contractually yours
"Okay, this might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done," Layla said, waving her phone like it was a live grenade.
They sat on her tiny living room floor, surrounded by open takeout boxes, a mostly melted pint of chocolate ice cream, and Ethan’s MacBook. The air smelled like garlic noodles and vanilla candles. Her laptop was open too, with I*******m pulled up and a photo already loaded.
"You’ve clearly never tried zip-lining in the rain with no helmet," Ethan replied, popping a spring roll into his mouth.
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