“Anytime,” I tell her before I force myself to turn around and walk toward the door.
I steal a final glance over my shoulder before I step out. Just long enough to see Tessa crumple my note and drop it in the trash.
My stomach drops as nausea builds. Once outside, I toss my full drink into the trash can. I can’t stomach coffee today.
I can’t keep pretending my daily visits are harmless flirting. Something is deeply wrong, and even if I don’t yet know how, Tessa’s situation has to change.
CHAPTER
NINE
TESSA
The second Logan walks out the door, I feel Layla’s eyes on me.
I don’t look at her. I can’t. Instead, I focus on the next customer in line—a middle-aged man in a suit who orders a black coffee—and go through the motions. Smile. Ring him up. Pour his drink. Hand it over.
“Tessa.”
Layla’s voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it.
“Not now,” I murmur, already reaching for the next cup.
“Tessa,” she says again, more firmly this time.
I glance at her. She’s staring at the trash can beside the register. At the crumpled napkin sitting on top.
My heart sinks.
“What was that?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
“That didn’t look like nothing.”
“Layla, please.” My voice cracks slightly, and I hate myself for it. “Can we just… not do this right now?”
She studies me for a long moment, her jaw tight. Then she nods once and turns back to the next customer in line.
We work in silence for the next twenty minutes, moving around each other with practiced ease. The line eventually dwindles, and the last customer leaves.
She blows out a long breath. “We’re taking a break.” She walks over to the trash can, reaches in, and pulls out the crumpled napkin.
“Layla, don’t?—”
She smooths it out on the counter, reading the words I already know by heart.
Layla’s face hardens. “Tessa.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Really?” She holds up the napkin. “Because what I think is that Logan just gave you his number and told you he can keep you safe. Which means he knows something is wrong.”
I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest. “He doesn’t know anything.”
“Bullshit.” Layla’s voice is sharp now. “Do you have new bruises?”
I don’t answer.
