waiting for her response instead of sending her off and stepping back into his warm house.
“Yes, because of the trollop. I…” Layla gave an impatient, dismissive gesture. “It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
She blinked at his unexpected response. His expression remained serious. No smirk. Nothing. She narrowed her eyes slightly, gauging him. Something about this didn’t seem right.
Was it possible that he didn’t want to drink and watch the game alone? Well, if he was soliciting her company, then he must truly be desperate for companionship.
The hookers must have canceled.
Justin stepped back before she answered one way or the other, and gestured for her to come inside. Layla fought with herself briefly, then shrugged and walked into his front room, trying not to be too obvious as she took a quick inventory.
It was a guy place. Leather furniture, a giant TV where the Celtics were playing the Bulls with the sound muted. There was a pile of running shoes against the wall next to the front door and a cardboard box filled with women’s clothing. A black, lacy bit of lingerie was tossed carelessly on top. Oh, criminy. Was the woman, whoever she was, going to come home while Layla was here?
No. This looked more like a moving-out box. A toothbrush was jammed into one corner. No wonder Justin was looking for company. He probably wouldn’t mind a bit of sympathy, too.
“Have a seat,” he said as he shut the door and led the way across the room to the U-shaped sectional. Chalk-colored leather. Surprisingly tasteful, with a dark oak coffee table, strewn with cookbooks and sports magazines, nestled in the center of the U. Two empty beer bottles stood side by side at one end.
Layla perched on the edge of the sectional, impressed with how comfortable it was, and Justin settled a few feet away.
“So let’s hear this long story.”
“How drunk are you?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Not very, but if you don’t want me to remember, I won’t.”
He gave her that roguish Justin grin she was so familiar with, and Layla smiled in spite of herself. But the smile faded as she said, “One of the students at the lake took a photo of me throwing up in the bush and posted it on Facebook. Many concerned parents phoned in, and ultimately my principal decided to demote me to Life Skills and give Melinda my advanced English classes.”
“Who’s Melinda?” he asked. Layla raised her eyebrows significantly and he formed a silent “oh.” “The trollop?”
“The same.”
“Life Skills is bad?”
“Life Skills is a class for the kids whose parents can pay the steep Manzanita tuition, but who don’t perform at the desired level.”
“They have learning disabilities?” Justin asked with a slight frown.
“No. This has nothing to do with ability and everything to do with attitude. Students who can’t achieve but want to learn are in special tutorial classes. This class is for kids who won’t achieve. They are entitled and lazy, and the teacher’s job is to try to motivate them when they know they’re safe in their parents’ protection no matter what they do.”
“Why aren’t they just kicked out of the school?”
“Are you kidding? In this economy?” Layla rubbed her thumb and first two fingers together. “Money…”
Justin leaned back against the cushions, obviously more comfortable with the conversation than she was, and studied his beer for a moment.
“I taught this class before,” Layla continued darkly. “My first year. It was rugged. I hated it.”
And she’d never told anyone that before. Maybe she felt safe because he was drinking. Maybe she just needed to tell someone the sad truth—that she was in some ways a rotten teacher. “I meet with the principal tomorrow and we’ll hash this out.”
Hopefully, she’d be able to convince Ella that it would be disruptive to the students to change teachers nine weeks before the school year ended. Then she would convince her boss that the parents would forget about the unfortunate incident by the time the long summer break was over.
“What if she doesn’t budge?”
Layla’s throat closed slightly. “I…think I’d quit.”
“And then what?”
She gave a quick shrug. “I’d probably work for Sam until I get another teaching job.” She looked him in the eye before saying adamantly, “I’m not going to back down.”
“I don’t blame you. Life is too short to do something you hate for very long.”
Layla stared at him for a moment. As a teen, Justin had always done as he damned well pleased, and she’d often told herself that he was wrong to do so. That it was immature to follow the heart instead of the head. But honestly? She hadn’t been all that happy following her head, and life was short.
“What does Sam do now?” Justin asked. “Does she still have the bead store?”
“No. She has a small clothing and gift boutique that she started last year after the bead shop tanked. Sunshine of Your Love.”
Justin smiled. “No offense, but it sounds like a head shop.”
“It’s worse than that. She, uh…” Layla raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “Sunshine of your love…”
“Sex toys?” Justin asked, unable to keep the delight out of his voice.
“Gifts for lovers to share,” Layla said primly. “Along with funky clothing, lingerie and regular items. Balloon bouquets, greeting cards.”
“I’d love to see the balloons.”
“No you wouldn’t.”
“Your family is nuts, Layla.”
“I know.”
“I mean that in a good way.”
“What kind of good way? What could possibly be good about shirking responsibility?”
“How is it irresponsible to run a business?”
“If you saw how Sam did it, you’d understand.” The bead business had sunk slowly but surely as her sister bought stock and put off paying for it. But Sam hadn’t had much business traffic, either. Sunshine was doing much, much better. Apparently more people wanted to invest in their love life than in jewelry making.
Layla let her head fall back against the buttery-soft leather sofa cushions, but resisted the urge to close her eyes and luxuriate for a moment. None of her furniture was this good. She’d bought cheap stuff, saving her money for more important things, like her retirement fund.
This seemed so wrong.
