LAYLA
I freeze, blinking up at him. “What?”
He cups my face and tilts it up. His thumb strokes across my cheek as he studies me. He looks so concerned that it makes something in my stomach tremble. “You still don’t look right.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like… you think I’m about to fall apart.” I squirm as my throat tightens.
I’m uncomfortable, and sweating, and there’s a pit in my stomach that’s hurting so much I feel sick. I guess it must show on my face, because Josh just looks even more alarmed, dropping his hands.
“Layla,” he says softly. “What is it? You want to talk about it?”
“I’m not upset,” I sputter. “At least—I don’t think I am.”
Josh doesn’t say anything. I can’t handle his eyes on me anymore.
Embarrassed, I slide off the sofa
