Page 55 of The Playboy's Playbook

After having a minute to breathe and get my thoughts somewhat together, I return to the aisle and see my cart is still there and full of the items I intended to buy. I glance over everything and walk away, heading to the aisle that was so familiar to me once upon a time.

I walk up to the cooler and grab a case of beer, slamming the door before walking off. As I’m checking out, a group of girls walk in laughing and talking. I immediately spot the petite brunette in a crop top and shorts the same time she looks at me.

She eyes me up and down, her eyes landing on the case of beer on the conveyor belt. She smirks knowingly and I hate that I know the look on her face. She’s been waiting on a mark all night long and she finally found one.

I hand over my ID to the cashier and pay for the beers, heading over to the group of girls, my eyes locked on the brunette.

“Matty Foster. Long time, no see,” she purrs.

“Let’s go,” I say wasting no time as I walk past her knowing she’ll follow me.

“I’m Liz by the way. In case you forgot my name,” she says as she climbs into the front seat of my truck.

Laila’s seat.

“Don’t care. Backseat,” I say as I quickly plop the drinks down to keep her from sitting down. She smiles sweetly before stepping back down and moving to the backseat of the truck. I climb in and close and lock the doors and Liz wastes no time getting down to it.

I have nothing to lose now.

Chapter Twenty-Six

LAILA

Itoss and turn for hours, glancing at the clock and groaning into my pillow – it’s almost midnight. Reaching for my phone, I see two missed calls and four texts from Matthew. I open the messages, and my heart shatters all over again.

Matthew: I’m a fuck up

Matthew: Laila, please talk to me

Matthew: I want you

Matthew: It’s late and you’re probably sleeping. I’m sorry

I sigh and click to listen to the most recent voicemail he left.

“I fucked up, baby. I miss you.”

He’s drunk.

Against my better judgment, I send him a text and pray that he’s still awake while I get dressed and gather my car keys.

Laila: I’m on the way.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking up to Matthew’s front door. I knock softly, listening carefully to hear signs of life behind the door.

Noise stirs and Matthew opens the door, his eyes bloodshot red and his skin flushed. His flannel hangs open, revealing his bare chest. His jeans hang low on his body and he’s barefooted.

“Laila, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize what I did until you texted back,” he starts, but I cut him off by marching past him inside. I toss my purse and keys on the couch and survey the area.

I don’t know where to even start. It looks like he made attempts to clean, but it’s still a mess. I know Luke would be pissed if he saw the mess Matthew’s made.

I head straight for the kitchen and spot the other culprit of the evening. I stomp over to the half-full bottle of whiskey and pluck the cap off before turning the bottle upside down, its contents spilling down the sink’s drain. Once the bottle is empty, I toss it in the trash bin. My eyes well up with tears as I notice several cans of beer sitting in the bin.

I slam the lid close and begin washing the dishes in the sink. I feel his eyes on me as he stands at the kitchen’s threshold. I avoid looking at him as I scrub aggressively at a pan that looks like it’s seen better days.

“Laila.” His voice is raspy, a mix of sleep and drunkenness.

I ignore him and continue scrubbing, the tears betraying me and finally falling. I hear him move from his spot and soon feel his body heat radiate on my back.

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