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Layla bristles. “If I was uncomfortable with the conversation, I’m perfectly capable of asking him to stop. I want their help. If you’re not happy with that, you can leave. He’s doing nothing wrong.”
Luke’s shoulders tense. “Fine,” he says coolly. “I’m not involving myself in this.” Dumping his shopping bag on the counter, he stalks across the lounge and into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
***
TWENTY
***
JOSH
Zack whistles, stroking Layla’s arm. “You’re spicy tonight.”
She stares at Luke’s closed door, a sad look in her eyes. “Bitchy, you mean.”
“He’ll get over it,” I assure her. “You didn’t say anything that isn’t true.”
She kicks the leg of the coffee table. “I’m just sick of him treating me like I’m a sixteen-year-old kid he needs to hold at arm’s length. We’re supposed to be friends, and he won’t even talk to me like an equal. He’d probably turn himself in to the police if I tried to hug him.”
“Aw.” Zack tugs a strand of her hair. “You wanna hug Luke? Listen, he gets cuddly when he’s drunk, so I can tell you it’s nothing worth getting upset over. Now, where were we?”
“You were asking if I read smutty books,” Layla says drily.
“Right.” He casts around, picking up a notepad off the coffee table. “Hey, why don’t we make your list together? You clearly need extra help in this area. Tell me your top ten turn-ons, and why you think they’re hot.” He flips to a new page and looks at her expectantly. “Go,” he says after a moment, when she doesn’t say anything.
Layla looks like she’s lost for words.
I clear my throat. “You do want help with this, right? Ignore Zack, you can absolutely do this in private if you prefer.”
“I want help,” she says. “It’s just… like, I can’t even list my top ten movies on the spot.”
“It can be little things,” Zack says casually. “For example, I like taking girls up the date, ‘cause it’s tight as hell and I like staring at her buns. Josh likes when you kiss his neck, ‘cause for some reason it’s apparently directly connected to his junk. Stuff like that.”
I can feel my cheeks heating. “Let’s start at the beginning. You can get yourself off when you’re alone, but not when you’re with a guy. What’s the difference?”
She snorts. “When I’m by myself, I can imagine whatever I want. When I’m with a guy, he’s…” She waves a hand in the air. “There. It’s distracting.”
“So you rely heavily on fantasy to get yourself off?” I say slowly, trying to push away the mental image of Layla, flushed and wet and naked, touching herself in bed.
God.
She nods. “Sure.”
“Well, then,” I say. “What are you thinking about?”
She hesitates, then looks down, her cheeks colouring. “Is this important? It’s not like I need to come to have a boyfriend.”
I frown. It’s such an un-Layla thing for her to say. “Do you want to come?” I ask frankly.
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then it’s important.”
“But—”
I cut her off. “Layla, one of your best qualities is that you’re never ashamed to ask for what you want.”
“And your legs,” Zack interjects. “They’re a great quality, too.”
