Golden Trail (The ‘Burg #3)(24)
Author: Kristen Ashley

“One in the same, Dad,” Tripp answered for Jasper. “Jasper’s hot on the trail of the Lone Wolf’s hottie stepdaughter, and getting nowhere, I’ll add.”

Oh f**k. This was not good. Jasper went through girls like water, he was cocky, he was confident, he was assertive and he expected to get him some. Jasper did not need an angry Joe Callahan on his ass and Layne didn’t need an angry Joe Callahan on his hands.

Cal was a friend and he was a good guy but everyone in that town knew he’d bonded with his new wife’s stepdaughters and, by that, Layne meant he’d bonded. Layne already slept with a gun under his pillow, mainly because people in about twenty-seven states wanted him dead. In that ‘burg, he slept with it under his pillow because he figured fathers county-wide wanted his son dead. Cal would not be like any other father who went berserk because some hotshot football star got in their daughter’s pants. Cal would go commando on Jasper’s ass.

“Tripp, sort out your gear and take Jas’s with you, I need another word with him,” Layne ordered.

“Dad, his gear stinks like all get out,” Tripp complained and Layne’s eyes cut to him.

“Do it, Pal.”

Tripp stared at him. Then he slunk off, grabbed all four bags from the floor and trudged them up the stairs.

Layne looked at Jasper and, the second time that night, he laid it out. “Lay off Keira Winters.”

“What?” Jasper whispered, the good, warm, golden light flashing out of his eyes, the warning, red, volatile ass**le teenaged kid one taking its place.

Layne shook his head and leaned toward him, settling on his forearms. “You like her, Jas, go for it. You wanna get in her pants, lay off.”

Jasper started to make a move off his stool, muttering, “This is none of your f**kin’–”

“Her father was murdered,” Layne cut in, Jasper’s body jerked and he froze on the stool. “Her uncle, the same. Her mother was kidnapped, her stepdad too. She almost lost her entire family, Jas. A girl like that, you handle with care. Yeah?”

“You think I’m a dawg,” Jasper whispered, disappointment he couldn’t hide scoring through his features.

Quietly, Layne replied, “Bud, you go through more condoms than the offensive line of the Colts after a win.”

Jasper locked eyes with Layne and kept them locked long enough for Layne to get it without Jasper having to say it.

“You know about her family,” Layne stated.

“Everyone does,” Jasper returned.

“You like her,” Layne concluded.

It took some time but he finally dredged it up and, when he did, Jasper grunted, “Yeah.”

Layne smiled at him and straightened off his arms, saying, “Then good luck, Bud.”

Released, Jasper made a break for it, muttering, “Whatever.”

Layne watched his boy move from the room and it hit him that from the minute he lost his virginity at fifteen to Cindy Stanley, a junior with a great rack and a broken home and a need to get whatever attention she could no matter what form it came in, he’d been like Jasper. No steady girl. No one special. The field wide and open and he’d played it. His mother called it “gathering lipstick” (though she did this while muttering and shaking her head) and she was not wrong.

Until Rocky.

He found himself wondering what Keira Winters was like when he heard a car on the street.

His eyes went to the clock and then he walked to the window in the front room, saw Rocky swinging her Merc into his drive and he went straight to the door and out of it.

As he strode down his walk toward her car, he looked across the cul-de-sac of which he was on the southern edge of the curve. Natalie Ulrich lived on the northern edge of the curve. Natalie Ulrich never parked her car in her garage so it was now in her drive. Natalie Ulrich had a huge f**king mouth and ran it as often as she could. And Natalie Ulrich was a surgical nurse at Presbyterian.

She might have missed Layne backing Rocky into her car the morning before. She might not see what Layne was going to do now.

Then again she might.

And if she did, yesterday was all over Presbyterian Hospital and what he was going to do right now would be all over the hospital, and town, before his head hit the pillow.

His eyes moved to Rocky who’d rounded the trunk of her car and met him where the drive met his walk. She’d changed out of her tight skirt and high-heeled shoes and now she was wearing tight jeans, a light, also tight, sweater and a pair of high-heeled sandals.

Layne stood smack in her way so she stopped and tilted her head back to look at him.

“Is everything –?” she started but he lifted both his hands to curl around her jaws and he pulled her up to her toes. Her body instantly got tight. “Layne, what –?”

She didn’t finish because he dropped his head to kiss her like he did that afternoon. He did it hard but, this time, he did it long. Long enough for her fingers to curve around the sides of his waist and he pulled her close enough and high enough for her to lose balance so her chest was resting against his.

Her lips tasted like mint and he released her when the urge to find out if her mouth tasted the same threatened to overpower him.

He released her mouth but he didn’t release her jaw and he kept her close with his two hands there.

“What on –?”

“Natalie Ulrich ever work with your dickwad ex?” Layne whispered and saw her face pale. She misunderstood him. Natalie wasn’t hard on the eyes. “Sweetcheeks,” he kept whispering, “she lives across the street and the woman has a big mouth.”

He kept her where she was but his eyes slid to Natalie’s house. He was right, he could see her silhouette in the front window.

Fucking brilliant.

Layne looked back at Rocky and finished, “And she’s watchin’.”

“She is?” Rocky whispered back, her fingers flexing into his waist.

“Yeah, can’t see her well but I’m pretty sure she’s got her phone glued to her ear.”

“Oh boy,” Rocky was still whispering.

Layne grinned and didn’t move.

When this lasted awhile, Rocky asked, “Are we going to stand out here all night and pretend we’re kissing?”

“Maybe,” Layne replied.

“That would be bad since I’m starving,” she returned.

“No, Roc, that would be bad because you’re about to enter a testosterone zone and no one in that house has the first clue how to cook.”