LUKE
Layla completely shuts off.
It’s like she freezes over. One second, she has hurt and frustration and fear all over her face; the next, she’s sitting calmly on the stone steps, examining her nail beds, her expression cold and detached. “Seriously,” she says again, her voice almost bored. “It’s not a big deal. You don’t post pictures of yourself half-naked online if you can’t handle a little catcalling.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I say slowly, trying to nudge the soda closer to her. “Sweetheart, you’ll feel better if—”
“I’m fine,” she snaps, and I look down. She sighs and leans her head back against the brick wall, squinting up at the dark sky. “Sorry,” she says softly.
“Sorry, sorry. I turn to a b***h when I’m embarrassed.”
I shake my head. We’re silent for a moment. A car tru
