Read Online The Handoff (Big Play #3) by Jordan Ford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jordan Ford
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off the water.
I should get it out of the way right now. I scrub a hand over my eyes before pinching my nose and staring at the wall. I should just head over to her place and see how she’s doing. School finished yesterday, so who knows what kind of party she went to last night. I should have checked in on her, made sure she was okay.
Dammit.
Snatching my towel, I dry myself off. Worry niggles the back of my neck as my mind plays with different scenarios. What if she got into trouble last night? Mack will kill my ass if I don’t stick to my word. I should have called her after school to see how she was doing.
According to Mack, Layla gets even worse when she’s vulnerable. I don’t get it, but if he’s right, then she’s no doubt feeling it right now with her brother out of the country.
I slide on my jeans and T-shirt, throwing my gym bag over my shoulder as I walk to the door. With the keys in my hand, I head for Mom’s car. She needs it back by eleven, but it won’t take me long to swing past the Mahoney’s place and check in on Layla.
Pulling the phone from my back pocket, I note the time then stare at the screen for a second. I could just call her…but if I do that, I won’t get to see her face, and I feel like I need those visual cues to really help me assess her.
I jog into the parking lot and am about to unlock Mom’s car when I spot Layla shuffling along the edge of the building. I jerk to an abrupt stop and stare at her for a second.
She looks like shit.
Not to be mean or anything, but it’s obvious she’s been out all night. Her hair is ratty, her skin pale. She’s walking like she’s drunk. I frown, letting out a disapproving sigh before heading over to her.
“Layla.”
She flinches when she hears her name and glances up with wide eyes. She almost looks like she’s afraid, which is kind of weird.
Her brown gaze assesses me for a second, and then she sags against the wall and lets out a disappointed scoff. “What are you doing here?”
“Working out.” My words come out clipped and quiet.
It’s obvious she thinks about as much of me as I think of her, so it’s kind of hard to be friendly. But Mack did ask, so I force myself to stick around and check on her.
She’s got these little cuts on her dirty arms and there’s a tear in the upper thigh of her skin-tight pants. It looks like it’s not meant to be there, which confuses me. Layla usually prides herself on her appearance. She must have had one wild night.
Shit, I should have been there. If Mack finds out she’s shuffling home at nine-thirty in the morning, he’ll be pissed.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, noticing the way Layla’s fingers tremble as she clutches her bag strap.
She sniffs and looks to the ground. Her hair, usually so glossy, frames her face like a black bird’s nest. “I’m fine, okay?”
“That’s not what I asked.” My voice sounds so deep compared to hers.
Everything about us is different. I’m tall and broad. My skin’s dark brown. She’s short and slender, her skin almost milky white against mine. I like to be calm and peaceful. She likes wild parties and stumbling home after having been out all night.
As if reading my mind, she takes a step forward and proves me right by nearly toppling over. Her knee buckles and I reach forward to snatch her elbow.
“Layla, are you drunk?” I snap the question like a disapproving parent.
She turns to me with a narrowed glare and mutters, “Take that look off your face, Judge Jones. I’m not drunk.”
As soon as she’s finished spitting out the words, she lurches forward with these gross, gagging sounds and throws up all over the pavement.
My nose wrinkles as spew splatters across the concrete, nearly catching my shoe. I jump out of the way but don’t let go of her arm. If I do, she’ll probably flop right into her own vomit.
So, I stand beside her as she gags and coughs, trying my best not to act like Judge Jones. I hate that she
I should get it out of the way right now. I scrub a hand over my eyes before pinching my nose and staring at the wall. I should just head over to her place and see how she’s doing. School finished yesterday, so who knows what kind of party she went to last night. I should have checked in on her, made sure she was okay.
Dammit.
Snatching my towel, I dry myself off. Worry niggles the back of my neck as my mind plays with different scenarios. What if she got into trouble last night? Mack will kill my ass if I don’t stick to my word. I should have called her after school to see how she was doing.
According to Mack, Layla gets even worse when she’s vulnerable. I don’t get it, but if he’s right, then she’s no doubt feeling it right now with her brother out of the country.
I slide on my jeans and T-shirt, throwing my gym bag over my shoulder as I walk to the door. With the keys in my hand, I head for Mom’s car. She needs it back by eleven, but it won’t take me long to swing past the Mahoney’s place and check in on Layla.
Pulling the phone from my back pocket, I note the time then stare at the screen for a second. I could just call her…but if I do that, I won’t get to see her face, and I feel like I need those visual cues to really help me assess her.
I jog into the parking lot and am about to unlock Mom’s car when I spot Layla shuffling along the edge of the building. I jerk to an abrupt stop and stare at her for a second.
She looks like shit.
Not to be mean or anything, but it’s obvious she’s been out all night. Her hair is ratty, her skin pale. She’s walking like she’s drunk. I frown, letting out a disapproving sigh before heading over to her.
“Layla.”
She flinches when she hears her name and glances up with wide eyes. She almost looks like she’s afraid, which is kind of weird.
Her brown gaze assesses me for a second, and then she sags against the wall and lets out a disappointed scoff. “What are you doing here?”
“Working out.” My words come out clipped and quiet.
It’s obvious she thinks about as much of me as I think of her, so it’s kind of hard to be friendly. But Mack did ask, so I force myself to stick around and check on her.
She’s got these little cuts on her dirty arms and there’s a tear in the upper thigh of her skin-tight pants. It looks like it’s not meant to be there, which confuses me. Layla usually prides herself on her appearance. She must have had one wild night.
Shit, I should have been there. If Mack finds out she’s shuffling home at nine-thirty in the morning, he’ll be pissed.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, noticing the way Layla’s fingers tremble as she clutches her bag strap.
She sniffs and looks to the ground. Her hair, usually so glossy, frames her face like a black bird’s nest. “I’m fine, okay?”
“That’s not what I asked.” My voice sounds so deep compared to hers.
Everything about us is different. I’m tall and broad. My skin’s dark brown. She’s short and slender, her skin almost milky white against mine. I like to be calm and peaceful. She likes wild parties and stumbling home after having been out all night.
As if reading my mind, she takes a step forward and proves me right by nearly toppling over. Her knee buckles and I reach forward to snatch her elbow.
“Layla, are you drunk?” I snap the question like a disapproving parent.
She turns to me with a narrowed glare and mutters, “Take that look off your face, Judge Jones. I’m not drunk.”
As soon as she’s finished spitting out the words, she lurches forward with these gross, gagging sounds and throws up all over the pavement.
My nose wrinkles as spew splatters across the concrete, nearly catching my shoe. I jump out of the way but don’t let go of her arm. If I do, she’ll probably flop right into her own vomit.
So, I stand beside her as she gags and coughs, trying my best not to act like Judge Jones. I hate that she
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