He lays his cheek against mine. “What are you feeling?”
“Nothing. Turned on.”
He makes a low rumbling noise in his chest, but doesn’t say anything.
I rub my eyes. “I feel like I’m about to fall off a cliff,” I say honestly. “And I don’t understand why. I don’t know what’s scaring me.”
“Christ, L.” He traces his fingers down my arms. “You’re just not ready. It’s fine.”
I frown. “But I already slept with you! How could I not be ready?!”
He shrugs a shoulder. “You can be ready one day, and not ready the next. You’re not a vibrator. You’re not always on.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I whisper. Although deep down, it does. Meeting Donny has left me weak and raw.
He doesn’t answer, turning to kiss me. His lips ghost over mine, feather-light, like he’s tracing the shape of my mouth with his. My heart thumps painfully in my chest. He trails his lips across my cheek, mouthing softly at the hinge of my jaw, then finally pulls back.
I sigh, feeling the hardness under his pants press against my thigh. “Sorry,” I say quietly.
Josh shakes his head and wraps his arms around me, pulling me down onto the mattress next to him. “Tonight’s lesson: never apologise.” He kisses the nape of my neck. “Do you want me to stay or leave?”
“What would a boyfriend do?” I consider. “Stay, right?”
“There’s no right answer here, L. What do you need?” He brushes my hair away from my face.
“I… I don’t know.” Frustration knots my stomach.
“Check in with yourself,” he says patiently.
I obediently dig inside myself, trying to untangle the threads of fear and happiness and anxiety and stress. The answer rises to the surface of my mind.
“You,” I say. “I need you. Here. Now. Yes.” His chest shakes with silent laughter, and I huff. “Yes. Stay. Please. And stop laughing at me.”
“You’re pretty cute.”
My heart glows in my chest. I kick his ankle under the sheets. “I’m not cute. I’m terrifying.”
“Mmhm.” He wraps his arms tighter around me and pulls me flush against him, so we’re spooning.
I wriggle against him angrily. “I make men jump from windows and flee from restaurants to get away from me.”
His eyes glow almost luminescent in my low bedroom light. “I’m not fleeing.”
“Yet.”
“Mm.” He starts carding a hand through my hair, and the sensation is so relaxing I feel my eyes starting to fall shut. “Sleep,” he murmurs, so low I barely even hear it. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
THIRTY-FIVE
ZACK
“Will you please just tell me what’s wrong?” I ask the next morning, trailing after Luke as he marches across the road to our apartment building.
It’s seven in the morning. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be awake for another three hours, but Luke banged on my bedroom door thirty minutes ago and demanded that I come with him to buy Layla breakfast. It’s a mild day—the sky is bright and grey, and the air is nippy, but Luke doesn’t seem to notice the cold, walking like a zombie to the zebra crossing. He’s clutching a paper bag full of food.
It’s not the first time all four of us have ordered breakfast together, but we normally just hit the local chain cafe. For some reason, though, today he insisted on going to some fancy little boulangerie he knows Layla likes. He’s bought croissants, pain au chocolat, fresh bread—even macarons. For breakfast. I was too tired to argue.
We reach a crossing, and I study his face. His body is tight and thrumming with tension, but his shoulders are slumped with tiredness. He looks exhausted. “Seriously,” I say. “What’s wrong, man?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says flatly.
“You’ve looked like crap ever since you got back from the pub yesterday. What happened?”
Josh and I had been working on Layla’s lesson plan late last night when Luke called. He’d sounded almost frantic on the phone. Said that he’d taken Layla out for a drink, and pretty much begged Josh to pick her up and drive her home. I’m still kinda offended he didn’t ask me. “Why did you send Josh to pick her up?” I prod. “Did you and Layla fight?”
He grunts.
“You’re my business partner,” I try. “You’re meant to tell me stuff.”