knowin’ that you are mine makes me sleep just fine.”

“So no one can have me.”

Nice try.

She’s baiting me into backing off by throwing Cruz shit back in my face, but I’m too tired for it and, frankly, I’d love to beat the shit out of him if he wants to come over and try.

“Exactly,” I put forth. “And you’ve never had a problem with that.”

“I did until?—”

“Watch your next words, Layla Jean,” I caution, because if she is successful in riling me up, I’m kissing the shit out of her for the whole damn town to see. “When I get upset, I do things.”

She lifts a brow. “You’re not going to punch Sherry when she comes back, are you?”

“I don’t hit women. However, I do hit ononewoman, and she forgot how to read the room.”

She looks up, suddenly exasperated with me. “I could say the same about you.”

“Reading it just fine. I just need you to put on a pair of glasses or something because you’re not understandin’ the print.”

“Says my attempts to close the chapter.”

“Our story isn’t done yet.”