Layla's POV

I pulled my knees up on my worn out couch and hugged them tight, my robe barely covering the red marks I was trying to pretend weren’t there.

Maya was staring at me, her legs crossed, her both hands wrapped around her coffee like it was some kind of weapon she was using to process all the shit I’d just dropped on her.

I took a shaky breath. “Okay, don’t freak out.”

“Layla,” she said slowly. “You already said you slept with a man who answered your phone. ...