Page 29 of Anti-Player

“You didn't have to! I guarantee when you walked into every single shareholder meeting, or business venture, or... or probably even your college admissions, who you are and where you came from walked with you. You think because I'm pretty that's enough to get the same respect?”

There's a hook digging through my middle. It twists, contorts, leaving me torn to shreds. “Paige... I didn't mean you were just your looks.”

“I know,” she sighs, and then her features soften, as does her tone. “I really know. It's a sensitive topic for me. I would love if I could just be me and get millions of people to listen to what I say. To be able to warn them...”

“Warn them?” I repeat with arched eyebrows. “About what?”

All of her self-important anger turns to dust as she settles back into the booth, poking at her food. “I don't know. Liars? Con artists? Take your pick. Hey, let's get more drinks.”

Pushing my plate aside, I reach over the table and hold her hands. She avoids my eyes, but I squeeze her fingers. “Talk to me.”

Her attention darts to her lap. “Mikel, I don't know if I can.”

“Please,” I beg. When she finally looks at me, I give her a kind smile. “I want to know what makes you want to protect people.”

Her fingers wrap tighter on mine. “How can I say no when you put it like that?” Inhaling through her nose, she looks straight at me, there's no more wavering. “Four years ago my dad died. Heart attack.” This is tragic news, and my sympathy erupts, but I can tell by how she doesn't break her flow that this isn't the point of her story. “I lived in Orange County with him and my mom. When he passed I had to pick up the slack, help out and keep her company. Eventually it was clear that I couldn't really stay, though—and she didn't really want me to. She always encouraged me to go out and live my own life.”

Paige's eyes twinkle, her lips lifting at one corner, as if she's remembering something nice. She says, “I had the idea to get her an iPhone. I wanted to teach her to use Facebook, give her a way to engage with friends, with me, and not feel so isolated. I thought I was doing a nice thing.”

Prickles of anticipation sweep up my legs. How was that not a nice thing? Why did she sound regretful?

Her eyes close for a second. “She saw a video, some influencer who was gushing about this amazing massage thing. The Back to Health massager?”

“Never heard of it,” I say.

“Yeah. Because it got taken off the market after it caused a bunch of injuries.”

As this detail sinks in, my horror blooms. “Wait,” I start.

“Yeah,” she cuts me off, “my mom bought it. It fucked up her spine so badly she was bedridden for months, and to this day, she needs a cane or a wheelchair. All because some asshole paid another asshole to lie about how great their product was. Amazing, right?” She's rambling now, eyes flashing as she gets worked up. “Even more amazing was when the class action suit happened, my mom didn't get more than a hundred bucks. Broken back for the rest of her days, no settlement can make that okay, but it sure would have helped her feel less depressed!”

“Paige,” I hush, clutching her hands. “Paige, hey!”

She focuses on me, pupils tiny dots of rage. “Don't try to calm me down,” she seethes.

“I won't! You have every right to be pissed. That's terrible. I get it, really, I get it.”

She searches for any trace I'm lying to her, any evidence that I'm just saying things to get her to quiet down and not make a scene. She finds nothing because I truly believe her, and I definitely don't think she has to soften her voice in public when she's righteously, justifiably, furious about her mother's injuries.

Her shoulders slide down bit by bit. Then her bottom lip quivers; she pulls away so she can wipe her teary eyes. “Sorry,” she laughs, “I'm too poor for waterproof mascara.” She leaves black smudges around her lids with every scrub.

Throwing some money on the table, I stand up and reach out my hand. “Let's get out of here.”

“Wait, are you sure?” she sniffles. “I can clean up in the restroom.”

“No, we should leave.”

Paige looks around, noting the nosy stares. Even if she has every right to cry and shout, I'm not about to make her become the focus of a roomful of strangers. I learned earlier that she doesn't want to be the center of that kind of attention.

Standing up, smoothing her dress, she takes my arm in hers. “If this is a trick to go back to my place...”

“It is,” I admit, smirking. She begins to blush, and I add lightly, “There's an entire box of chocolates there that I've been thinking about all night.”

She gasps playfully, squeezing closer to me. Her body is soft and warm where it rubs on mine, waking up deep grooves in my brain that scream kiss her, take her, claim her. “Mikel, you monster. I knew that was your plan all along!”

“No no.” Guiding her out to the fresh evening air, I give her my biggest grin, my voice lowering to a warm burn. “I do have a plan. But it involves eating something even sweeter than candy.”

There's no one around us on the street. Even if there had been, I wouldn't have cared. My fingers tip up Paige's chin, bringing her close for a long kiss. I've waited forever to feel her lips again. They're better than the first time, like the more she reveals to me about who she is, the more meaningful our contact becomes.

I researched our date. I thought I knew what to do, what to expect, down to the tiniest of possibilities. But every person who dabbles in technology knows that results can be unpredictable.

I was sure, if Paige agreed to dinner, we'd have a great time.

Not once did I suspect I'd fall in love.

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