I’M LOSING MY MIND

ARNOLD

“Layla…” I grunt, my breaths coming hard and fast. “Fuck…”

I drop my forehead against the wet tiles. My soapy fingers fist around my throbbing cock, giving it one furious jerk after the next after the next. My other hand squeezes my balls in a rhythmic pattern as cold water beats down on my back.

I’m losing my mind. I’m going crazy. I’m coming apart.

I want to touch her so bad. No matter how hard I try to stop myself, touching her is all I can think about these days.

But Layla only feels sorry for me. She sees me as a pathetic old dude who spends his nights alone. When all I want is to spend my nights with her.

On top of her. Beneath her. Inside her.

Not gonna happen, fuckhead.

Because what kind of asshole would I be if I came onto her right now? The worst kind.

She’s in a vulnerable position. She just needs a safe place for her and her son as she figures life out. I’d be a predator to backher into a corner and take her like I want to. Especially under these circumstances.

But that’s exactly what I’ve been fantasizing about. Every single night since she moved in, I lock myself in the walk-in shower of the bathroom adjoined to my library…and I fantasize about her. I let my imagination run wild.

A few moments ago, in that dark hallway, as she stared up at me with those rose petal lips and those big, brown eyes, I wanted to fuck the sympathy right out of her.

I wanted to show her what a beast I can be.

I wanted to order her to her knees and make her open her mouth for me.

I wanted to lift the hem of her T-shirt and bury my face between her legs and lick and bite and taste her until she was screaming my name.

But instead, I have to settle for this. Fucking my hand in the shower and wishing I were fucking her.

My hips pump senselessly as I imagine the weight of her breasts in my palms, the taste of her tongue tangled with mine, the warmth of her legs twisted around my back.

I roughly drag my fist down the length of my cock, from root to tip, flicking my thumb over the crown. That’s what sends me over the edge.

A tremor rockets down my spine and I begin to unload my release all over the damn tile. I slam my free fist against my mouth, biting into the flesh to keep from groaning her name again.

Layla.

Always Layla. Only Layla.

I’ve got to keep it together. Seventy-six more days to go.

My control is fraying. I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off.

I’m fucked.

LAYLA

I shouldn't have answered my phone.

When it started ringing, I considered just ignoring it. I really did.

Then I caved.

Now, instead of picking out my outfit for tonight’s welcome home dinner for the senior Brightons, I’m held hostage by my mother’s frustrating phone conversation.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us,” she’s saying, giving me shit. Like always.

I tuck my phone against my shoulder as I thumb through the scant wardrobe options hanging in the tiny bedroom closet. “There was really nothing new to share, Mom. We’ve been split up for months already. You knew that.”

“We had to hear it from Ansel.” My mother sniffles through the phone. “He called us, you know?”

Of course, Razor—orAnsel—as the government likes to call him—contacted my parents. What a manipulator. I can only imagine the sob story he painted for them.

“He told us all about how he was trying to finally work things out with you,” my mother goes on. “But you broke up your family. For good.”

“Mom, you know it’s not that simple.”

I don’t understand how she takes someone else’s side over her own daughter’s, without even considering things from my perspective. It’s always been like this. In her mind, she always finds a way to make me wrong.

That hurts.

I’m an only child. But contrary to the popular stereotypes, I didn’t grow up spoiled and coddled by adoring parents. My father has pretty much dismissed me for most of my existence, while my mother used me as a recycling bin for dumping all of her disappointments and frustrations into.

My dad is a traveling sales man, always on the road for trade shows and customer demonstrations. I’m convinced that the only reason my mother even gave birth to me was to make sure that dad would come back home after stints on the road.

Unfortunately for her, that little scheme didn’t exactly have the desired effect, because even when he was physically around, he was never emotionally present. That man just doesn’t give a fuck.

As a little kid, I’d jump through hoops of fire, hoping to get my dad to notice me, to get my mom to be proud of me. I got perfect grades. I organized a lunchtime book club at school. I was captain of the kiddie volleyball team. Not because I was particularly gifted at any of those things. I did it all through sheer determination to get my parents to love me. But nothing was ever enough.

By the time I hit 14, I was burned out on being the good girl. I had finally figured out that I would never get my parents’s approval. So I decided to do whatever the fuck I wanted.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

My teenage rebellious phase was a textbook cry for attention. But my dad barely noticed and my mom used my turbulent behavior to justify my dad’s lack of interest in being a part of our family.

I think that’s how I ended up in Razor’s grip. I just wanted someone to see me. Finally. When I got his attention, I clung to him for dear life and he took me on one hell of a ride.

Thank god I had Karli and her family in my corner. More than once, Mrs. Brighton’s gentle guidance kept me from spinning out completely. Who knows where I would have ended up if not for my best friend and her family.

To this day, my mother still doesn't get it.

According to her, she and Dad are twin flames. What does that entail? Basically, he runs away from her, and she chases him down at breakneck speed. She seems to think it’s her wifely obligation.

Even now, my parents are constantly on the road, Mom following Dad around for all of his work obligations. Yet he always seems indifferent to her presence. Like her being around or not being around means nothing to him, either way.

I say Dad is emotionally unavailable, and Mom needs to grow a backbone. Like I had to.

Now and then, I have to remind myself that I turned out pretty okay for someone who basically had to raise myself from the time I was old enough to cook packaged mac and cheese on my own.

“Well, whatever the case, you need to fight for that man,” she dishes out her dreadful advice as usual, “because there will never be another man out there for you and Sky. He’s the father of your child. You need to hang onto what you have and quit overthinking every little thing. It’s petty, Layla.”

None of what I’m going through is easy, and my mom is only making things more difficult by stacking all the blame on my shoulders.

Yes, I was the one who ended things with Razor. Buthewas the shitty partner,hewas the shitty parent,hewas the shitty person. Now that I’ve mustered up the self-respect to leave him, it’s not fair that I’m the one who’s made to walk around with the shame.

I sigh, snatching a random dress off a hanger and closing the closet door with a little more force than necessary. “Mom, I know you’re one of those people who thinks a woman should stick with her man at all costs. But this is more than him just cheating on me. This is more than all his drunken nights. This is more than him never treating me like a human being. I left because my child’s life was put in danger due to Razor’s negligence. That’s not a price I’m willing to pay.”

Fine. I’m still living with the consequences of some of the younger Layla’s poor decisions—namely, choosing an imbecile to be the father of my child. But I’ll be damned if I allow Razor to ruin Sky’s life the way I allowed him to ruin mine.

I hear my mother start to argue from the other end, but I quickly speak over her. “I’ve got to go. Tell Dad ‘hello’.” Then I hang up the phone and struggle to pull myself together.

I drop down onto the bed, shutting my eyes and doing some deep breathing. I can hear Sky giggling in the living room with Arnold, and I’m grateful to have a few minutes to myself. I don’t have much time before we head out, and I need to try to get rid of all the negative energy I’m holding inside my chest. It would be terrible to bring these bad vibes to dinner tonight.

Now that Felix and Daphne’s wedding is only a few weeks away, the older Brightons are finally back in town. Karli was kind enough to call and invite Sky and me to join tonight’s family dinner at the Brighton ranch. Initially, I turned down her offer, but I should have known she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Because moments later, Arnold was standing in the doorway to my bedroom with Karli on his phone. He asked me why I wasn’t coming to dinner and I insisted that the family probably needed time to catch up after so many months apart. At that point, he simply announced that Sky and I are part of the family and that we need to be ready to leave the house by 5:30.

Then he strolled away. End of discussion.

Karli and her oldest brother are both equally bossy and annoying. It must be genetic.

But I can’t deny that they make me feel loved. And in this era of my life, I need all the love I can get.

So if Karli and Arnold insist on making Sky and me a part of their family dinner, we’ll be there. I just need to make sure I don’t bring all my problems along with me.

I love the Brighton parents and grandparents. Ever since Karli and I were kids, they’ve always treated me like one of their own, and I’m looking forward to seeing them again after all this time.

But I have to admit that I’m a bit embarrassed for Dr. and Mrs. Brighton to see that Istilldon't have my shit together.In fact, I’m even more of a hot mess now than I was before they jetted off to Europe.

Before they left town, I was an unwed mother with a lousy boyfriend. Now, I’m notjusta single mom—I’m homeless single mom, living off the generosity of their last eligible son.

I can’t imagine what they’re going to think of me.Their opinions probably won’t be very positive and that makes me nervous. But since I’m not getting out of going to dinner, I’m going to have to fake some confidence tonight.

Pushing my jitters aside, I absentmindedly throw on my dress, run a brush through my hair and smack on a glob of lipgloss. I’m about to rush off but I pause and take a moment to slip on my favorite pair of earrings. That’s all the glam I have time for, especially since I don’t want to make Arnold late.

Grabbing Sky’s diaper bag, I hustle toward the living room. A rush of tingles races through me at the sight that awaits me. I find Arnold crouched down on the floor, focused on building a tower of plastic blocks with my son.

And—oh my god—how is it legal for one man to be so good-looking?

He’s wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, looking very much like a Calvin Klein model—lumberjack edition. His nearly-black waves look ridiculously sexy under the overhead lights and his beard is freshly groomed.

I can’t control the first thought that enters my brain as I look at him.Holy shit—I’d love to ride that beard.

I give my head a brisk shake.Stop it, Layla. He’s more than a hot, growly, yummy-smelling, tatted-up hunk of muscle that I’d love to grind on. He’s a person. A whole person. With feelings and everything. Objectifying the poor man is wrong.

I pull myself together and step into the living room. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” I say.

When Arnold looks up and sees me coming, he wobbles and falls on his ass. “Whoa…” he says under his breath, blinking slowly at me.

“Wh-what?” I mutter, self-consciously smoothing a palm over my hair.

“Uh…nothing.” He quickly turns his attention away from me to focus on his tower of blocks.

I cringe. Shit. Do I look that bad?

Meanwhile, Sky is toddling toward me, an enamored look on his little face. He grabs onto my leg. “Mommyboo-tee-ful.”

Heart bursting, I scoop my little prince off his feet. “Aw, thank you, Sky.” I give him a squeeze and kiss his warm cheek. “That’s such a nice thing to say.”

He cups my face in his soft palms, grinning adoringly at me.

That’s one of the hidden upsides of being mom to a little guy—at least one person in this world will think you’re pretty no matter what. Even on your worst days. And how the hell is his vocabulary expanding so quickly? I’m so proud of him.

Arnold picks himself off the floor and strides over to where I’m standing. He reaches out and ruffles the top of my son’s head as his eyes look into mine. “I agree, little man. Your mommy’s absolutely beautiful. Make sure she always knows it, okay?”

My son bobs his head as if he perfectly understands the assignment. “Okay, Mista Musdache.”

Then Arnold casually strolls off and gets busy cleaning up Sky’s toys. Like he didn’t just turn my panties inside out.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Right now, I’m struggling to breathe properly. But I force myself to focus on getting Sky all bundled up in his winter gear to face the cold.

I know Arnold probably didn’t mean much by the comment. But with the wobbly state of my self-esteem these days, I cling onto his words like a life raft.

I’m still feeling disoriented by Arnold’s compliment when the three of us eventually pile into his truck—even after fixing my car, he insists that we take it most of the time. But as we drive through the quiet Starlight Falls streets, I can tell that he’s growing tense.

I pick at my nail polish, watching him out of the corner of my eye. I’m worried that he’s getting tired of me crowding his space. Is he ready for Sky and me to move out of his house?

Not that I could blame him. Arnold’s formerly clean house has been a wreck ever since we moved in. Toys are everywhere.Sippy cups and spoons keep finding their way under his couch and between the cushions. The garbage can is always overflowing with soiled diapers. Sky may be little, but my little man sure knows how to make a space his own.

And to top it off, last night, my baby had an awful crying fit in the middle of the night. It kept everyone—including Arnold—awake for hours. So, even though he keeps saying everything’s fine, I just know that me and my toddler are making the man miserable.

When Arnold’s eyes momentarily find my son in the rearview mirror, I can’t decode the look that crosses his face. Sky is focused on smashing together the two Hot Wheels cars that he’s holding.The racket is loud as hell and I cringe.

Oh god.

“I’ve been looking at rentals,” I blurt out, finally breaking the silence in the cab of the truck.

Arnold frowns, returning his concentration to the road ahead. “Take your time, Layla. I gave you three months to figure stuff out. In fact, you can take all the time you need. I’m in no rush to get rid of you and Sky,” he grumbles. “And I’m definitely not letting you move into a place that’s unsafe or out of budget.”

I purse my lips. He keeps saying freakishly nice things, but I find it hard to believe. Sky’s own father just kicked us out on the street, after all. If that jerk doesn’t want us, no one will.

My mother’s words echo in my head.There will never be another man out there for you and Sky.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. “It’s just that…I’m sure we kept you up all night, and the house has been a mess because of us. You’ve had to lock all your belongings up out of Sky’s reach. You’re spending double on groceries. And besides, you told me yourself that you don’t want a woman in your space. Let alone a womanandher rowdy toddler.”

Arnold scrubs a hand down his face and exhales roughly. “I think I need to clarify something.”

“Clarify?” I echo.

“I need to clarify what I meant about not wanting anyone in my space.”

“Oh. Oh-kay…” I’m nervous now. I have no idea what he’ll say next.

Arnold’s attention stays on the road as he speaks in a grave, hushed tone. “I’m a serious man, Layla. And most people like to play games. I want no part of that.”

“I…I see,” I mumble because I can’t figure out where this conversation is going.

He continues after a heavy pause. “I don’t commit often, but when I do, I do it completely. When I claim someone as mine, I’ll defend her. I’ll die for her. And I’ve never gotten the equivalent level of commitment in return.” I watch the way his fingers tighten on the wheel. “It’s always been a bunch of wishy-washy, back and forth nonsense. I hate that shit. That’s why I decided to bow out of the dating game completely. Because I’m not a hook-up kind of guy. I’m not willing to settle for someone who’s only halfway in.”

He pauses to glance at me. “That’s what I meant when I said I don’t want someone in my space. I don’t want any old relationship. I don’t want someone who’s not going to take me seriously. I don’t want just anywoman. I only want the one.” His words carry so much conviction. “If it’s not the real fucking thing, then I don’t want it.”

Holy crap. That's so hot. Why’s that so fucking hot?

“I…um, I see…” I finally stutter again.

His dark eyes narrow under lowered brows when he glances at me.“Basically, I’m just trying to explain that I’m not angry with you or with Sky,” he adds. “I need you to know that.”

“I…okay…” I pause to look out my window, taking in the snow-covered landscape as we pass through town. “So, if it’s not us, why are you so tense right now? Is something wrong?”

Arnold shakes his head, chuckling bitterly. “I guess I’m tense because I know my family is going to be harassing me all night about not having a wedding date for next month. I wish everyone would leave me alone about it.”

I think back to what Arnold just said about relationships.If it’s not the real fucking thing, then I don’t want it.

I understand where he’s coming from—giving away your heart can be terrifying. But he’s such a good man. It would be tragic for him to spend his life not getting the love he deserves.

“So you’re just gonna be single…forever?” I question softly, my eyes flicking over to him.

Arnold’s thick shoulder rises and falls on a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He pauses. “All I know is, I could never force myself to be with someone just for the sake of not being alone.”

I nod. “I had to learn that lesson the hard way. Being single will always be better than ‘forcing it’ with someone who’s not on the same page as you.”

“Exactly,” he grumbles, now pulling into a spot in his parents’ front yard.He hops out of the vehicle and he’s at my door, swinging it open before I’ve even unbuckled my seat belt. Then he grabs Sky’s diaper bag without even having to be asked.

I follow him up the walkway, watching this 6’5 military man marching into his parents’s house with an overflowing hippopotamus-patterned diaper bag on his shoulder.

I bite back my smile.