”“It might. Text me your order.”White cilantro rice, black beans, steak, corn salsa, sour cream, hot salsa, cheese, lettuce, and extra extra ext...a guac. Simple order if it wasn’t for the fact that it was going to be a damn salad. I texted all that to him, including the part about it being a damn salad.He didn’t answer. Asshole.He was in and out of there in ten minutes. I guess there’s no rush this early in the morning. I’ll give you one guess of what he brought for a drink because I know you’ll. Especially when that child starts having problems. My name is Layla and I am a forty-three-year-old woman. I have kept my looks and work out three times a week. My son, Luke, is just seventeen and is a strapping, handsome young man. I can’t say I was attracted to him, I wasn’t, but he did look a lot like his father, who I was besotted with. It all started a few years ago, well sort of. For years my son had nightmares, not every night, more like once a week. He’d wake up screaming and in a cold. More

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