Page 13 of The Playboy's Playbook

Luke scoots forward a little and leans his elbows on the table. I can tell he’s about to give me his dad-voice like when he has serious talks with the boys.

“Your end goal is to win over Laila. That’s your end zone, that’s where you want to end up, alright. Before you go all willy-nilly and drive the ball down the field, start with studying your defense. In this case, study Laila. You need to learn everything you can about her.”

As Luke talks, I start drawing an outline of a field and making a list. “Maybe if I can convince her to meet me somewhere to just talk, that could be a start. Right?”

Luke nods and smiles proudly. “A short pass, I like it. What’s next?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to press her.”

Luke agrees by nodding. “Then stick to the basics. After she’s started opening up to you, let her into your life. Show her the amazingly annoying guy that I know.”

I roll my eyes and jot down another thing. “Okay. Then maybe if everything goes right, things might get serious for the final drive to the end zone.”

Luke nods in approval as I finish writing down the last play. He studies over them before sliding the notebook back to me and nodding in approval.

“With plays like this, you might just get the call to the big league,” Luke says before looking over the menu to order something to go.

Here’s hoping to be the number one overall draft pick.

Chapter Six

LAILA

“So let me get this straight. Matthew Foster came to your defense and threatened to beat the absolute shit out of Jason Webb for you,” Erica says for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, E. I’ve told you the story how many times?” I sigh and lean back into the swing on my mom’s patio.

“It’s kind of romantic if you think about it,” Erica swoons. She’s such a romantic, which says a lot because I’m a romantic.

I look out at the back yard and watch Nola run around, playing with the sprinkler. I pull my phone away from my ear and place it on speaker so I can take a couple of pictures of her to send to my mom.

“So, did you thank him for coming to your aid?” Erica asks.

“No,” I answer plainly.

“Laila!”

“For all I know, he could’ve done what he did because he wanted me to be another notch in the belt that’s holding up his Wrangler jeans. Matthew Foster is not a good guy, E. I know my worth and Matthew is not worth my time,” I explain.

“I’m not saying you don’t know your worth. But if a guy wants to finish a bar fight for you, let him. It’s the tell-tale sign of love if he’s willing to get banned from Brody’s and possibly arrested in your honor.”

“Who said anything about love?” I laugh at her assumption.

“You’ve had a crush on Matthew since you were eight. Don’t kid yourself and think that just because you haven’t seen him in a few years that the crush went poof,” Erica says.

“Friends and Matthew Foster do not go in the same sentence. He only wants one thing and that’s to have a quick fuck and go about his day.”

“You only know that because of the stories we heard about him when we were in school, which I should remind you was seven years ago. Maybe he’s changed, Laila.”

I shake my head. “Change and Matthew Foster do not belong in the same sentence, either.”

Erica laughs. “Keep telling yourself that. I gotta go, we still have the other side of the living room to paint. I’ll talk to you later. And Laila?”

“Hmm,” I respond.

“It might be worth being a bit nicer to Matthew if you see him again. He did save you from a night with Jason Webb.”

We say our goodbyes and hang up the phone. As I stare at Nola running through the sprinklers, I lose myself in my thoughts, thinking about the time when Matthew was a good guy.

---