Chaps and Chance Page 2

  But sometimes a man can’t bring himself to care about being shitty, especially when he’s already learned the danger of putting off until tomorrow what he should have done today.

  And so when he stepped into The Ticklish Iguana on a Friday night in early March to see Layla sitting at a table with two other women, laughing at a story one of them was telling in between sips of her beer, he didn’t hesitate.

  “Plans have changed, boys.” He clapped his friends, Glen and Travis, on the back, as he veered away from the bar. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

  Travis followed Cole’s gaze and let out a knowing laugh. “Do what you gotta do, man. Just stay away from the redhead. Her boyfriend will pop your head like a zit.”

  “Gross,” Glen said, wrinkling his nose.

  “Not into redheads,” Cole said absently, unable to tear his eyes away from Layla. She looked so much happier than she had the last time he’d seen her, with color in her cheeks and a sparkle in her blue eyes. It seemed like her impending divorce was agreeing with her, a fact that made his smile stretch a little wider.

  “Whatever, man.” Glen shook his head. “But if you strike out, you’re buying the first round. I’m sick of getting dumped every time you get a hard-on.”

  “Oh, come on, don’t be such a damned girl,” Travis said, shoving Glen toward the bar. “If I’d wanted to drink with a girl I would have asked Selma to come out for a beer instead of your sorry ass.”

  Glen grunted. “Selma wouldn’t go out with you if she was on fire and a beer bought with your money was the only thing that could put out the flames.”

  Cole left Glen and Travis to debate whether or not Travis’s boss, Selma, would allow herself to be burned to ashes before going out with Trav, and headed toward Layla’s table.

  As he crossed the crowded room—the loud conversation and louder karaoke music vibrating across his skin, making the air feel thick and heavy—his palms began to sweat and his mouth went dry. He hadn’t been this nervous about approaching a woman in years. Maybe ever. He usually didn’t care too much whether a woman said yes or no. If one said no, there would be a yes coming from another pretty lady before the night was through. A combination of good genetics, hard work on his family’s cattle ranch, and a shamelessly flirtatious streak he’d never tried to tame ensured that Cole rarely went to bed lonely.

  But he didn’t want just any woman to keep him company tonight. He wanted Layla.

  Still, he didn’t have any big expectations. He was hoping they could have a few drinks, a few laughs, and he would be able to convince her to have dinner with him tomorrow night.

  He should have been feeling confident—what kind of woman says no to catching up with an old friend over dinner? Instead, by the time he reached her table, his palm sweat had been joined by underarm sweat and a nervous tick that had his jaw muscle leaping in time to “I Shot the Sheriff.”

  And then Layla looked up, meeting his eyes as he stopped beside the only empty seat at her table, and his heart did a cannonball into his stomach, making him regret going back for seconds of his latest Food-Channel-Inspired experiment.

  Cole had pissed off enough women in his life to be able to read a “Not This Douchebag” expression when he saw one. He had no idea why, but Layla didn’t seem happy to see him.

  The pink rushed from her cheeks and her eyes widened in panic, leaving no doubt that coming over had been a bad idea. But it was too late to change course and pretend he’d been heading for the bathroom. He was going to have to force a smile, say hello, and suffer through a few painful minutes of small talk.

  Then he could retreat to the bar, buy Glen and Travis their first round, and drown his sorrows—and his hopes for a renewed connection with the girl he’d crushed on for half of his damned life—in a pitcher or two of beer.

  Layla

  The moment Layla’s eyes met Cole’s, her throat locked and her mind emptied.

  She suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say, the conclusion to Yasmin’s story about the Scottish man with the nose-sucking fetish, or what she’d had for dinner before joining her friends at The Ticklish Iguana.

  How could a woman be expected to think straight when a man who looked like that came moseying up to her table?

  Even when they were kids, Cole Lawson had been too handsome for his own good. Now he was broad-shouldered, sandy-haired, tall and tanned, drop your panties at his command sexy. The way he filled out a tee shirt and jeans was borderline obscene, showcasing more muscles than one male body should be allowed to possess. Add in the pale green eyes, generous lips, and the dimple that popped in his right cheek when he smiled and it was no wonder he had a reputation as the most notorious womanizer in Lonesome Point.

  The only amazing thing was that the man hadn’t been mobbed on his way through the door and had made it all the way to her table without at least one woman hurling herself at his feet and begging him to abuse her virtue on the dance floor. But by some miracle, he’d arrived unmolested and, even more miraculously, was looking at her like she was the last spoonful of rainbow sprinkles at the ice cream topping bar.

  Looking at her like she was the Layla she used to be, the one who had been dating one gorgeous boy and had another gorgeous, funny boy secretly pining for her at work every day.

  During their senior year of high school, Layla had finally realized that Cole had a crush on her. But no matter how much she’d cherished their friendship, she’d already given her heart and her virginity, to Wayne.

  Maybe if she’d realized the way Cole felt sooner, things might have been different, but by the time she’d recognized the light in his eyes for what it was, it was too late. She had been happy with Wayne, engaged to be married, and already planning her wedding with his mother. She’d graduated and moved on with her life and had rarely thought of Cole since.

  She’d been too busy fighting for her marriage and then struggling to survive to indulge any “what if” fantasies. She honestly hadn’t realized she even had those kind of fantasies until Cole grinned uncomfortably and said—

  “Hey there, stranger.”

  —and a decade’s worth of “what-ifs” slammed down on her shoulders, making her feel like she was being attacked by the earth’s gravitational pull.

  What if she’d kissed Cole’s lips instead of his cheek that day in the barn, when he’d held her while she cried? What if she’d never gone on that first date with Wayne?

  What if she’d spent the past ten years with a man who looked at her like rainbow sprinkles instead of a man who seemed to cherish her one minute and loathe her the next?

  It wouldn’t have lasted ten years. Cole likes to spread that fine body around and rainbow sprinkles don’t last.

  Love doesn’t last. Period.

  “Hey,” Layla finally croaked when Georgie kicked her beneath the table. “How are you?”

  “I’m good. Still working on the ranch with John.” He shoved his hands into his jean pockets, the movement emphasizing the bulge of his biceps beneath his fitted tee. “How about you? I heard you were back home. Everything…going okay?”

  He sounded as uncomfortable as she felt, but Layla didn’t know what to say to put him at ease. It had been over a decade since she’d had a meaningful conversation with a man outside of her immediate family, let alone flirted with a member of the opposite sex. She’d known Wayne would lose his mind if he even thought she was noticing someone else in that way, so she’d shut that part of herself off.

  She’d shut it off and now she didn’t know how to turn it back on again. Or if she even wanted to. She’d toyed with the idea of dating, but her thoughts were a long way from becoming action. She wasn’t ready for romance or excitement. All she wanted was peace and quiet and the space to find her place in the world.

  And Cole Lawson naked in your bed, covered in rainbow sprinkles.

  Layla gulped at the thought, not knowing where it—or the heat spreading through her belly—had come from.

&n
bsp; “You know what, I’m sorry. That’s none of my business,” Cole said, shoulders hunching as he shuffled back a step. “Forget I said anything. You ladies enjoy your night.”

  He turned to walk away; a second later Georgie and Yasmin both kicked her under the table.

  “Ow!” Layla winced as she leaned down to rub her abused shins. “What was that for?”

  “For being a psycho! What were you thinking, crazy woman?” Yasmin asked, her almond eyes widening. “That man was gorgeous!”

  “And looking at you like you were a tall glass of water,” Georgie agreed, “And he was really fucking thirsty.”

  “Like rainbow sprinkles,” Layla muttered numbly, eyes glued to Cole’s broad shoulders as he retreated, her chest aching more with every step he took.

  “What?” Georgie’s sculpted red brows drew together. “Are you feeling okay, sugar? Did you remember to eat? You know what a lightweight you are. You shouldn’t even drink a light beer on an empty stomach.”

  “No. I mean, yes, I ate. I think.” She shook her head. “I don’t know, but I should go talk to him. Apologize for being rude.”

  “Now the woman is talking sense.” Yasmin giggled as she reached for the margarita pitcher at the center of the table. “Go get him girl. Rope him and ride that cowboy all night long. Take it from me, hot sex is the best breakup therapy.”

  Layla forced a weak smile and started for the bar, but the moment she was out of the girls’ line of vision, her lips lost their curve. Yasmin and Georgie were relatively new in town. They knew she had filed for divorce, but they didn’t know Wayne, his family, or any of the darker parts of her personal history. They certainly didn’t know that she slept with a gun beside her bed or that she wasn’t sure it was safe for her to start dating.

  Wayne had been quiet for months, but she couldn’t believe he was going to let her go this easily and knew he’d seek vengeance against any man who dared to lay a hand on her while they were still legally married. After what Layla’s crazy father had done to Cole—holding him hostage while trying to avoid capture by the FBI—she couldn’t bear the thought of bringing any more pain into her old friend’s life.

  There would be no hot sex, no naked Cole in her bed, not even so much as a good night kiss to see if the heat that had flared between them in the past could become a flame. She would apologize for being rude, catch up on his news, and wish him the best. It was the only responsible choice to make.

  She knew that, but she couldn’t help feeling a little sad and wondering what it would be like to be touched by a man who made her feel like rainbow sprinkles.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cole

  Cole had just sidled up to the bar—trying to catch the bartender’s attention to order a pitcher of beer for the table—when cool fingers brushed against his arm.

  Even before he turned, he knew it was Layla. She still smelled like honeysuckle and rain and her touch still made every hormone in his body wake up and stampede straight into his bloodstream. It was embarrassing, especially now that she’d make it clear she felt nothing for him, not even the affection one feels for an old friend.

  But still, he forced a smile as he turned to lean one arm against the polished bar, determined not to let his hurt show in his eyes.

  “Hello again,” he said, ignoring the wave of awareness that swept across his skin as Layla slipped into the narrow space between him and the barstool on her other side. “I really am sorry for barging in. I didn’t mean to interrupt your night.”

  “You didn’t interrupt,” she said, arms twining in front of her. “I mean, you did, but it wasn’t a big deal. It’s my fault it was weird. I wasn’t expecting to see you.” She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “And then I did see you, and suddenly I had no idea what to say. I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I am for the terrible things my dad did to you ever since it happened, but I—”

  “Not your fault.” Cole cut her off before she could apologize for Neil. “You didn’t fake your death or hold anyone hostage. None of what happened is on you, not even a little bit.”

  She shrugged again. “I know. I mean, I guess I know. But it’s still been so long and I just kind of… I don’t know—” She broke off with a wince. “I’m sorry. I’m so bad at this.”

  “Bad at what?”

  “Talking to people.” Her eyebrows lifted as her forehead wrinkled. “Being normal.”

  “Since when?” Cole asked with a laugh. “The way I remember it, you could sweet talk the peg leg off a pirate and leave him thanking you for not being able to walk.”

  A smile flickered across Layla’s face. It was there and gone before he could blink, but at that moment, she was so beautiful it took his breath away. With her delicate features and arctic blue eyes, Layla could look like an ice princess when she was angry, but her smile was pure summertime.

  “Yeah, well, people change.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, the last of her grin fading as her gaze dropped to his chest. “I guess all I really wanted to say was that I’m sorry. I would never want to make you feel uncomfortable. You were always a good friend to me.”

  “You, too,” Cole said, wishing he could banish the sadness from her eyes. “And thanks for coming over to talk. It’s good to know you don’t hate my ass face.”

  “Of course not.” Her head tilted to one side and her breath rushed out with a soft laugh. “And you don’t have an ass face. You have a very nice face.”

  “Does that mean my ass isn’t nice?” Cole asked, kicking into flirtation mode before he could stop himself, knowing it was the right move when Layla laughed again.

  “Oh, hush,” she said, her cheeks flushing. “You’re so bad.”

  “I’m not bad.” He shifted closer until her body heat warmed his chest and her sweet smell filled his head, making him tipsy before he’d had a drop to drink. “I have low self-esteem. That’s all.”

  She snorted. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

  “You’re much prettier than the Queen of England.” He lifted one hand, capturing a lock of her hair between two fingers. “I like that you don’t dye the gray. I wouldn’t have thought it, but it looks good on you.”

  “Right.” She rolled her eyes self-consciously. “Nothing sexier than premature aging.”

  “Not on most people. But I bet you’d be sexy bald, so…”

  Layla looked up and their gazes connected with a crackle of electricity he felt surge through him like a solar flare.

  They stared at each other, into each other, until the years and the awkwardness fell away, and for a moment, it was the way it used to be, back when they’d spent hours together, talking and laughing, with only comfortable silences falling between them.

  They were different people now, but the part of him that had always hummed with recognition and happiness when he looked into Layla’s eyes still responded the same way.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said softly, the teasing note vanishing from his voice. “Would you want to grab dinner tomorrow? We could catch up, maybe go for a beer after?”

  After a beat, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

  “Do what? Reconnect with an old friend?”

  She swallowed and her cheeks paled. “Don’t play dumb. We both know you’re not.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said, heart sinking as he realized he was being shut down. “I’ve made my share of dumb calls.”

  “Not as many as I have,” she said, regret tightening her features. “And that’s why I’m going to say goodbye, Cole. I’m not going to let my bad choices hurt anyone else.”

  A frown bunched his forehead, anger rising inside of him as he realized what—or who—she was talking about. “If you mean Wayne, I’m not worried. I’m not scared of him.”

  “You should be,” she said, the last of the summer light going out of her eyes, leaving them frozen. “It was nice seeing you. Say hi to your mom and John for me.”

  She started to step away, but C
ole stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

  “Don’t go,” he begged, not wanting their first interaction in over a decade to end like this, with her running away and him feeling helpless to ease her pain. “We don’t have to flirt or talk about my ass, but I want to talk. I want to know what I can do to help you.”

  “Leave me alone,” she whispered. “That’s the best thing you can do for both of us.”

  He shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to be scared. Please, Layla. Let me help.”

  Her lips parted, but he pushed on before she could speak.

  “At least promise you’ll call if you need me,” he said. “For anything. I can be at your place in twenty minutes. Grayson’s got my number.”

  “I’m fine, Cole. Don’t worry.” She placed a hand on his chest with a bittersweet smile. “But thank you. Take care of yourself and that pretty backside of yours.”

  A moment later, she’d ducked under his arm and walked away, leaving Cole feeling like shit. Even knowing that—if circumstances had been different—Layla might have been interested in more than friendship didn’t numb the miserable, helpless feeling filling his chest.

  He’d spent years secretly jealous of the happiness he’d assumed she’d found with Wayne. Now, he just wished there had been a reason for his jealousy. It made his entire body ache to think of her married to a man who frightened her. Layla wasn’t the type to exaggerate or cry wolf. If she was afraid, she had reason to be. Wayne had given her reason to be.

  It made Cole want to drive out to the Wheeler family compound and pound Wayne Wheeler’s smug face until he realized what a bad idea it would be to bother Layla ever again.

  In his younger days, he might have done it, but he’d grown up enough to realize throwing punches rarely solved anything. As far as he could tell, the most important tools for living a happy life were knowing when not to give a fuck and when to be man enough to admit that he’d been wrong.

  Everyone made mistakes, but it seemed like it was a rare person nowadays who knew how to say “I’m sorry” and mean it. He took pride in having mastered the skill, and in knowing when to stand up for what he believed in and when to walk away and let festering dogs lie. The rancid people in the world got what was coming to them sooner or later. Karma was a bigger, meaner bitch than Cole could ever be and would catch up to Wayne eventually.