Not the Hot Chick: A BBW New Adult Serial Romance (Not the Hot Chick series Book 1) (2 page)

Real hot.
"Sounds like you want to get to know him a lot better."

Jessi hooted. "Yeah, between the sheets!" She slipped the lip wand back into her bag. "Hooking up with a bartender is one thing, but it's not like I'd ever consider dating one. I mean, please. I'm not going to waste my time on some townie."

"What makes you so sure he's a townie?"

"Come on, it's written all over him."

Layla frowned, feeling a bit sorry for Cam being dissed that way. She didn't like the way some college students looked down their noses at native Buffalonians.

Get real, Layla. Like he cares if Jessi respects him. He's getting laid!

"I'm heading home, then." She should have known Jessi would dump her at the first chance of getting some. This night was a waste.

Well, maybe not entirely. She had met Cam, after all. He'd be starring in her nighttime fantasies for weeks to come.

She hoped the batteries in her vibrator were still good.

"Okay, well, I'm gonna…" …
hurry on home to my trusty vibrator.

Jessi was silent, grimacing, her hand pressed to her belly. She'd turned pasty.

"What's wrong?" Layla asked.

"Fuck. I don't know. I was feeling like crap earlier, but I thought it would go away."

"Too many drinks, you think?"

"
No
." Jessie gave her a look of disgust. "I can hold my fucking liquor."

"Okay, okay. Well, maybe you just need to eat something."

Jessi gagged. "Don't talk about food." Sweat slicked her forehead. "Shit." She swallowed convulsively, then whirled and disappeared into a stall, the door banging behind her.

Retching noises came from within the stall. Layla froze, then lightly tapped on the door. "Jessi. You need help?"

"Go away!" The words were garbled, in a voice that sounded like Satan's in
The Exorcist
.

Layla cringed. Jesus. What to do? Jessi didn't want help, but Layla had to do something. She tapped again at the stall door, which opened to show Jessi on her knees, retching into the bowl.

Layla stood behind her, gathered Jessi's hair back so it wouldn't get puked on. Jessi groaned and flailed at her. "Away!"

She stepped back. No point trying to help if she was only making things worse. "Okay." She stood there helplessly for a moment, then glanced at the restroom door. "You hold on. I'll be right back."

Right. Like Jessi was in a position to go anywhere.

Layla hurried out toward the bar, looking for Cam. Another bartender was on duty. Right, Cam had said he'd be on his break. She turned and headed the other way, beyond the bathrooms and toward the back door. The heavy fire entrance opened slowly when she pushed on it.

Cam was leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette. His head turned as the door opened and his eyebrows flew up when he saw her. "Little Layla. Where's your friend?" Exhaling a stream of smoke, he dropped the butt and ground it out under his shoe. The corners of his mouth turned up in a playful grin. "Or have you come in her place?"

Whoa.
The glint in his eyes made Layla forget the cold. Her mouth went dry, her heart thunked, and for a moment she couldn't recall why she'd come out here in the first place. A tiny part of her wanted to shout
Yes, yes
, before she remembered poor Jessi in the ladies' room. "Uh, no. She's really sick. We could use some help."

The playfulness melted from his features and his gaze turned serious and intent. "Where is she?"

Layla wasn't sure why she'd asked Cam for help as opposed to someone else, but now she was glad she had. He was cool and levelheaded, nor did he act annoyed that she'd sought him out.

He followed Layla back to the restroom. "Go on in, see how she's doing," he instructed.

Jessi sat crumpled on the floor in a corner near the row of sinks. Her eyes were closed, her face a sweaty, bleary mess. She opened her eyes just long enough to glare at Layla when she came through the door. "Why the hell did you leave me?"

You told me to.
"I thought you…I went for help."

Jessi's mouth twisted into a sneer. "Right."

Layla clenched her teeth, tried not to take the bitchiness personally. No one was at their best when puking up their guts. "Can you get up?"

"What do
you
think?"

She grasped Jessi under the arm. "Try to stand. You can lean on me."

Jessi swatted her. "Get the fuck off me! Leave me alone. I just want to die."

"Cam's out there. Should I get him? He can get you up."

"He's out there?" That was enough to get Jessi moving. "What's wrong with you? He can't see me like this!" She held out her hand. "Help me up."

Layla lifted Jessi to her feet, helped her grab hold of a sink to steady herself. The brunette groaned when she glimpsed her face in the mirror. "God. I'm a wreck. Get my purse, let me fix myself up."

"Don't worry about that. We should get you home."

Jessi shuddered. "It's that damn meat loaf."

"What?"

"I didn't want to go out drinking on an empty stomach, so I ate some meat loaf my roommate left in the fridge. It must be that's got me so sick."

"Maybe it was spoiled. When did she make it?"

"How the hell do I know? It tasted all right, but that bitch never cleans out the refrigerator." Jessi moaned, clutching her stomach. "I'm gonna kill her."

A quick knock on the door. Then Cam entered. "Hey, ladies. We better sort this out, there's a line forming out there." His gaze turned sympathetic when he spotted Jessi. "Hey, kid. You don't look too good."

"Gah…" Jessi hid her face with her purse. "Don't look at me."

"Never mind." Cam held her under one arm and gestured for Layla to take the other. "We got you."

Together they hustled Jessi through the bar and out to the street. "I can get us a cab," Layla said as they stood outside the bar. Though she wasn't sure how a cabbie would react to a passenger possibly puking all over his car's upholstery.

"Don't bother. I'll take you home. My ride's in back, I'll just drive it around and pick you up here."

"Oh…" Considering their predicament, she didn't have it in her to politely insist he not trouble himself. "Thanks a lot."

Thank God it wasn't a motorcycle, as Jessi had hoped. She couldn't imagine herself and a woozy Jessi riding behind him. Nor was Cam's car some low-slung two-seater she and Jessi would have to cram into. He pulled up to the curb in a Chevy Suburban. "We use it for deliveries and all that," he explained as he helped Jessi into the back seat. "Why don't you sit with her, keep an eye on her?"

"Sure." Layla scrambled into the backseat beside Jessi, who slumped against her.

It took only a few minutes to get home, then a few more minutes for them to wrestle Jessi out of the car and up the steps to her place. Finally Cam just picked her up and carried her. She lay like a sack of wet laundry in his arms.

"Hurry up, hurry up," she muttered as Layla fished for the key in Jessi's purse and unlocked the door.

As soon as the door opened, Cam set his burden down and Jessi ran straight for the bathroom. Layla followed and stopped outside the closed bathroom door. From the sounds on the other side, Jessi was sick again.

Layla tapped softly. "Jess. You want me to stay, make sure you're all right?"

"Get out!" The shriek was enough to puncture Layla's eardrums.

"Guess she doesn't want our company," Cam said. Layla hadn't realized he was beside her.

"Maybe we should—" She nodded toward the apartment door.

His eyebrows lifted. "Will she be okay on her own?"

"I'll come back and check on her a little later. Right now I think she just wants some privacy." Layla led him to the door and out into the hallway. She locked Jessi's door and pocketed the key. She'd hold on to it for a bit, until she could come back to check on her neighbor. Then she gestured to the door of her own place. "I live right here."

"Ah. That's convenient."

"Yeah." She shifted, not knowing quite what else to say. "Thanks so much, bringing us home. I hope you won't get in trouble at the job."

He shrugged the concern aside. "Nah, don't worry about it."

"Well, you probably have to get back."

"Not really. You saw how slow it is tonight. And Paulie's there. He can handle things fine."

"Oh…" Again, she was at a loss for words. "Uh—"

"I'm kind of dry, you know?" He nodded toward her apartment door. "You have anything to drink at your place?"

"Oh! Oh, yeah. Sure." She hoped. Something more than water, anyway.

She unlocked her door, switched on the light. Cam followed her in and looked around the place she shared with her roommate.

"Nice," he remarked, checking out the furniture consisting of garage sale finds and items she and Kelsey had borrowed from their families.

Layla licked her dry lips. She was trembling with nerves, being alone with him. Could he tell? "Thanks. Yeah, we like it."

"We?"

"Me and my roommate, Kelsey. Yeah, uh, Kelsey's spending the night at her boyfriend's place." Crap. Why'd she say that, letting him know she had the place to herself tonight? Not that she worried he'd try hitting on her—hah, she should be so lucky—but maybe it sounded like she was telling him the coast was clear for…

No. Stop it, Layla. Don't even go there. Not a chance in hell of that happening. He is so out of your league
.

What would a guy like Cam ever see in her? Especially when he'd had hopes of hooking up with Jessi.

Okay, time to get off this train of thought. He'd asked for a drink. She opened the refrigerator and felt a wave of relief. There was half a six-pack on the bottom shelf. "Is beer okay? There's a few bottles left."

"Sure, that's great."

"Okay, let me just grab them." The bottles were wedged way in back, behind a cluster of half-empty jars of salad dressing and other condiments. Layla had to bend low to reach in and dislodge them.

"Ugh. Here we are." She freed one and held it out to him. When he didn't take it immediately, she turned her head.

Oh, Lord. He was leaning against the counter, his head tilted, totally checking out her ass.

A flush of heat rushed through her, hot enough to wilt the head of iceberg lettuce on the middle shelf. "Uh, hello?"

"Oh." Cam blinked, his gaze moving from her posterior to her face. He took the bottle. "Thanks."

She grabbed another beer and quickly closed the refrigerator. Her face felt flushed—damn that Scandinavian complexion—and her hands were too sweaty to twist off the cap.

"Let me." Cam's fingers brushed hers when he took the bottle from her, sending a spark twirling through her. He twisted the cap expertly. "Here you go."

"Thanks." She gave him an embarrassed smile. "You do that like a pro."

He raised an eyebrow. "I should hope so."

They each took a pull of their beers. Layla couldn't help watching Cam's throat move when he swallowed. Oh, Jesus, even the man's Adam's apple turned her on.

He tilted his bottle toward the fridge. "Cute picture. You got a kid?"

She'd taped a drawing from one her first graders to the appliance door. "No. Not mine." Though in a way, she thought of all the students as
hers
—in spite of having to "give them back" at the end of the semester. She'd miss them. Well, most of them. "One of my students, Henry. I'm a student teacher. First grade."

"Cool. And that's you, I guess." He referred to Henry's portrait of her, a lopsided circle for a face, hair filled in with yellow crayon, a red mouth and purple eyes. All in all, not a bad approximation.

"
Dear Miss Messer
." Cam read the words the six year old had written in red crayon. "
I love you. Thank you for being a grate teacher
."

"Henry's a sweet little boy," Layla said, her cheeks even hotter, "but he's not the best speller."

"That's nice, though. I bet all the kids love you, Miss Messer." He raised his bottle to his lips and drank, his eyes fixed on her.

Oh, God, she must be glowing like a stoplight now. "Messner. He misspelled my last name, too."

"Messner." He licked his lips, not salaciously, but in an absent-minded way. As though he was trying to capture the beer's last drop of flavor. Layla wished she could capture his flavor with a kiss.

Stop it. You're just setting yourself up for a letdown.

A sneaky little thought crept into her head.
But he was checking you out a minute ago.

He's a guy. Of course he's going to look. That doesn't mean he wants you.

Especially when he thought he was going to get with Jessi.

That little reminder cooled her off considerably, much better than the beer had.

"You sure you won't get in hot water, being here?"

"At the Shamrock? Nah." He smirked. "What, you want to get rid of me?"

"No! No, not at all." Did she? Maybe. Not that she didn't trust him. No, it was herself she didn't trust.

She wanted him, and was afraid he'd read that all too clearly. Then what? He'd laugh at her for thinking she had a shot. Or worse, he'd pity her.

"What—what about you?" she stammered, trying to fill the silence. "How long have you worked at the Shamrock?"

"Working? Since I was fifteen, sixteen. Seems like I've spent my whole life there, though." At her look of confusion, he explained. "My granddad started the business, then passed it on to my dad. And someday, it'll be passed on to me. Then my kid, if I have one."

Layla relaxed. This was a safe discussion, and interesting. She wanted to know more about him. "A family business."

"Yeah. Grandad Cleary was a hard-ass, but a real softie when it came to kids. When I was small, my parents would bring me in to the bar Sunday afternoons, when it was slow, and he'd always make me a Shirley Temple with lots of cherries."

She smiled at his recollection, picturing him as a little guy Henry's age. "That must have been fun."

"Yeah, made me feel real grown up. He's one of those self-made men, my granddad. Believed everyone should work his way up, so that's what he made my father do. And my old man, thinking it was good enough for him, did the same to me. Had me working in the bar from back in high school. Not serving drinks, of course, but bussing tables, sweeping up, helping out in back."