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Josh passes me my plate. “We get to know each other.”
My insides immediately clam up. “I already know you both.”
“Not everything.” His dark eyes flash up to mine. “There are lots of things I don’t know about you. You’re not a particularly chatty person.”
I swallow, looking back down at my plate. “Maybe I like it that way.”
“On dates, people talk, Layla. That’s the point.”
I sigh, poking at my lasagne. “Alright, then. Ask me something.”
He pauses for a few seconds. I tighten my grip on my fork, praying that he won’t ask anything embarrassing.
I didn’t expect to be so nervous on this date. After the last one, I was hoping that I’d be more relaxed, but it feels like I’m right back where I started. Josh and Zack have both lost their suit jackets and ties, and they look absolutely edible with their collars open, sleeves rolled up. Zack stretches next to me, unsubtly wrapping an arm around me, and my heartrate just ratchets even higher.
“What made you get into fashion design?” Josh asks.
I relax. This one’s easy. “Well. It all started out because I was a scholarship student. Emery High — the school where Luke taught me — is a private academy. My parents couldn’t afford the tuition, but I got a scholarship.” I take a bite of food, chewing quickly. “Problem was, the whole uniform cost about two grand altogether. I used to scrounge second-hand stuff from the lost property and try to tailor it to fit me. Took out hems, stitched up holes, stuff like that. But no matter how good I got at sewing, the clothes still looked old. I stuck out in my class like a sore thumb. It wasn’t particularly fun being The Poor Kid.”
“Posh knobs,” Zack mutters, trying to steal some melted cheese off my plate.
I bat him away, smiling when he kisses my cheek in apology. “I was working in a shopping centre at the time, in the lingerie section. They’d given all the employees some store credit as a Christmas bonus, and I saw this push-up in the clearance section. It was hot pink and bright orange lace. I thought it was hot as Hell, so I bought it and wore it to school the next day. And I felt… confident. Pretty. Underneath my ugly, patched up clothes, I had something special on.” I shrug. “I wanted to make other people feel like that. So I signed up for A-levels in Textiles and Design, got into London Fashion School for undergrad, and the rest is history.”
Josh smiles slightly. “You had your whole life planned out when you were sixteen?”
“Are you surprised?”
“Not at all.” He spears a piece of tomato. “Your parents must be proud.”
“I think they’re a bit confused that I went to such a fancy school and came out determined to sell undies, but they’re supportive. I don’t see them much.”
“You’re not close?”
“I just… don’t have time. I don’t even remember the last time I had a day off.”
“You should see them,” Josh says quietly. “I bet they miss you.”
I glance across at him. “What about you? How does your family feel about you talking about handcuffs and squirting on the internet?”
“My brother thinks it’s hilarious. My dad…” he pauses for a moment, his face glossing over. “He’s…”
“A total prick,” Zack supplies.
Josh nods. “He has informed me on multiple occasions that having a son who runs an ‘agony aunt’ column is deeply embarrassing. But I don’t exactly care about his opinion. He’s a terrible person.”
Crap. “And your mum?” I follow up, almost scared to ask.
Josh doesn’t say anything, spinning his water glass between his fingers. I may be socially stunted, but I know how to take a hint, so I turn to Zack. “What about your parents?”
“They don’t mind me doin’ the podcast,” he says happily. “I think they’re still kinda sad I’m not playing rugby, though. It was my dream ever since I was a kid. They were as cut up as me when I injured my knee.”
“Did you have to get surgery?”
“Oh, aye.” He yanks up the ankle of his dress trousers, showing me the long scar striping down the front of his knee.
I trace my finger over the raised skin. “I wish I could’ve seen you play rugby.”
“I’m glad you didn’t, love. I was a prick back then.”
