I freeze, blinking up at him. “What?”
He cups my face and tilts it up. His thumb strokes across my cheek as he studies me. He looks so concerned that it makes something in my stomach tremble. “You still don’t look right.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like… you think I’m about to fall apart.” I squirm as my throat tightens. I’m uncomfortable, and sweating, and there’s a pit in my stomach that’s hurting so much I feel sick. I guess it must show on my face, because Josh just looks even more alarmed, dropping his hands.
“Layla,” he says softly. “What is it? You want to talk about it?”
“I’m not upset,” I sputter. “At least—I don’t think I am.”
Josh doesn’t say anything. I can’t handle his eyes on me anymore. Embarrassed, I slide off the sofa and grab my empty water glass from the coffee table, skittering towards the kitchen. Refilling it at the sink, I lean against the counter and gulp it down. The cold liquid slides through me, cooling my insides, and I take a deep breath as my heartbeat steadies. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine.
Setting the glass on the drying rack, I turn back to the sofa, but Josh is gone. The door to my bedroom is open, light spilling into the hallway, so I follow him inside. He’s standing shirtless and barefoot by my bed, plumping up my pillows.
“Better now,” I announce, crossing the room and putting my hands on his shoulders to shove him onto the bed. He falls onto the mattress, and I slide into his lap, but immediately, that scared, panicked feeling starts back up again. I could growl with frustration. What the Hell is wrong with me? Why am I freaking out about this? It’s just Josh, for God’s sake.
Deciding to just ignore it, I try to catch his mouth in another kiss.
He turns his face away, letting my mouth skitter over his jaw. “Not tonight, L.”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “Really.”
He raises an eyebrow, then opens his arms for me. “Either way, I’m not in the mood. Come here.”
I consider for a moment, nerves squirming in my stomach, then shuffle forward and let him fold me into a hug. Instantly, all of the tension inside me melts away.
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.”
