It takes a few hours, but Layla eventually loosens up. Over a couple of rounds of pub food and beer, her awkwardness fades away, and she gets more comfortable. She’s actually very good at flirting, which doesn’t surprise me — she’s got a sharp tongue and a good sense of humour. She keeps trying to make notes in her little book, so eventually I confiscate it, and the conversation gets much more natural after that. By the time the pub rings the bell for last call, she’s cuddled between me and Josh, flushed pink and chatting up a storm. Josh and I both hold one of her hands as we walk her home, and by the time we get her back to our apartment building, she looks like most girls look after a date with me: horny.
Sounds like a knob thing to say, but she really does. Her cheeks are all pink, she’s leaning into my arm, and her eyes keep flicking between my mouth and my biceps. I make sure to flex, so she gets a good show, and her cheeks get even darker.
Who’d have thought it? Layla Thompson isn’t immune to muscles.
We pull up outside my door, and she pulls away from us, clearing her throat. “What now?”
Josh leans against the wall and looks at her silently. He honestly surprised me when he threw himself into the bar flirting role play — but now, he’s clammed back up again.
“Well,” I say slowly. “We end the date.”
Her eyes narrow. “How do we do that?”
Josh shoves his hands into his pockets. “Guess.”
She glances at her bedroom door. “We just… go home?”
I roll my eyes. “I ain’t done that since I was eighteen, love. I don’t tend to walk women to their doors and then just drive off.”
Maybe if I actually dated, I would. But it’s not exactly how one-night-stands work, is it?
She tilts her head. “What do you do?”
“Honestly?” I rub my beard, looking at my door. “I’d usually pick you up, toss you on my couch, and have my face between your legs before the door even swung shut. But I ain’t sure that’s the best method for this experiment.”
“Oh.” She pauses, but doesn’t try to move away. Interesting.
“I think the gentlemanly thing to do would be to kiss you goodnight,” I offer, ignoring Josh’s glare. Layla immediately freezes, her eyes widening.
I frown. “Uh oh. Here’s something.” I wind my arm around her shoulders, pulling her in. She’s stiff, her body suddenly tight with tension. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” I ask. “I know that it can’t be me you have an issue with. Never met a girl who didn’t wanna kiss me.”
“I…” she licks her lips, glancing back at her own door. “It’s just…”
“C’mon.” I pet her cheek. “Tell us. You’ve got nothing to lose. We’re your best friends, we already love you.”
She sighs, her shoulders drooping. “I’m just not a good kisser.”
I stare at her. She stares back at me, her green eyes dark and dilated, her red-painted lips parted. She’s seriously standing here looking like every guy’s wet dream, telling me she’s a bad kisser.
No. No way. Nope. I’m not letting this slide.
I unlock the door to my apartment, gently pushing her inside. “In. We’re talking about this.”
“But—”
I shake my head. “I do not appreciate this kind of negative talk, Layla. There is no way you’re a bad kisser. We’re sorting this out. Now.”
Layla looks incredibly embarrassed as I march her towards the sofa and sit her down. Luckily, it seems like Luke is out — all the lights are off in the flat, so he’s probably at the library or something. I doubt he’d approve of what I’m about to do.
Slumping down by Layla’s side, I wait for Josh to sit in the armchair opposite, then wrap my arm around her waist. “Alright, pumpkin.” I squeeze her hip. “Tell your favourite boyfriend what’s wrong.”
She rolls her eyes, trying to shuffle away, but I hold her tight. “It’s like I said. I’m a bad kisser.”
Josh shakes his head. “No. There’s no way.”
“How could you possibly know that? You’ve never kissed me!”
“I know you have good dental hygiene,” he counters, “and I seriously doubt you try to lick the other person’s tonsils when you go in.”
She shudders.
“Exactly. So you’re not a bad kisser.”
“But I’m not a good kisser, either,” she protests. “I don’t like to do things okay. I want to get them right. But you can’t practice kissing on your own, and I haven’t kissed anyone in years. How am I supposed to be confident on a date when I’m not even confident at kissing?”
I’m confused. “Hang on. You ain’t kissed anybody in years? You said you have one-night-stands.”
She nods. “Yeah. But I don’t kiss them. It feels weird. We don’t even care about each other.”
“Do you like kissing at all?” Josh asks.
“No. It’s boring.”
I fix the strap of her shirt, stroking my fingers down her arm. “I don’t think you’re kissing the right people, babe.”
She frowns up at me. “Will you kiss me, then? So I can practice? Clearly I’m getting something wrong.”
My grin widens. “Oh, baby. I was thinking you’d never ask.” I pat my knee. “C’mon. Lay one on me.”
Layla glances back at Josh, who’s sitting opposite us, watching.
“Go ahead,” he drawls. “I can rate you from one to ten, if you like.”
Layla nods solemnly. “Yes, please. That will be very helpful.”
Josh pinches the bridge of his nose, looking like he wants to die.
I snort. “C’mon, honey. No time like the present.”
“Right.” She shuffles a little closer, awkwardness radiating off her in waves. I sit patiently as she tips her face up and slowly presses her mouth to mine.
It’s barely a kiss. Her soft lips ghost over mine, stiff and unmoving. I breathe in the warm orange scent of her as she gives me one long slow peck, then pulls back again.
I don’t say anything, eyeing her.
She pulls a face. “That was terrible, wasn’t it?”
“Not the best I’ve ever had,” I allow, trying not to smile. “Have you considered maybe participating a bit more? Sort of feels like kissing a CPR dummy.”
She scowls, and I sigh, pulling her a little closer. She feels ridiculously soft and small against me. “You’re holding your breath,” I say, trying to ignore my tightening jeans. “Relax, lass.” I squeeze her hip again, and she forces herself to unclench. “Great. Now, stop being so shy. We’re not seeing each other. You’ve got nowt to lose here.”
She takes a deep breath and nods. “Right. Can I—”
“Can you what, sweetheart?”
She reaches over and pushes apart my thighs. I part them easily, letting her climb onto my knee.
“Good girl,” I grumble, as she wraps her arms around my neck. She runs a hand over my jaw, stroking over my beard. “See, this is much better,” I mutter.
She snorts. “I’ve not even kissed you yet.”
“Kissin’s not just lips and tongue. You can foreplay a kiss just like you can a shag.”
“Huh.” She rubs my beard again, smiling slightly when my eyes fall closed. “You like this.”
“You could touch me anywhere and it’d feel good,” I say honestly. Her smile widens. Digging her nails into the back of my neck, she presses forward, kissing me again. This time, she pecks me once, slow and soft, before letting her lips part and slipping her tongue into my mouth. I can’t help the low noise of surprise that falls out of my chest as our tongues stroke together.
It’s not a bad kiss. I’ve certainly had worse. But her body is still stiff against mine, and all of her movements are weirdly rehearsed. She Frenches me for a few seconds, then goes back to the long pecks. Then she repeats the pattern again. And again. It feels like she’s trying to follow a list of instructions. Which, knowing her, she probably is.
Eventually, she pulls away. I smack my lips, considering, as she waits for the verdict. “Better,” I say slowly.
She looks affronted. “Better? I thought that was good!”
“You’re still thinking too hard, lass.” I run a hand through her pale hair. “I can practically hear cogs turning in your head.”
Her brows furrow. “But… how am I supposed to do it right if I don’t think about it? I’ve not kissed enough people for it to come naturally.”
I hum. “How about you let me take over? You know how to do this, lass, it’s just all locked up inside here.” I tap the side of her temple.
She scowls. How do you know I know how to do it, when—”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I mutter, sinking my hands into her hair and crashing our mouths together.
