SEVENTEEN
JOSH
“I know,” Zack says, as Layla steps inside the flat, wide-eyed. “He went overboard. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen.”
I roll my eyes, lighting the last candle on the table and setting the matchbox down. My hands are sweating with nerves, and I slip them into my trouser pockets.
Tonight, it’s my turn to pick a date. I figured, since we’ve already done a bar, a dinner date would be the next best thing. Ideally, I would’ve taken Layla to an actual restaurant, but when I asked her, she said she didn’t want to go out. So I did my best to set up a dinner date in our flat. The dining room table we never use has been covered in a white cloth. I’ve lit tapered candles and put some classical music on the record player. There’s salad in the fridge and a dish of homemade lasagne in the oven. The bouquet of roses I picked out this morning is sitting on the breakfast bar.
I thought I was fully prepared, but now Layla is standing in front of us, I’m ridiculously nervous. She looks gorgeous, dressed in a short little red coat with matching red lipstick.
I’ve barely seen her this week. All of us have been so busy with work. The segment has been crazily popular. Our last episode had six times as many downloads as usual, and we’re getting more listeners every day. Paul is over the moon. He’s already trying to make merch with The Love Experiment emblazoned all over it. Our royalties are way up, and we’re getting interest from a bunch more sponsors. It’s great news; the only downside is, we’ve been so busy handling the influx of attention that we haven’t had time to hang out. The only time I got to spend with Layla was on Sunday, when we recorded.
Sunday, when Zack brought her coffee to the studio, pulled her into his lap, and proceeded to record most of the segment with her sitting on his knee, completely ignoring how it was screwing with the mic quality.
I can’t even say that it was the mic thing that was bothering me. I was just jealous. It’s so easy for him. I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to be casually affectionate. If I could, I’d always be holding Layla. Instead, I have to come up with entire podcast segments as an excuse to get close to her.
I still remember the kiss we shared after our last date. I can practically feel it imprinted into my lips. It’s the best kiss I’ve had in a long, long time.
I really want tonight to go well.
“Hi,” I say, when the silence stretches on for too long. “Come in. Dinner’s ready.”
Layla shakes herself out of her daze, marches up to me, and grabs ahold of my tie. I freeze, my heart thumping in my chest as she yanks me closer and kisses me hard. It takes a few seconds for me to remember to kiss her back. She tastes sweet — like strawberry lip salve.
“What’s this?” I sputter, as she turns to Zack and does the same to him. He’s slightly more prepared, sweeping her up in his arms and bending her back at the waist as he returns the kiss.
She pulls back, her eyes bright. “Oh. Am I not allowed to still do that? I thought—”
“You definitely can,” I say quickly, cutting her off. “We’re your boyfriends. You can kiss us whenever you like.”
She relaxes. “Good.” She looks around the flat. “Wow. You did all this?”
“Yeah,” I say, then go silent again. Suddenly, I can’t think of anything to say.
Zack tosses me an amused look. “Talk about the blind leadin’ the blind,” he says cheerfully. “Why exactly did we think you could teach L about social skills, again?”
I clear my throat. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a dinner date. I’ve obviously gotten rusty. “You look beautiful, Layla. Can I take your coat?”
She frowns down at her bright red peacoat. “I mean, I can take it off myself…” she trails off as I slip it off her shoulders, folding it over my arm. “Thanks. I guess?”
I nod, pulling out her seat at the table. She stares dumbly at the chair. “This is weird.”
“This is supposed to be a dinner date.” I remind her. “Imagine that we’re in a nice restaurant. The guy will almost certainly pull out your chair for you.”
“Makes me feel like a kid,” she mumbles under her breath, sitting on the chair. I push her in, then hang her coat and pick up the bouquet of roses.
“Here,” I offer it to her. “I got these for you.”
“Oh.” She takes them awkwardly. “Um. Yeah. You shouldn’t have.”