Faking with Benefits : A Friends to Lovers Romance(17)

I raise an eyebrow. “You know, maybe you shouldn’t have signed up for this if you can’t stand to see her flirting with other men. Whole point of the segment is to help her find a boyfriend, after all.” Josh grunts, and I glance across at him. “Seriously, man. Are you actually down to fake-date her? Don’t you think it might, like, hurt too much?”

Josh is silent for a moment, then picks up his drink. “What do you mean?” He asks coolly.

“You know what I mean, Josh. You like her.”

“So do you.”

“I think she’s hot and funny and kind. I don’t have a crush on her. You do.” We both watch as the guy at the bar waves over the bartender, saying something to Layla. Looks like he’s buying her a drink. So far, so good. “I don’t suppose you’ve told her, have you?”

“Why would I?” Josh says quietly. “It doesn’t matter.”

I stare at him. “What the Hell do you mean, it doesn’t matter? You think she would’ve agreed to this if she knew how you feel about her? You heard her — she said she didn’t want anything to get between us.”

“And it won’t.” Josh takes a deep breath. “This is about her, not me. She’s my friend. I’ll help her in any way I can.”

“She won’t want to see you get hurt—” I start.

“Well, I don’t want to see her crying on my couch,” Josh bites out. “Zack. Seriously. It’s not a big deal. Yes, I like her, but it’s not that deep. I can look past my feelings to help a friend.”

I study him. I’ve been best mates with Josh since we were both little four-year-olds in reception. Even back then, he was toddling around, handing out his sandwiches to the kid who’d forgotten his lunch, giving away his toys to the girl crying at playtime.

“That’s the problem with you,” I tell him. “You’re way too selfless. You put everyone else before yourself. Even if they don’t even want you to. You gotta grow out of it, man, it’s not good.”

Josh doesn’t say anything, running his finger along the rim of his glass.

I sigh and clap him on the back. “Look, I get it. You wanna help her. But if it gets too much, just bow out. I’ll take over for you.”

He shrugs my hand off him, his eyes narrowing on Layla. “She looks miserable.”

I follow his gaze and wince. I gotta admit, her body language is terrible. She’s sitting right on the edge of the barstool like she wants to escape. Her arms are crossed protectively over her chest, and she’s avoiding the guy’s gaze, staring at the menu on the wall behind the bar.

“Maybe she doesn’t like him?” I guess.

“She doesn’t have to like him,” Josh points out. “Just sit and flirt with him for a few minutes.”

We both watch as the guy asks her a question. She gives him a tight smile and a short response, then they’re both silent. She sips her wine. Frowning, the man leans forward and tries again, asking her another question. She just nods, looking down at the bar. His face flushes with annoyance.

“Christ,” I say, drawing a zero in the ‘body language’ category. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such shitty chemistry. Maybe he’s a total douche?”

We watch as the guy tries to ask another question and gets ignored again. Frustrated, he slams his drink on the bar and stands.

“I know what this is,” he announces, raising his voice so we can both hear. “You’re one of those girls who just flirts with guys to get free drinks, aren’t you?”

Josh starts to rise out of his seat, but I tug him back down. “She’s a big girl,” I remind him. “She can handle it.”

“I want to know what they’re saying.”

I consider, then gather up our drinks and hop along to the next booth so we can hear better.

Layla looks confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Sure,” the guy blusters. “You’ll sit and talk with me until I’ve got my credit card out, and now you just want to leave? Here’s a tip: next time you come out for a drink, bring your own damn cash.”

Layla stares at him. “Okay,” she says loudly. “For your information, I am perfectly capable of buying my own drinks. I was legitimately interested in you. But I’m sure as hell not anymore.” She stands, shoving the glass at him. “Here. Keep your drink, if you care about it that much.”

“I can’t drink wine, I’m a guy,” the man sputters.

The look Layla gives him could dissolve glass. Snapping open her clutch, she pulls out a crisp ten-pound note and drops it on the bar. “There. Enjoy. Prick.”

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, turns on her heel, and saunters back to our table. When she reaches us, she crosses her arms, looking between us. “Well? How did I do?” She drawls.

Josh and I exchange a look. I pat the empty seat at my side. “Sit,” I say slowly. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.”





TEN





LAYLA





My cheeks burn as I slide into the booth next to Zack. Humiliation is thumping through me.

That attempt of flirting went horrendously, even by my standards. The worst part is, I legitimately was trying. I wouldn’t have agreed to do this if I wasn’t going to give it my all. I just got really nervous.