“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.”
Nothing. The traffic lights flash, and we cross the road, heading back towards our building.
“If you ain’t gonna tell me, I’ll just start guessin’,” I say, as we beep our keycards and the doors to the lobby open. “Were you on a date? Did she turn you down, or something?”
“No.”
“Did you turn her down? Oh, mate, please tell me you didn’t reject her because you think teaching her how to read Holes a literal decade ago means you’re like, morally forbidden to touch her knee, or whatever. You ain’t her teacher anymore.”
“It’s not that,” he says woodenly, stabbing the button for the lift. The doors slide open and we both step inside.
“Then what—”
He sighs. “When we were at the pub, she bumped into an old classmate. He said some pretty disgusting things about her.”
My hackles rise. “Like what?”
“Ask her yourself. That’s as much as you’re getting out of me.” The lift dings as we reach our floor.
“Okay,” I say, as we step out into the hallway. “If some guy harassed her, why do you look like you want to chuck yourself off a bridge?”
Luke stays silent, and I sigh, finally giving up. We reach Layla’s door, and I unlock it, pushing into the flat and heading straight for the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” Luke asks, stepping inside and locking the flat door behind him. “Her bedroom?”
“It’s seven in the bloody morning, so that’s probably where she’s gonna be, yeah.”
He looks horrified. “You can’t just go into her room!”
“Why not? She practically lives in mine. And Josh is in there.” I frown. “Why did you ask Josh and not me to pick her up, anyway?”
“She was… upset,” he says slowly. “I knew Josh would give her what she needed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She didn’t want to be coddled, Zack. And you would’ve tried to sleep with her.”
I stop walking, staring at him. “You actually think that, don’t you?” I say slowly. “God, you’re a prick sometimes.”
He closes his eyes. “I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t hit on sad women,” I say, snatching the paper bag out of his hand. “I’m not that much of a damn manwhore. Wait out here if you want, I’m going in. I might even manage to keep my pants on.” I stomp over to Layla’s closed bedroom door and nudge it open with my foot, peeking inside.
Josh and Layla are both in bed. Josh is sitting propped up against the headboard, staring down at Layla sleeping on his chest like she’s the centre of his damn universe.
Poor bastard. He can deny it all he wants, but this obviously isn’t just a crush. He’s head over heels for Layla.
Damn. This isn’t gonna end well.
He glances up when I step inside. “Thanks for knocking,” he drawls.
I shrug. “I brought food. She’ll forgive me, I’m sure.”
Disturbed by the noise, Layla rolls over sleepily, cracking open one eye like a slumbering dragon. She studies me for a second, then closes her eyes again. “Josh?” She murmurs.
“Mm?” He says, stroking her arm.
“Zack is in my bedroom.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I lean against the wall, looking down at her. “Maybe this is just a wet dream.”
She shakes her head, burying it back in the pillow. “Can’t be. You’re wearing clothes.”
Great. Now I have a semi. “That can be rectified, lass. You just say the word.”
“Sorry.” She sniffs. “I don’t sleep with home invaders.”
“You can’t blame me,” I insist. “I got lonely. Did you two get it on last night and not invite me? That’s just plain rude.”
Josh rolls his eyes.
Layla stretches like a cat. “We just cuddled.”
I can’t help the grin that spreads over my face. “You? Cuddled?”
“He did most of the work.”
“Well,” I say. “I bet I’m a better cuddler than he is.”
She doesn’t respond.
“Did you hear what I said?” I ask helpfully. “I said I bet I’m a better cuddler than he is.”
She sighs, obviously still too sleepy to argue, and lifts the quilt, inviting me into the bed. “Come on, then.”
Finally. Dumping the food on her bedside table, I climb into the bed next to her. The pretty pink sheets are warm from her body. I wrap my arms around her, and she practically purrs, stretching to give me a little kiss.
I fight the urge to laugh at her. “You’re so sweet when you’re tired.”
“Need coffee to be a bitch,” she mumbles, burying her face in my chest. “You’re soft.”
Josh snorts. “Did you fix the t-shirts?”
I scowl. “I don’t know what’s wrong with them. We just can’t get the company to print the right colours. The graphics are fine, but the actual fabric shades are all wrong.”
Layla groans into my shirt. “God. You’ve been giving them HEX codes for the colour shades, haven’t you?”
“… yes?”
“Honey. No. You’re designing a shirt, not a website logo. You need to give them Pantone codes for the cotton and vector codes for the print.” She snuggles closer.
I stare at Josh. “We’re literally dating a girl who went to fashion school. How did we not think to ask her?”
“Because you’re dumb,” Layla announces, closing her eyes. “Also, your garment labels are weird. I’ll give you the number of the girl who designed mine. Where’s Luke?”
“Hovering nervously in your living room.” I point at the bag on the nightstand. “He spent, like, fifty quid on breakfast for you this morning, by the way. You might wanna eat it before it gets cold.”
Her eyes flutter open again. “Um. Why?”
“It’s an ‘apology gift’, apparently.”
She stiffens. “Apology?”
“Mm.” I gather her a little closer against my chest. “He’s walking around like he’s murdered someone. Don’t think I’ve ever seen him so guilty.”
“Crap,” she mutters, pulling out of my grasp and sitting up. Her hair falls in rumpled waves around her face. “It wasn’t anything he did.”
“He said something about you getting hassled at the pub last night?” I prompt. “He seems pretty cut up about it.”
Josh sits up, his gaze sharpening. “Is that what happened?” He demands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Layla runs her hands over her face. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she mumbles.
Josh and I exchange a look. “Reckon we should switch up the syllabus?” I ask. “Skip right to next week’s lesson?”
“Only if she wants to,” Josh says. “Don’t push her.”
“What is it?” Layla asks cautiously.
I pat her thigh. “Telling your partner all your secrets.”
She looks at me flatly. “Yeah, right.”
“That’s seriously it!” I protest. “I can email you the lesson plan, if you like.”
She looks up at Josh, and he nods, tucking some hair behind her ear. “It’s actually about being emotionally vulnerable,” he says quietly. “But he’s right. After the first few dates, maybe a few sleepovers, the next step to intimacy is opening up. Letting someone into your private, personal life.” He kisses her shoulder gently. “You want a serious relationship, not a casual fling. The only way you can get to that next level is by being vulnerable.” He reaches out and takes her hand, threading their fingers together. “I don’t want to pressure you. But if you want to work on opening up, you can trust us. We won’t hurt you with anything you tell us.”
Layla bites her lip, torn.
I snuggle in on her other side. “Come on, ladybug,” I coax. “Tell your loving boyfriends what happened.”
Her shoulders sag. “Fine. I guess I should get this over with, anyway.” She raises her voice. “LUKE! CAN YOU GET IN HERE?”
There’s a pause, and then the bedroom door squeaks open. Luke’s pale face appears in the doorway. Layla points at the edge of the mattress.
“Sit,” she orders. “If I’m telling this story, I don’t want to have to do it three times.”
