LAYLA'S POV
Edward’s army of mildly terrifying tattooed friends are sprawled across the living room when we walk in.
“Hi,” I say, lifting my hand in a small, awkward wave.
Edward on the other hand, stops dead in the middle of the room, his gaze flicking from one face to the next.
“Get out.” He orders.
And just like that, he turns on his heel and disappears down the hallway to his room.
I’m left standing in the middle of the living room and the guys are looking at me and I’m looking at the hallway he disappeared into.
I don’t know what to do, maybe go to my own room, or ask them what exactly is wrong with their friend, because this is the third mood he’s cycled through today and it’s barely noon.
He was the same person who, not even two hours ago, told me he’d take me to any re
