“Jesus,” Layla says loudly, when the silence stretches on too long. “I said I’m sad. Not dying of a terminal illness.”
“You’re sad?” Josh repeats, like it’s completely unbelievable. Luke doesn’t say anything, studying the side of her face. I roll my eyes, stirring the pan of pasta. They’re both so dramatic.
“I do have emotions,” Layla says, looking annoyed.
“Yes,” Luke says quietly. “And in the three years we’ve known you, you’ve never, not once, admitted to being sad.”
“Leave her alone, she’s had a bad night,” I say, turning off the hob. “She tried to get a man to shag her, and he climbed out of a bathroom window and wriggled down the drainpipe to get away from her.” I start dishing up a huge pile of steaming macaroni. “And then she had to eat a plate of vegetarian roadkill. If she were anyone else, she’d probably be crying. Thank God she’s so brave.”
“I didn’t want him to shag me,” Layla argues, fiddling with the hem of her little silver dress. “It’s not hard to get a man to sleep with you.”
“Aye,” I agree, reaching for a fork in the cutlery drawer. “Not when you’re dressed like that, it’s not.” I glance sideways at her, running my eyes up her toned thighs. Dunno what was wrong with the guy she asked out. Layla’s a knockout. Tall and leggy, with high cheekbones and pale green eyes, and this sharp, shoulder-length hair that she bleaches white-blonde. It’s really hot.
“Zack,” Luke chides. “Don’t say that.”
“What? She’s in a short dress and heels. She could go to any club in the city right now and the guys would be on her like flies.”
Hilariously, Layla nods. “Yeah. But I don’t want that.”
Josh takes a seat in the armchair. “If you didn’t want your date to sleep with you, what did you want?”
Layla hesitates. “I just… wanted him to like me,” she says eventually. “I want a guy to have dinner with me, and like me enough to want to see me again. I want an actual relationship.”
I raise an eyebrow. There’s a thread of vulnerability in her voice that I’ve never heard from Layla before. She’s usually the dictionary definition of a boss bitch. I consider, then go to the fridge, pull out a huge block of cheese, and grate some extra on top of the pasta to cheer her up.
“Rejection hurts,” Luke says softly. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not the rejection that bothers me. I just don’t like that I’m so behind.”
“Behind on what?” Josh asks. “Dating?” He jerks his head at me. “We’re all older than you, and none of us are in relationships.”
“Yeah, but you don’t want to be,” she points out. “I do. It’s in my plan.”
“Plan?” I ask, making my way back to the sofa and handing her the bowl. “Is this another one of your weird lists? Because I don’t think you can schedule falling in love, babe.” I plop down at her side.
Layla is a real freak about schedules. She schedules every second of her life, from the moment she wakes up at the crack-ass of dawn, to the exact time she’s meant to go to sleep. I get that the girl is busy with running her own business, but no one needs to be that organised. Sometimes I’ll drop by her flat, and she’ll say some shit like, ‘hang on, I’ve got four more minutes of washing the dishes before I can talk’. Little weirdo.
“I can schedule everything,” Layla argues, scooping up a huge amount of melted cheese. “And yes, I have got a list. It’s a ten-year plan. I made it when I graduated high school, to map out my twenties. And I’m already on the extended timeline. Originally, I was aiming to find my husband at twenty-five.” She frowns and shoves the food in her mouth.
Josh makes a choking sound behind his hand.
Layla glares at him. “What?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” He swallows hard. “Um, why twenty-five?”
She shrugs. “It seemed like a good age. Gave me long enough to sort out my career, but didn’t leave it so late that my fertility started to decrease, or all the good men were taken.” Josh starts coughing again, even harder. Layla fumbles in her bag. “Hang on, I’ll just show you.”
Luke’s eyebrows shoot up as she passes him a crumpled bit of paper. “This plan is an actual list? That you’ve written down?”
She stares at him. “Of course. How else would I remember to do everything on it?”
“Of course.” He clears his throat, studying the list. I peer over his shoulder to get a better look. The paper is worn and water-stained, like she’s been carrying it around in her bag for a while. At the top, the words Ten Year Plan have been scrawled in loopy, teen-girl handwriting. A long, neat list is bulleted underneath, with items like ‘Finish business degree (21yo)’, ‘start a fashion web boutique (23yo)’, and ‘Make first international sales (24yo)’.
There’s only one box left unchecked. ‘Get married (30yo).’
“So, what?” Luke says. “You wanted to be married by thirty? You have a couple of years then, don’t you? You’re not behind.”
Layla scowls at the macaroni. “Yes, but I was meant to start dating at twenty-five. No one ever finds The One on their first go. Well some people do, but it’s statistically very unlikely. So I calculated I’d need to factor in a couple of years of dating before I found the right guy.” She pokes at her pasta. “But I kept pushing it back. I kept telling myself it’s more important that I work on the shop. And now I’m turning twenty-nine in a few months, and I’ve never had a proper boyfriend. And at this rate, I never will, because I don’t even know how!” She flops back against the sofa, heaving a huge sigh.
I grin. I’ve never seen her this tipsy before. She’s usually so uptight. “I love her,” I say. “She’s so cute. Oh my God.”
She scowls. “It’s not funny. People expect you to have experience by your thirties. They won’t want to teach me.” She shovels in another mouthful of pasta. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she mumbles. “I’ve tried so hard to find someone, but nothing is working.”
Josh straightens in his seat, his mouth set in an angry line. “No,” he says grimly.
“No, what?” She asks.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. Don’t say that.”
She stabs another bit of pasta. “Yeah? How many twenty-eight-year-olds do you know that haven’t even had one relationship?”
“It’s not that uncommon,” Luke says. “It’s not the norm, but it’s not odd by any means.”
She throws up her hands. “And how many of those people go on two dates a week and never get a second one? You can’t tell me that’s common.”
Luke doesn’t say anything. Layla shakes her head, setting aside the pasta. “I want a family,” she mumbles. “I want a husband. I try so hard to make people like me, but I can’t. And now sales are down in the shop, and I’ve got so much more work to do on this new line, and no one wants me…” she runs her hands through her hair, tugging. “I just… want someone to go home to, I guess.”
Josh’s eyes widen. For a moment, we all sit in silence. She looks so worn down and tired, it hurts my heart. “Aw, jeez,” I mutter, grabbing at her and tugging her into a hug. She stiffens for a second, then relaxes against me. “It’s okay,” I mumble, rubbing her back. “Look, pet, if this is bothering you that much, we’ll help you.”
She goes still in my arms. “Help me?” Her voice sounds odd.
“Aye. Maybe you ain’t looking in the right places for men. We can probably hook you up with some good guys, or something.” I try to pet her hair comfortingly, but she pulls free, her face suddenly lighting up.
“You could!” She says. “You could help me!” She points over my shoulder at the shelf of podcast awards over our TV. “You have a dating advice show. You know how to do this. You can teach me how to date!”
Luke looks confused. “Do you want some books or something? I’m sure we can find you some good literature—”
She shakes her head. “Not books. I’ve read them all. Look.” Picking up her bag off the floor, she upends it. Three library books skitter out. I glance over the spines. The Tactical Guide to Finding a Man. Dating 101. Attracting a Guy – Tips for Dummies. Christ.
Josh looks at them, his lip curling. “Why am I not surprised that you tried to study dating?” He mutters. “Layla, this is BS. None of these books work. They’re full of sexist crap.”
“I know,” she emphasises. “That’s why I want lessons from you guys. Practical lessons. You could, I don’t know… take me out to bars or something. So I can practice!”
Josh goes very still. “Excuse me?”
She nods, her eyes shining. “Whenever I’m on a date, I go all weird and awkward, and I can’t think of anything to say. But I’m comfortable with you.” She turns to me. “Zack. You’re good at flirting. And making people like you. You could teach me, right?” I hesitate, and she puts a hand on my chest. “Please? I’ll pay you.”
I pull a face. “I’m not a hooker, lass.” Jesus, I know I sleep around, but seriously?
“Just this once? I really want your help.” I don’t say anything, so she turns to Josh. “Josh? Seriously, I have the money. I bet you’d be a great teacher—”
“We’re not taking you on fake dates for money,” Josh snaps. “You’ve drunk too much. You don’t know what you’re saying. Finish your food and go to bed.” Standing, he stalks over to the kitchen, turning away from us.
No one says anything for a few seconds. Layla carefully sets her bowl down on the coffee table and joins him, wobbling slightly.
“Josh,” she says quietly. When he doesn’t respond, she reaches up and pats his cheek clumsily. “Look at me,” she orders. He turns his head, meeting her gaze. “Have I hurt your feelings?”
“No,” he clips out.
“No?” Her hand is still on his face. She rubs her fingers over his stubble. “I like this. You usually shave.”
I wince.
Josh closes his eyes for a second, then wraps his hand around her wrist, gently pulling her away from him. “Don’t do that, Layla.” His voice is lower than usual. “You’re drunk. Go to bed.”
It’s like the reality of the situation suddenly hits her all at once. Layla jerks away, stumbling back and looking around the room with horrified eyes. “You’re right,” she says slowly. “Oh God. I’m sorry.”
“S’all good,” I tell her, patting the sofa next to me. “What’s some drunk propositioning between friends, eh? Come eat, honey.”
She blinks hard. “No, I… you guys were having a nice evening. And I came in, ate your food, offered you money to take me out, and then…” she turns to Josh, “rubbed your face like a total creep. I’m sorry.” Her cheeks are burning with embarrassment. “I think I should go,” she mumbles, bending to pick up her bag. “Thanks for the food.”
Josh frowns. “Hey. No. What’s wrong?”
“At least finish your dinner,” Luke says.
“You can have it. I’m fine.” She picks up her jacket, yanking her keys out of the pocket. Her breath hitches, but she tries to hide it with a cough. As she turns to the door, I see the tears streaking silently down her face.
My heart stops. I’ve never seen Layla cry. I never even imagined she could. I stand. “Layla—”
“L, come back,” Josh says, rubbing his eyes. “Shit. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She shakes her head. “‘M not upset,” she mutters. “I, um… just… Sorry.”
Without another word, she steps out into the hall and lets the door swing shut behind her. Swearing under his breath, Josh strides after her, but Luke stops him.
“Let her go,” he says. “She’s embarrassed enough. Let her sleep it off.”
“I made her cry,” Josh says, looking anguished.
I sigh, slumping back on the sofa and picking up her bowl. “She’s gonna bloody hate herself in the morning,” I mutter, scooping up some more pasta. “Absolutely hate herself.”
