I smile now. “A tattoo?” My voice comes out smooth. “I’ve never seen it.”
“And you will never see it,” she huffs out. “Ever.”
“Oh, I think this is a challenge.” I clap my hands together.
“There is no challenge!” she shouts. “There is nothing going on here.”
“Oh, there is something going on here.” I put the car in park. “Something big, and I can’t wait for you to finally see it, gorgeous.” She groans. “Be ready tonight. I’ll be there at eight.”
“No!” she shouts.
“See you later, gorgeous,” I say and hang up the phone, smiling to myself. I get out of the truck and make my way over to the gym, where my trainer is waiting.
I walk in, and the cold air hits me right away. “You are five minutes late,” he says, and I look down and see he’s right. “Get on the treadmill.” I nod at him, and for the next two hours, he pushes me until my legs feel like Jell-O.
“It’s a good fucking thing I don’t have to get back on the ice until Tuesday.” My chest heaves up and down as I swallow a whole bottle of water. Sweat from my face drips down, and the phone beeps.
I walk over to the weight bench that has my keys, wallet, and phone, and I smile when I see Layla texted me.
Layla: One date. See you at eight.
I smile to myself like a giddy teenager. I knew she wanted me, I think to myself. “Come to Daddy.”
Chapter 7
Layla
Did he just hang up on me? I look down at the phone and see that the screen saver picture is up. How dare he hang up on me. I get up, storming over to my bedroom and falling on the bed, then turn to the side and see that it’s just a little after one in the afternoon. I’ve just spent the past three hours trying to forget about what I did last night.
But the minute I try to forget, I take a deep breath, and all I can do is smell flowers. It brings me right back to the memories of last night. Sitting at the table watching all the women and then something happening, and I couldn’t explain it. Bidding on him for twenty-five fucking thousand dollars, I close my eyes. Not only that, but I made the payment on the way to the car. They should have a code word before making a purchase that big. Like, were you or are you of sound mind. Because if I’d had that option, I would have failed.
I walked into the house and had a one-on-one with Don Julio, who did nothing but make me forget. He made sure that when I woke up this morning, the memories came slowly.
My phone pings, and I look down, seeing that it’s a text from Miller, and I sit up in my bed. How did he get my number? For the past four years, I’ve given him a different number each time. Each time, he would blow up that number and then ask me why I never answered. I would laugh at him and inform him that he took it down wrong.
I call Candace, who answers right away, whispering, “Did you give Miller my phone number?” I hear a door close softly.
She answers right away. “No, why?” Her voice goes from a whisper to a normal voice. I hear her walking wherever she is.
“Well, he just texted me a picture of us from last night,” I fill her in. “It came through. Like I actually got his text.”
“Okay and …?” she asks, and I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. This is a dream; this has to be a dream or, better yet, a fucking nightmare. But then my eyes open, and I see it’s not a dream.
“I never gave him my number,” I tell her. “I gave him a number. All the fake numbers.”
She gasps and then laughs. “Oh my God, you have to marry him,” she sings with glee while I groan. “You said it yourself. If the guy finds your number, you’ll marry him.”
“I don’t have time for this. I have to be at my grandmother’s place in thirty-five minutes.” I don’t even bother answering or touching what she just said.
“Grandma Nancy,” she says, her voice full of love. “Bring her some flowers,” she says, then hangs up right after.
I slowly peel myself off my bed as I make my way to my walk-in closet. I grab my comfiest pair of black jeans, grabbing a white shirt with short sleeves that rests just above the top of the jeans. Gathering my hair, I tie it on top of my head in a high bun. I grab my purse, keys, and flip-flops. Bending down, I pick up a vase of roses in my arms and walk out of the house, trying not to fall. I walk as slowly as I can to my car, making sure I don’t smash into anything. The flowers cover half my eyes. I buckle the bouquet in the front seat before making my way over to my grandmother's senior living home.
I stop on the way to pick up our favorite burgers and fries. When I pull up to her home, I’m thankful she’s sitting outside in the front swing with four of her friends. She gets up as soon as she sees me park my car, waving and calling my name.
“Layla, honey.” She walks over, and I look her up and down. She is still a beauty with her wild and curly salt and pepper hair that falls in the middle of her back. Her bright gray eyes shine as she looks at me. She’s wearing a long orange dress with a bright yellow cover-up. The bangles on her arms clink when she spots the flowers and claps her hands together, each finger has a ring on it. It balances her aura, she always says. “Oh, you shouldn’t have, dear.” Her voice is soft and sweet.
“Can you grab the food?” I motion to the takeout bag that is on the floor of the car. She grabs the bag and my purse, then comes over to kiss my cheek. “Hi.”
“You look like the cat just dragged you in and licked your hair,” she says, and I laugh. She is full of all these strange sayings. She always had a saying about something. It’s one of the things I think I love most about her.
“Well, after the night I had …” I walk with her up her concrete walkway as she says hello to the people she sees. “I’ll take it.”
“Oh!” she squeals with excitement. “I want to hear all about it,” she tells me as she holds open the front door, and I step in and notice that all of her windows are open, and it looks foggy. I set the flowers on her glass table that is right off the small kitchen.
“What is that smell?” I ask her, looking around, and she smiles at me.
“I was making cannabutter this morning,” she says. “And well, one thing led to another. I forgot about it, and it’s burnt.”
“Grandma,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “What the hell were you doing that you forgot you had it in the oven?”
“It’s not what I was doing, dear,” she says, winking at me. “It’s who I was doing.”
“Oh my God,” I say, sitting down on one of the chairs before I fall on the floor. “That’s so gross.”
“I have needs,” she says, walking to the table. “And sometimes those needs get met by a real willie instead of the plastic one in my drawer.” Sitting down, she crosses her legs. Her feet are bare as they always are when she’s home.
“This is all too much,” I tell her, and she shrugs.
“Now, did you bring me a beyond meat burger?” she asks, grabbing the bag, and I nod my head. “Good.” handing her a fry and her beyond meat burger. My whole life, she has been the one who guided me and stood by my side. My parents had me when they were both sixteen. They were best friends, and one night, they dropped me off to her, then went off to party. I was six months old, and that night, I became an orphan. My parents were killed in a hit-and-run accident, leaving my grandmother to raise me. She didn’t bat an eye that she was fifty and now raising a child. She never made me feel that I stopped her from living. Instead, she said I was her second chance. Sure, she was unconventional, but so was life. “So tell me,” she says, grabbing a french fry. “How was your night?”