Your Boyfriend is Hot

He felt her hands on him, her mouth on him, her hair gliding across his chest following her lips.

They trailed up, then along his collarbone and his hands moved to her waist, down to her hips and in, over her ass as her lips went up his neck to his ear.

“You need to get home to your boys, baby,” Rocky whispered.

* * *

Layne’s eyes opened.

He was on his stomach on Rocky’s couch.

He rolled to his back and he smiled.

Then he rolled off the couch and stretched, looking out her huge-ass windows, the lights from the parking lot shining in, dawn not close but not far away.

He bent and replaced the back cushions on the couch. He’d been right, he could sleep there and he did, like a log. The seat was wide, especially with the back cushions off, plenty of room. Enough, Rocky could stretch out with him to watch a game. He remembered she loved football, she loved basketball and she loved baseball. It was chick love, it was cute, but there was no denying she liked her sports.

He turned to her stairs and went up, his bare feet silent on the steps. He’d taken off his boots, socks and tee and slept in his jeans.

The doors in the hall upstairs were all closed. One blank wall, the wall to the outside, three doors on the inner wall, another one at the wall facing him at the end. One of them had to be a bathroom.

He tried the first and found it was a bedroom. Nothing in it that he could see.

He tried the second and it was a linen closet, mostly empty.

He tried the third and found a bathroom. He used it then washed his hands, splashed water on his face, tagged a hand towel and dried his face, seeing she’d already decorated. Little chrome boxes on a shelf over the toilet, matching chrome soap dispenser and toothbrush holder. Thick towels, a color combo of a bright green and yellow. He was pleased she’d got herself sorted out before that asshole cut off her funds. At least she had what she needed around her while she worried about not being able to make the rent.

He turned off the light, left the bathroom and didn’t hesitate when he turned to her door and opened it.

He stopped when he saw her form easily in the queen-sized bed, her curtains open, the lights shining in. Her bedroom was on the third floor, not easy to peer in, but with a man trailing her with a camera, they’d be having a conversation about her keeping her curtains open.

He moved to the bed and then halted, staring at her sensing something was wrong. He kept his eyes glued to her as he tried to figure out what it was.

Then it hit him.

Growing up, she’d had a double bed. He knew this because he used to make out with her on it and she’d told him she’d had it as long as she could remember. She slept in the middle of it, on her belly, on a slight slant, one arm pinned by her body, one arm thrown out, one leg hitched at the knee. She wasn’t petite but she wasn’t a big girl by any stretch of the imagination. Sleeping like that, however, she took up most of the bed.

He knew she slept this way because she had not changed this habit when she’d moved in with Layne. He’d had a queen-sized bed but she did not stick to her side. She slept in the middle and the way she slept meant her arm was thrown over his abs, her hitched leg was resting on his thigh and her head was on his chest or shoulder. He slept on his stomach too but this position pinned him to his back on the bed and, since Rocky slept like the dead and didn’t move all night, that meant he was pinned that way all night.

This left him with two options, he moved her and trained her to sleep on her side or he got used to it.

Layne got used to it.

If memory served, it took two days.

Now she was lying on one side of the bed, closest to the windows and she was tucked into a ball so her frame was as small as it could be.

He stared at her and he knew she had ten years of that. Ten years of keeping her distance and protecting herself from Astley, even in her sleep.

Layne let the knowledge that she was herself with him, could sleep open and sprawled and close to him and she didn’t give Astley that same gift sweep through him and he felt another golden trail left in its wake. That might make him a dick and it sucked that she had ten years of that but that trail shimmered through him all the same.

He walked to her side of the bed and sat down. Her hair was dark against her neck and he slid his hand under it, through her hair and against her skin, pulling its heavy weight off her neck and to the back.

She shifted at his touch, legs straightening and her head turned, even in the dim light he could see the movement was fluid.

He knew her eyes had opened when she shot up to an elbow.

“Layne?” Her voice was husky with sleep at the same time openly surprised.

“Gotta get to my boys, baby,” he replied, his hand still in her hair, he cupped the back of her head.

“You could have left a note,” she told him, her body starting to inch back but his fingers curled deeper into her hair against her scalp and she stopped.

He ignored her. “You sleep okay?”

“What? Yes.” The first was confused, the second was inching close to a snap. “What are you –?”

“Six o’clock for Keira and pasta bake, yeah?”

“Yes, Layne, I remember.” She was pressing back against his hand.

“I’ll call you when I do the searches on Gaines.”

Her head stopped pressing, she kept looking up at him and he knew her mood had changed when she spoke. “Okay, but I can’t take calls during class. You may have to leave me a message.”

“Then call me when you can, I’ll be runnin’ him first thing.”

“Okay.”

“We gotta do it, we’ll activate Tripp tonight so you’ll need to find time to study those rosters if the searches come up clean.”

“Okay,” she repeated, this time with a small nod of her head.

“Good idea, baby, to keep your ears open if the kids start talkin’ about Youth Group. Report to me what you hear, anything, whether you think it’s strange or not.”

“I will.”

His fingers tensed against her scalp and he muttered, “Good. See you at six.”

“See you at six.”

“Later, sweetcheeks,” he murmured as he dropped his head, hers tipped back as his came down, not to pull away but so she could watch him and his lips brushed her parted-in-surprise ones. “Be good,” he whispered against her mouth. “No covert operations today, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathed against his lips.

He smiled against hers.

Then he let her go, got up and walked out of her room.

* * *

Tripp was sitting on his stool in front of Layne, shoveling down oatmeal that he put four sugars into before nuking. Rocky might be happy about the oatmeal but she probably would frown on the four sugars.

Jasper, not in attendance during the oatmeal discussion, was spooning up sugary cereal while standing at the end of the island.

Layne was standing in front of it, hair still wet from his shower, sipping coffee.

“So,” Jasper drawled and Layne’s eyes went to him to see his son’s were on Layne, “Rocky’s lack of security gonna mean she’ll need constant vigilance?”

Layne watched his boy’s lips twitch.

Jasper was giving him stick.

More progress.

“Likely,” Layne muttered against the rim of his mug and took a sip while he watched Jasper’s slow smile.

Layne’s gaze moved to his younger boy and saw his head bowed, he was grinning into his oatmeal and his shoulders were shaking. Layne watched him struggle to compose his features, his head came up and twisted to his brother.

“Dad takes pride in his work, Jas,” he announced. “He’s thorough.”

“Yeah,” Jasper replied, “It’s good he’s so dedicated, no one will guess this whole thing is a big fake.”

“Yeah,” Tripp agreed, “Heck, I know it’s a fake and even I’m wonderin’ if it’s a fake.”

“I dig you, Tripp-o-matic,” Jasper returned.

 “Boys,” Layne said low, surprised he could make his voice a warning when he was fighting back a chuckle.

Tripp’s eyes shot to him then down to his oatmeal and his shoulders started shaking again before Layne heard him snort.

Jasper didn’t hide his amusement; he was flashing an open, huge, white-toothed smile.

It pissed Layne off he had to throw a wet blanket on their mood but he had to so he did.

“What’s happening at practice?” Layne asked, the smile fled from Jasper’s face and Tripp’s shoulders slumped.

“It’s smoothin’ out,” Jasper answered but Tripp stayed silent.

Layne studied his older boy. “You sure?”

Jasper nodded. “He’s still bein’ a dick but it isn’t as bad as before and they got some chick who comes to practices sometimes and sits there with a notebook. He’s totally cool when she’s there. Like another coach,” Jasper answered and went on sharing. “Kids hate him, Dad, the whole team. Even Seth, his own son. Seth feels shit. Thinks everyone’s gonna hate him because they hate his Dad. He’s not really as bad as he plays in the games. He just knows Tripp’s better and he wants the team to win. He fucks up so his Dad’ll pull him but Coach just won’t.”

That was another by-product of the formal complaints. Tripp had seen zero game time. None. And Jas’s action had dried up. He was still on the field but never got near the ball unless he was blocking for someone carrying it. The team’s morale was so low it was visible. They’d started the season undefeated but lost one, won the next by the skin of their teeth in overtime and the natives were getting restless.

Layne nodded to Jasper and looked at Tripp. “Tripp, you think things are smoothin’ out too, Pal?”

He heard Tripp suck in breath then he looked at his old man. “He’s a dick in the locker room.”

Layne stared at his son then his eyes cut to Jasper.

“Yeah,” Jasper confirmed. “That chick can’t come into the locker room and Coach gets bad. He lays it on me but mostly he lays it on Tripp.”

“How bad?” Layne asked.

“I can take it,” Tripp answered and his eyes moved to his younger boy.

“How bad, Tripp?”

Tripp shrugged. “He’s a dick, Dad, but I can take it.”

Layne looked back at Jasper.

“He can take it,” Jasper stated. “But still, it’s bad.”

 Layne clenched his jaw and felt the muscle move in his cheek.

“I can take it, Dad,” Tripp repeated on a whisper and Layne caught his eyes. Tripp was looking at him steady, unblinking.

He could take it.

Another indication he was Layne’s son.

“You tell me if you can’t,” Layne ordered.

“Okay,” Tripp agreed.

“No shit, Tripp and no shame in that. Got me?”

Tripp nodded and grinned. “No shit, no shame, got you.”

Layne felt his temper ebb and he grinned back. Then he looked between both of them.

“A friend is comin’ to stay. He’ll be here tonight. Name’s Devin Glover. He’s an ex-PI. Good, solid guy, he’s been around the block and he taught your old man a lot.” Both Layne’s sons nodded. “He’s also a nut,” Layne went on and both Layne’s sons stared at him. “Total nut. You’ll get it when you meet him but, fair warning, the guy’s whacked.”

“He’s not gonna fuck up pasta bake with Keira tonight, is he?” Jasper asked.

“It could happen,” Layne answered honestly and Jas’s eyes got huge. “I’ll be here, Bud, I’ve got your back and, way you describe Keira, sounds like Dev is a member of her club.”

Jasper’s face lost its worry and warmed. “Yeah, she’ll probably think he’s a scream. Her long lost grandpa.”

Layne smiled at his boy and then said to them both, “School.”

Tripp moved quickly, rinsing his bowl and putting it in the dishwasher. Jasper took more than his usual time in getting his shit sorted so Tripp was out the door to the Charger before Jasper was even down the stairs with his books.

Layne would understand when Jasper came up to him and handed him a piece of paper.

“Mom’s schedule,” he mumbled.

Layne nodded and pocketed the paper. “Good man.”

Jasper nodded back and walked to the utility room door. Layne walked his coffee mug to the sink but turned to the door when Jasper called.

“Everyone in school is talking about you and Rocky,” he informed Layne.

“That’s kind of the point, Bud,” Layne replied quietly. “You cool with that?”

“Everyone thinks it’s the shit, you bein’ with her,” Jas said instead of answering Layne’s question. “Apparently, they all knew about you guys, you know… before.” He went on and kept talking when Layne didn’t. “Guess they never shared with Tripp and me ‘cause we’re your sons.”