Chapter 6

Layla looks down at me, mouth swollen. Her eyes are cutting, lacerating mine with just the right amounts of sensuality and jadedness. She makes it clear in her gaze that there will be no proclamation of love, no move-in date, no getting-to-know-you coffees, or late night phone conversations. I am simply the next conquest; a piece of meat; the thing to be pursued for the moment.

As for me—I want to fuck her against the grime of the bathroom wall. Still, I know the game well and Layla’s one of the star players.

Layla’s hand finds its way downward, fingers searching for the hot spot between my legs. My body begs me to comply, but I take a deep breath, moving her hand back up and leaving it to rest on my hip.

“Not here…” I say, my face burning.

Urgently: “Where?”

Layla gives me a look that makes me think I must be the only lesbian in Brooklyn that hasn’t had sex in this bathroom.

Pathetic, Maya. Just. Fucking. Pathetic.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Not tonight.”