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He pulls a face. “Again, but like. Try to look less like you lost a contact.”
I try it again, squinting through my mascara.
“That was even worse,” he says, sounding impressed. “Damn, doll. You really are bad at this.”
“How do you do it, then?” I demand. “You don’t bat your eyelashes at girls like a cartoon skunk.”
“Nah. I’m a man. I smoulder. Check it.” He takes a sip of his beer, then tosses me a side-ways look so full of heat my mouth goes dry. My insides knot as his icy-blue eyes fix on mine, then flicker down my body. Sparks prickle across my skin. He’s looking at me like he wants to peel my clothes right off me.
He holds my gaze for a few beats, then turns back to his pint. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hypnotise you, lass. My smoulder is pretty potent.”
I swallow. “How did you do that?”
“I imagined my face between your legs,” he says casually, taking another sip of beer.
I choke on air.
A throat clears across the table. I look up to see Josh watching us both impassively. “This is supposed to be about Layla,” he reminds us. “Don’t you think we should be focussing on her?”
Zack dips his mouth by my ear. “Josh is so jealous right now,” he whispers, before raising his voice. “Alright. C’mon, mate. She’s got two sides.” He pats the empty space on my right.
Josh considers. At first, I think he’s going to refuse; but then he stands and moves smoothly out of his booth, joining our side of the table. As he sits next to me, his knee presses against mine, and my skin suddenly warms. Wordlessly, he lays his hand palm-up on the tabletop. After a moment, I thread my fingers through his.
“Perfect.” Zack leans closer on my left, reaching for me. As his arm wraps around my waist, I immediately start to hyperventilate, blood thumping through me.
This is too much. I’ve curled up with Zack plenty of times, and I suppose I must have sat squashed next to Josh in a car, or something. But I’ve never been jammed between them like this. It’s doing things to my insides. My belly feels heavy.
I glance around the pub. Can people tell we’re on a date? They must be able to, right? This isn’t how friends usually sit.
God. I can’t catch my breath. My throat is tight and dry. I’m hot all over.
“Okay?” Josh murmurs, looking at me strangely.
“Yeah.” I squeeze my thighs together and clear my throat. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I need to pull myself together. “So… what do we do now?”
“Now,” Zack says, “we get you another drink.”
***
ELEVEN
***
LAYLA
“You know what my problem is?” I ask, half an hour later. After a glass of wine and some aggressive cuddling from Zack, I’m feeling a lot more relaxed. Tucked between my two best friends under the dim red light of the bar, I feel warm and safe. Safe enough to talk about things I’ve never spoken about before. “I am too defensive with men,” I admit. “I don’t trust guys when they flirt with me. I don’t trust them when they show interest in me, or touch me, or try to get me in bed. It makes me angry to be flirted with. It makes me want to run away. I just hate every part of it.”
“Okay,” Josh says slowly, running his finger over my hand. My skin tingles as he absentmindedly strokes the inside of my wrist. “Why?”
I consider, leaning against his side. His cool, minty scent drifts into my lungs, calming me. “I can’t believe that they actually care about me. I always feel like they just want to use me.”
Josh stills. “Why? Has that happened to you before?”
I hesitate, then shake my head. “Nope. Never had a boyfriend, remember?” His laser eyes burn into mine, like he can see the lie in my face. I turn back to my drink. “I don’t know why I think that way. But whenever a guy flirts with me, I just freeze up. It happens every time.”
“Okay.” Josh pulls away from me, straightening. “Let’s practice. I’m sure you just need to get more comfortable.”
I perk up. “Really?”
