None of them compare to Layla. I’m certain of that. As certain as I was all the times before Layla.

“Are you religious?” Layla asks.

Her thoughts are as sporadic and intense as her actions. I think that’s why I’m so intrigued by her. One minute she’s on her back screaming my name as she digs her nails into my shoulders. The next minute she’s on her stomach, telling me how badly she’s craving a taco. The next minute she forgets about the tacos and wants to know if I’m religious. I love it. Most people are predictable. Every word and action from Layla is like being handed a gift-wrapped surprise.

“I’m not religious. Are you?”

She shrugs. “I believe in life after death, but I’m not sure I’m religious.”

“I think existence is simply luck of the draw. We’re here for a while, and then we’re not.”

“That’s depressing,” she says.

“Not really. Imagine what heaven is like. The incessant positivity, the smiles, the lack of sin. The thought of living eternally in a place full of people who spent their lives spouting off inspirational quotes sounds way more depressing to me than if it all just ends with death.”

“I don’t know if I believe in that kind of afterlife,” Layla says. “I look at existence more as a series of realms. Maybe heaven is one of them. Maybe it isn’t.”

“What kind of realms?”

She rolls onto her side, and when my eyes fall to her breasts, she doesn’t try to force me to make eye contact with her. Instead, she pulls my head against her chest as she rolls onto her back. I lay my head on her chest and cup one of her breasts as she casually fingers pieces of my hair and continues talking.

“Think of it like this,” she says. “The womb is one existence. As a fetus, we didn’t remember life before the womb, and we had no idea if there would be life after the womb. All we knew was the womb. But then we were born, and we left the womb and came into our current realm of existence. And now we can’t remember being in the womb before this life, and we have no idea what comes after this life. And when our current life ends, we’ll be in a different realm altogether, where we might not remember this realm of existence, just like we don’t recall being in the womb. It’s just different realms. One after the other after the other. Some we know for a fact exist. Some we only believe exist. There could be realms of existence we’ve never even entertained the idea of. They could be endless. I don’t think we ever really die.”

Her explanation makes sense, or maybe I’m just feeling agreeable because my mouth is on her breast. I grab another condom as I ponder her theory. It seems more probable to me than the idea of pearly gates or fire and brimstone ever has.

I’m still convinced that there is life and there is death and that is all there is.

“If you’re right, then I like this realm the best,” I say, covering her body with mine.

She parts her thighs for me and grins against my lips. “Only because you’re in it.”

I shake my head as I push into her. “No. I like it best because I’m in you.”

CHAPTER TWO

I stare at her for a few minutes, hoping she doesn’t wake up right away. Her hand is draped across my chest—a deadweight as she sleeps. I try to drag out the moment because I know how one-night stands work. I’ve had my fair share of them. I’ve snuck out of a lot of beds, but I don’t want to sneak out of this one.

I’m hoping Layla doesn’t want me to sneak out of this one.

She’ll wake up soon, and I know how she’ll feel as soon as she does. She’ll probably shield her eyes from the sun and roll over while she tries to remember how we got here. Who I am. How she can get rid of me.

Her fingers are the first thing to move. She drags them from my shoulder, around to the back of my neck. She keeps her eyes closed as she pulls me against her so that she can tuck herself against me.

I’m relieved that I’m familiar to her—that she just woke up and knows exactly where she is and who she’s with and isn’t trying to pull away.

“What time is it?” she mutters. Her voice doesn’t float out of her throat this early in the morning. It’s a scratchy whisper and somehow even sexier than when she’s wide awake.

“Eleven.”

She looks up at me, her eyes puffy and smeared with mascara. “Did you know eleven in the morning is the deadliest time of day?”

That makes me laugh. “Is that a fact?”

She nods. “I learned that in college. More people die during brunch than any other time of day.”

She’s a hot mess. I love it. “You are so strange.”

“Want to take a shower with me?”

I smile. “Fuck yeah.”

 

I assumed we wouldn’t actually shower in the shower, but it was a legitimate invite.

I’m massaging conditioner into her hair, asking her questions I normally wouldn’t ask a girl after a one-night stand. There’s just so much about her I want to know.

“Is Aspen your only sibling?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like her?”

“I freaking love her,” Layla says. “I don’t really agree with her taste in husbands, but whatever works for her.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “Do you know what his name is?”

“No. What’s his name?”

“Chad Kyle.”

“No way,” I whisper.

“I’m serious. That’s his actual name.”

“Is it fitting or unfortunate?”

“Unfortunately, it’s fitting,” she says. “He’s such a typical Chad. Frat boy, country club membership, a quarter-ton pickup, and a dog named Bo.”

“That explains why he likes Garrett’s Band.” I grab the handheld showerhead and begin rinsing her hair. When it’s wet, her hair goes down to the middle of her back. I’ve never washed a girl’s hair before, but it’s kind of sensual. So is the shape of her head. It fits perfectly against my palm. “Your head is sexy.”

“How can a head be sexy?”

I cover her eyes with my free hand so soap doesn’t run into them. “I don’t know. But yours is. Or maybe it’s just you.” When I’m finished rinsing out her hair, I put the showerhead back on the holder. She spins around, and I pull her to me as the stream of hot water beats down on us. “I had fun last night.”

She smiles. “Me too.”

“The band is leaving in half an hour.”

“I am too.”

“Where do you live?”

“Chicago,” she says. “I still live with my parents. Moved back in with them after college. I’m not sure where I want to end up yet. Definitely not Chicago.”

“Why don’t you like Chicago?”

“I do. I just don’t want to live where I grew up. I want to experience the entire spectrum. City, country, condo, cabin in the woods . . .” She twists her hair to squeeze out the excess water. “Where do you live? Nashville?”

“Close to it. Nashville is pricey and I don’t like roommates, so I lease a place in Franklin. If you’re from Chicago, why did your sister get married in the middle of Kansas?”