Standing next to Layla, I couldn't help but study her expression. She was practically frozen in place, her eyes darting around as she clutched her arms, biting her lip so hard it was a wonder she didn't draw blood. It was almost… endearing? No, not endearing—stressful. Irritating, even.
I had to remind myself that this was Layla, the same person I'd been avoiding since the whole kiss debacle. But seeing her looking that lost in a sea of cheerful faces tugged at something I didn't want to name.
"What the hell are you doing, Zaya?" I asked myself, gritting my teeth. I wasn't supposed to be worried about Layla's feelings.
I was supposed to be ignoring her, letting her be someone else's problem for a change. Yet here I was, apparently concerned enough to ask her if she knew how to ski, to the point of practically inviting myself into her worries. Maybe it was just curiosity.
