His slap

I’m no longer in control of myself. I’m on the field in a flash, yanking his arm from around her shoulders. “Don't fucking touch her!”

He blinks and steps back with a hand up in the air. “Whoa, dude! Chill out!”

My chest heaves as I contemplate all the ways I can murder this kid.

Layla calms me with a gentle hand on my chest. Her touch captures my attention, and I look into her big blue eyes.

“It's okay, Jay,” she tells me gently. “Take me home.” When my eyes cut back up to look at the young prick, she adds, “Please.”

Fuck. I can't deny her when she says “please” in that sweet voice. So instead of throttling this fucker to within an inch of his life, I grab Layla’s hand and yank her off the football field. She trails along beside me willingly. She’s silent as I buckle her into my vehicle before getting in and slamming the door. I'm seething with rage at the memory of that boy's arm around her.

Layla must sense my volatile temperament because, for once, she keeps her mouth shut.

Neithe