Layla froze. Aware of the sound of her heart beating frantically, she couldn’t even begin to guess what might follow that statement, though she was eager to hear.
“Your appetite.”
She cocked her head, sure she’d misunderstood.
“So many girls pick at their food, or fret over their food, or talk incessantly about how they shouldn’t be eating the very thing that they’re eating and how they’ll have to pay penance later, like they committed some sort of crime against humanity by enjoying a burger.” He shook his head. “Kind of sucks the fun out of going out for a meal. But you—you just dig in as though you’re actually enjoying yourself. It’s a thing of beauty to behold.”
Layla was stunned. It was one of the strangest compliments she’d ever received, and yet part of her felt the need to defend her fellow sisters by explaining the food-phobic, body-shaming culture they’d all been boxed into living.
In the end, she chose to stay quiet and take another big, juicy bite.
“What time does your ride turn into a pumpkin?” She placed a hand over her mouth as she chewed.
Tommy shrugged. “Why—you want to go somewhere? Should I have him drop you at home?”
Layla thought about home—thought about the possibility of her dad hooking up with his new lady friend in the room just down the hall from hers.
“Why don’t we go to your place?” she said, unsure if she was emboldened by the tequila, the compliment, or her revulsion at the thought of her dad shagging in a vintage Venice Beach bungalow that was anything but soundproof. Whatever it was, she was committed to seeing it through.
Tommy looked her over. The way his lip tugged at the side as his brow quirked high, it was impossible to tell if this was a look of interest or surprise.
“Just for a little while,” she said, not entirely sure that she meant it, but she didn’t want to seem pushy, eager, or God forbid, desperate. “I’m too amped to go home. Not yet anyway.”
Tommy gave the order, and the driver dropped them off just outside a modern high-rise building Layla didn’t recognize. “Welcome to paradise,” Tommy said, opening the door and motioning her toward the entrance.
“Wait—where are we?” Layla stood on the sidewalk, squinting as she tried to get her bearings. “This is Sunset Boulevard—I thought we were going to your place?”
“This is my place—my new place. Which, I should probably warn you, happens to be a major step up from my last place. Not a shag carpet or popcorn ceiling in sight.” Tommy grinned proudly; then, seeing the way Layla hesitated, he said, “Though if you prefer a more down-market vibe, we can always head over there. It’s still mine until the end of the month.”
Layla blinked at Tommy. Had steady employment and a shiny new record deal turned him into yet another status-obsessed Angeleno? Money changed people. She’d seen it happen before. Question was, how much had it changed Tommy?
Slowly, she looked him over. The thrashed motorcycle boots he’d once worn had been replaced with a newer, more stylish pair. And though he’d stuck with his usual uniform of jeans and a T-shirt, they’d clearly been upgraded too. She shifted uncertainly from foot to foot, unsure what to make of it. But when she lifted her gaze to meet his, he met her with a look so open and inviting she knew that despite a few superficial upgrades, deep down inside he was still the same Tommy she’d known from the start.
Besides, didn’t she essentially want the same thing—to live a bigger and better, more upgraded life than the one she’d been living?
Was it possible her rush to judgment was no more than a pathetic, knee-jerk, jealousy-fueled reaction at seeing how quickly he’d progressed toward his dream?
Maybe. Probably. But at the moment, she preferred not to think about it.
She followed him inside the large, well-lit lobby and smiled to herself as he greeted the doorman by name. It was cute to see him feeling so proud of himself, and after riding the elevator to the sixth floor, they entered an apartment that showed just how big a leap in the pay grade he’d made.
“Wow.” It hardly conveyed the full extent of her amazement, but in her current state of awe, it was the best Layla could manage. She crossed the pale hardwood floors en route to the balcony, which offered a stunning view of the Hollywood sign.
“Did you notice the keyless entry?” Tommy was just behind her. “The whole place is controlled by tablet—the heating, air-conditioning, TV, even the lights.” He tapped the screen on his iPad and grinned when the bulbs flickered on and off.
Layla stood at the edge of the terrace. With the wind in her hair and the city sprawled out below, she was equal parts admiration and envy. “You’re living the dream.” She turned to face him, her gaze moving from the grin that lit up his eyes to the room just beyond. It was a beautiful space, done up in the sort of high-end, West Coast, aspirational cool you saw on reality TV shows featuring families with lives far more posh than yours. A mix of soothing neutrals with its white walls, natural fiber furnishings, and custom oak cabinets and limestone countertops in the kitchen beyond, it was environmental chic at its best.
“There’s an on-site restaurant, a rooftop pool, and a gym with personal trainers and yoga teachers on call. It even comes with weekly maid service, which, I’m not ashamed to admit, is the amenity I’m most excited about. Though in the spirit of full disclosure, Malina helped set me up. I’m paying rent, of course, but for the moment, it’s at a really deep discount.”
“I’m assuming it came furnished as well?” Layla followed him back inside, noting how the lumpy old couch and the old crate that substituted for a coffee table were missing, though she was pleased to find his collection of well-worn paperbacks was still on display.
Nice as it was, what really impressed her was Tommy’s unerring pursuit of his dreams. She was used to people talking about their plans to hit it big—and yet, when it came down to it, most lacked the incentive to leave their parents’ couch long enough to actually go after the very thing they claimed to dream about.
But Tommy was the exception. When he cared about something, he was all in. As different as she, Aster, and Tommy were on the surface, they all shared the same sort of unwavering drive and ambition, which was undoubtedly how they all ended up working for Ira. Clearly he’d seen in them the same trait he valued most in himself.
He moved into the kitchen and started pulling plates and napkins and glasses together as she made for his prized vinyl collection. “Any new additions?” she asked. Last time they’d listened to Led Zeppelin, and it hadn’t gone well. And though she didn’t blame Jimmy Page, she figured it was better to go in another direction.
“Having a bit of an eighties moment.” Tommy set the plates on the coffee table and started divvying up the contents of the In-N-Out bags.