Sex-Colored Pants (2/2)

"And who exactly is Derek Taylor?" Layla forced herself to use her teacher voice. Calm yet firm. Not at all embarrassed about the little ogling contest she'd just lost to someone who was apparently some kind of celebrity.

Cody drained the water in one gulp and slammed the empty glass down on the table, hitting the edge of Layla's plate along the way with a clink loud enough to draw a glance from Mr. Sexy Pants, aka Derek Taylor.

"Only a member of Morphium, the best rock band since...ever. You really should know who they are, being so into music and everything. I thought you were cooler than that." He shook his head, his need to whisper momentarily forgotten. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Morphium..." She'd heard of them, but she'd never listened to any of their stuff. And obviously she wouldn't recognize any of the members in person. She liked rock just fine, but classical music was more her thing.

"He plays the piano."

Now Layla remembered. She'd caught a snippet of one of their songs on Pandora a while back, one that made heavy guitars and Liszt-like piano seem like the most natural pairing in the world. She'd meant to look them up, but had forgotten. "Are you sure that's him?"

She knew the answer before she asked the question. The guy couldn't look any more like a rock star if he tried. So what in the hell was he doing here, at a rinky dink diner in the middle of nowhere?

"Uh...yeah. Is he looking at me? Please tell me he's not looking at me." Cody's whisper had become frantic. He ran his fingers through his hair, then tugged at his shirt.

Layla slid her eyes over to Derek, who seemed decidedly more irritated than he had a few moments ago. One leg bounced under the table, a counterpoint to the rhythm he was tapping against the tabletop with a butter knife. His lips pressed together in a thin line as he listened to whoever was on the other end of his phone.

"No, you're good. He's definitely not looking at you." She flushed again as she remembered the way he had looked at her earlier.

That smirk, those eyes. She'd felt insulted, yet strangely...excited.

Now she just felt insulted. He'd probably leered at ten women since breakfast. A man like him probably had a different woman every night, maybe even more than one a night. He probably thought she was some giddy fangirl, that she knew exactly who he was and was hoping he'd invite her into the bathroom for a quick fuck against the wall.

Hell, he probably thought he'd be doing her a favor.

Not that it wouldn't be a favor...she couldn't remember the last time she'd had sex of any sort, and sex up against a wall with a guy like that would be fun. But that wasn't the point. The point was, when he'd looked at her, he was assuming something he had no right to assume.

Cody took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. "I'm going to ask him for his autograph."

Layla started to say that judging by the tension on Derek's face and the way his leg had gone perfectly still under the table, now might not be the best time to ask for anything. Cody cut her off before she could open her mouth.

"You're right...I have to. He's my hero, and this is probably the best thing that's ever going to happen to me." Cody smiled at her uncertainly. "Thanks for the advice, Ms. M."

She sighed as Cody headed back to the kitchen, presumably to get something for Derek to autograph.

As the kitchen door swung shut, the deep rumble of Derek's voice as he spoke to the person on the phone drew her attention. "I don't care what Seth says. He doesn't tell me what to do."

Derek must have felt her eyes on him, because just then his gaze flicked up to hers. After a moment when she tried to telepathically convey to him his need to not be an asshole when Cody approached him, he sneered and looked away.

"This town's not a shit hole, and I'm not pretending. And it sure as fuck isn't your decision." He glanced at Layla again, eyes stony and voice full of quiet rage. He picked up his sunglasses from the table and put them back on. "Fuck you, Mike."

The grandpa gang [need to include in setting description], who had taken a break from their crosswords to watch the show, seemed to be torn between which was the worse offense, someone calling Maybe a shit hole or Derek saying "fuck" in front of a lady. Though if they knew how often Layla said "fuck" herself, they might think she was just as bad as him.

Oblivious to the tension roiling around him, Cody returned, a smile plastered on his sweaty face and a box of fundraiser candy in his arms. He stopped in front Derek's table and cleared his throat.

Derek had hung up his phone and resumed texting as if causing a scene in a public place were part of his daily routine.

Cody cleared his throat again. "Excuse me..."

Derek sighed and tossed his phone on the table. "What?"

"I...uh...you're Derek Taylor." Cody's voice rose in pitch, his nerves evident as they turned the statement into a question.

"I dunno. Am I?" Derek yawned. "Seriously, kid. What do you want? I'm kinda busy."

Oh. Hell. No.

She didn't give a shit if he wallpapered his house with Rolling Stone covers and used a Grammy as a bath toy. No one treated one of her kids like that.

Layla debated going over there and slapping that prick in the head so he would behave in a manner deserving of Cody's adoration, but the school system would probably frown on a teacher being arrested for physical assault.

Cody shifted the box of candy from one arm to the other. "I'm a huge fan, Mr. Taylor. Your music means a lot to me...no one's going to believe I actually got to meet you. What in the world are you doing here, anyway? This town sucks."

Derek snickered. "So I've been told."

"Um...yeah. Well, anyway...I'm a musician, too." Cody paused, clearly waiting for Derek to respond. Which he didn't.

Layla narrowed her eyes. That son of a bitch. Forget slapping Derek in the head. Now she wanted to punch him in the face.

"I play tenor," Cody continued. "Tenor sax."

"I know what a tenor is." Derek tapped fingers on the side of his glass.

"Oh. Yeah, of course you do." Cody's voice had taken on a deflated quality, as if he knew he was on board a doomed train but didn't know what to do to keep it from crashing. "Don't you play sax, too? I mean, you really play piano, but I thought I read somewhere that you play sax."

"Nope."

"Oh. Well, I was wondering if I could get your autograph. And I wanted to know if you'd like to buy some candy. It's for my marching band. We're trying to raise enough money so we can finally get--"

"Not interested." Derek folded his arms across his chest and stared at Cody.

At least Layla thought he was staring at Cody. Who the hell could tell with those damned sunglasses on.

Cody's shoulders sagged, but he still held the box of candy in front of him as if the sting of Derek's rejection hadn't quite sunk in. "I just thought maybe..."

Layla was out of her seat before she registered moving. She stepped in front of Cody, plucking the box of candy from his hands.

"You must not have read the guidelines I handed out after practice, Cody." She shook her head in mock reproval. "We do not sell our candy to assholes. I don't care how important the asshole thinks he is...he's not important to us. And we don't want his money. Do you understand?"

Layla spoke through gritted teeth, her fury giving her voice a gravelly quality that made her feel pretty bad ass. Over the course of the day, she'd somehow managed to stitch up the wound she'd been dealt (about?), sealing away all the disappointment and rejection where they lingered, but watching Derek deal the same blow to Cody had ripped the stitches free, allowing all that hurt to burst forth, transformed into a need to prevent such a sweet kid from having his own scars.

Derek had begun fiddling with his phone again, but his fingers stilled on the screen. Good. he was listening.

"Do you understand, Cody?"

"Uh...yes?" he said.

"You don't sound too sure. We don't sell our candy to...?"

He glanced between Derek and Layla, but when Layla started tapping her foot, his eyes settled on her. "Assholes?"

"Right." She shoved the box of candy back in Cody's arms and tilted her head toward the old men at the corner table, speaking loud enough for them to hear. "Now, Mr. Wilkins over there just loves chocolate. Mr. Schmidt, too. I bet they'd be happy to support our cause. Isn't that right?"

Fred, who had naturally been listening to every word she said, grumbled but began to dig his wallet out of his pocket. A couple of the others did the same. Layla nodded her thanks at them and nudged Cody in their direction.

Derek was still looking at his phone, but Layla took a step toward him, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "I don't know what you're doing here...I didn't even know who you were until Cody told me...but I do know that you should be ashamed of yourself. He's just a kid. He's a good kid. You should have heard him talking about you...how you're his hero. Nice job ruining that for him."

Her hands clenched into fists at her side as she resisted the urge to rip the sunglasses from his face and the phone from his hand. "You could at least have the decency to look at me."

Nothing.

She sighed and shook her head. It wasn't until after she'd turned to go back to her table that she felt his eyes on her. They were hot on her cheek as she gathered her purse and slapped a ten dollar bill on the table to pay for her pie and coffee. They were on her, prickling her neck when Annie handed her a to-go bag with an extra slice of Chuck's banana cream pie, compliments of Chuck himself for "taking care of business."

And they followed her as she strode past his table to the exit, shoulders back and head high. It felt like he wanted her to look at him, like he was waiting for it.

Well, let him wait. That was his problem. She had enough of her own