Page 17 of The Playboy's Playbook

I stare at my phone in utter disbelief. Matthew Foster just asked me to join him for a drink. Younger Laila would be over the moon and already thinking about what she’s going to wear.

I look around my mom’s living room because surely there must be cameras set up and a TV show host is waiting in a van to knock on the front door and say, “Gotcha!”

LAILA: No.

Matthew’s response blows me away because it’s not a text message.

He calls me!

I decline, but he calls back immediately. I sigh and answer on the fourth ring. “You’re about to lose your friend privileges.”

“Why no?” Matthew asks, ignoring my rough tone.

“Whyno? Matthew, I wouldn’t go anywhere with you if the world was on fire and the only source of water was in my puppy’s water bowl. I don’t like you and I don’t care to join you for a drink at Brody’s. Especially after the last time we were there,” I say, hoping this conversation ends faster than it started.

“Laila, I promise you I won’t try anything funny,” Matthew begs.

“A good way to keep that promise is by not going. Look at that, promise fulfilled.”

“Laila, I know that –” Matthew starts before I cut him off.

“You know nothing, Matthew, so allow me to educate you. When a woman says no the first time, she’s being polite to give the person a chance to back off. When she says no a second time, she’s pissed. Get that through your thick skull,” I say angrily before hanging up.

My phone dings with another notification and it’s a message from Matthew. And I was just getting ready to unfriend him.

MATTHEW: I’m sorry I pressured you. I didn’t mean to upset you. I respect your decision.

I stare at the message for a long beat, the only sounds around are Nola’s snores and the television playing in the background. My head and heart play a cruel game of tug-of-war before my heart wins over.

LAILA: Brody’s. Thirty minutes. Don’t be late.

I walk into Brody’s Bar and smile at the few bartenders and patrons occupying the space. It’s quiet for a Saturday afternoon, but it’ll ramp up soon enough. After the fiasco last week, I avoided this place like the plague. Ironically, Jason was arrested for public indecency the next day.

Doing a quick scan of the bar, I find Matthew in the back sitting at a table away from the small crowd. His hands are intertwined and his head is down, so he doesn’t see me studying him.

He’s dressed in light wash blue jeans, a flannel shirt that’s open with a white t-shirt underneath, cowboy boots, and a backwards baseball cap. For a moment, I forget that I can’t stand him.

The sound of my shoes draws his attention to me and he stands, taking his hat off, causing his blond hair to fly in different directions.

“Hey, Laila. Y-you look beautiful,” Matthew says, his voice wobbly.

I look down at my outfit, which isn’t anything to shout about. “I’m in jeans and a t-shirt, Matthew. It’s just a simple outfit.”

I slide into the chair across from him and he follows suit, putting the cap back on his head.

“What can I get you two to drink?” one of the waitresses asks, a sweet smile painted on her face.

“I’ll have a club soda with lemon, please,” I say.

Matthew nods. “I’ll have lemonade, please.”

The waitress smiles one more time at us before nodding and walking off. I turn my attention back to Matthew and notice that he’s still wringing his hands together nervously.

“Well, I’m here,” I begin.

Matthew brings his eyes to me and for the first time I can tell that he’s not just nervous. He looks very pale and his chest is rising and falling extremely fast and he looks like he’s on the brink of a panic attack.

Against my better judgment, I reach my hand out and cover his with mine. “Matthew, breathe. You’re alright,” I assure him.

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