Page 20 of Play Book

I’m not the most empathetic or intuitive guy when it comes to women, but my chest tightens, and my stomach clenches angrily.

What in the actual fuck?

I don’t know a lot about Saylor, but she’s sweet, elegant, and classy.

“Was this Russell?” I demand before I can stop myself.

She lifts startled eyes to me. “No. I mean, I don’t think?—”

“Who’s Russell?” Rage’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“A guy I went out on a terrible date with,” she whispers. “But I mean, nothing happened. He wasn’t mad. If anything, he seemed sad when I told him I didn’t want to see him again…”

“I want his details.” Rage starts scribbling in a little notebook.

The cop is taking notes too.

Saylor suddenly seems small and fragile, something I haven’t seen in her before, and it infuriates me all over again.

I slide my arm around her waist and pull her to my side. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll stay with you tonight, and the police will figure this out.”

The words seem to be pouring out of me unchecked, but I can’t help it.

This feels like the worst kind of violation. It isn’t physical, but the assault on her emotions has to be almost as painful. Saylor is visibly shaken and pale, and even surrounded by police officers, Rage, and me, there’s no doubt she’s distressed. The worst part is that there is very little I can do to help, beyond giving her someone to lean on.

It takes two hours to give her statement and take a general inventory to verify that nothing had been stolen. This kind of vandalism has to be personal, and I’m getting more and more annoyed. If that Russell schmuck is responsible, I’m going to pummel his fat, smug face.

What kind of prick does this kind of shit?

“I’m sorry this is taking so long,” Saylor says to me at one point. “It’s okay if you need to go. I know you have practice tomorrow. I have my car here so I can?—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I interrupt. “I’m going to make sure you get home safely. And if you want me to stay, I’m happy to sleep on the couch.”

Her mouth parts slightly but then one of the cops needs her to sign something and she turns away.

“I’m ready to go,” she says a few minutes later. “Are you sure you want to drive me home? You’ll need to bring me back in the morning.”

I nod. “It’s fine. Let’s get out of here.”

I wait while she locks up for the second time tonight, this time with Rage joining us.

“Let me drive your car home,” Rage tells her. “I can get a ride from there.”

“Are you sure?” She turns in surprise.

“Absolutely.” He smiles. “Give me your keys. It’s better you don’t leave it here overnight anyway.”

“Oh. Okay, thank you.” She still seems a little shellshocked and there’s a part of me that just wants to wrap my arms around her and tell her everything is going to be okay.

We drive back to her place in silence. I keep an eye on Rage in my rearview mirror, wondering if he offers this kind of personal service to all his clients or if he’s being extra helpful because it’s Saylor.

She’s semi-retired from modeling, but any red-blooded male who follows sports had seen her in multiple issues of Sports Illustrated. And she’s still breathtakingly beautiful. I can’t really blame Rage if he has a hard-on for her.

God knows, I do.

I should have been balls-deep inside of her right now, making her scream my name and giving us both a night to remember.

Instead, I’m holding her hand and being jealous of one of the members of her security team.

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