The quiet hum of the engine filled the car, a smooth, steady rhythm that I usually found calming. But tonight, it barely registered.
Layla was sitting beside me in the passenger seat, practically vibrating with excitement, her legs bouncing slightly as she glanced out the window.
"This is so cool," she said for what had to be the third time since we'd left her apartment. "I can't believe I'm finally going to see where you live."
I made a noncommittal noise, keeping my eyes on the road. My grip on the steering wheel was firm, maybe a little too firm, but it wasn't the anticipation of arriving at the villa that had me on edge.
No, it was Layla. More specifically, what she was wearing and how damn good she looked without even trying.
Her oversized T-shirt had slipped off one shoulder again, revealing a smooth expanse of skin. Her shorts were short, too short, if you asked me showing off her legs in a way that was both distracting and infuriating.
