Page 10 of The Playboy's Playbook

“Say, Laila, how about we go someplace private and I show you a good time,” Jason runs his eyes over my body. I squirm uncomfortably and fumble to regain my composure.

“You’re joking, right?”

Jason furrows his brows, as if I offended him. “No, I’m being serious. You’ve been fine all your life. You were too young for me in high school, but now you’re all woman. Let the Huntsman take you for a ride and show you a good time.”

“How 'bout I beat your ass senseless for a good time, dickhead?” A voice booms from behind me. Jason is equally shocked by the presence of Matthew’s menacing frame.

“Matty, my man,” Jason says as he tries to give Matthew a high five up.

Matthew forcefully slaps Jason hand away and Jason squares his shoulders while puffing out his chest. In school, Jason could’ve easily taken Matthew based on height and strength, but not now. Matthew has to be at least six-foot-two and Jason still has to look up at him.

“I’m going to enjoy beating the shit out of you if you don’t leave in the next three seconds.” Matthew’s voice is serious, dangerous. His southern accent is heavy and everybody knows when a southern person’s accent gets that thick, they mean business.

“Man, go back to whatever piss-hole you crawled out from. This is a conversation between me and Laila,” Jason says, grabbing my hand. Matthew is about to take another step forward, but I quickly snatch my hand from Jason’s grasp and stand up, putting myself between the two.

“Jason Webb, you best be on your way, boy. You ain’t fixin’ to ruin everyone’s night by being an ass,” Brody’s deep voice rings from behind the bar.

Everyone’s turned their attention to the scene in front of them. I see Issac in the distance standing with the cue stick in his hand, his eyes burning a hole through Jason, daring him to try something.

“Leave,” Matthew growls. His blue eyes blaze with anger and his fist clenches several times, waiting for Jason to make a move.

Jason, unfazed by the attention, waves everyone off. “Whatever. If you wanna be properly fucked, hit me up, Laila.” Jason runs his eyes over me one more time before he stumbles out of the bar.

I feel Matthew step closer, as if he’s going to chase after Jason, so I put my hand on his chest, stopping him. “Let him go. He’s not worth the salt in his body,” I say lowly.

“Are you okay?” Matthew asks, setting his glass down on the bar before sitting in the chair next to me.

“Why do you care?” I growl in frustration.

“Laila, you don’t deserve to be talked to like that,” Matthew says, his tone full of sincerity.

“I can handle myself, Matthew. Why did you come over here anyway?”

“You practically fell into the seat trying to get away from him. I have no doubt in my mind that you can handle yourself, but it didn’t look like it to me.”

We sit in silence for a few more minutes before I finally notice that he’s here at a bar when he had a kid-shadow with him not two hours ago.

“Where’s Clay?” I ask, missing the kid that I just met and barely know.

“With his uncle. I’m about to go get him and take him home,” he explains.

I nod curtly and turn away from him, sipping on my drink. Feeling his eyes on me, I turn back to him and the look he’s giving me has butterflies swirling like a tornado in my stomach.

“What?” I don’t bother to hide my irritation.

“It’s just…something’s different about you, Laila.” Matthew runs his piercing blue eyes up and down my body.

Even though we’re in a loud and crowded bar, the world is standing still and everything is quiet while we hold each other’s gaze.

I feel younger Laila trying to jump free and pull her former best friend into a hug, but I give her a toy to occupy herself because there will be no jumping into the arms of Matthew Foster.

“I remember when we were kids, you said that once you left Oakridge, you’d never come back. But here you are.”

I glare at him, but he doesn’t care as he folds his arms across his chest, waiting for my response. Ignoring him, I dig through my purse for a stack of bills to close my tab. Matthew reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, tossing a crisp twenty-dollar bill on the bar, pushing my money back toward me.

“Humor me,” Matthew says before taking another sip of his drink.

“Why does it matter to you that I’m home? Would my presence throw a wrench in your plans?” I snap in reply.

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