Page 21 of Play Book

It makes no sense.

I should have gotten out of there the moment things went south, and yet, I have no plans to leave her tonight.

Even though I’m almost definitely not getting laid, I’d been serious with my offer to sleep on her couch if she needs me to. I’ll be miserable at practice tomorrow, but this feels more important than getting enough sleep.

“I’m going to make some chamomile tea,” she says once we’ve settled at the house and Rage has doublechecked all the locks before taking his leave. “Do you want a cup?”

I’m not a tea drinker, but it seems like the right kind of night to try.

“Sure. Thanks.”

I watch as she putters around the kitchen with nervous energy.

“Keep an eye on the kettle, please,” she says, her eyes somewhat shrouded. “I’m going to go change into something comfortable.”

“All right.” I watch the sway of her ass as she walks down the hall and for what might be the first time in life, I’m not thinking about sex. Or all the ways I’d planned to make her come tonight.

Instead, I just want her to be okay.

I want to do something—anything—to make her smile.

To make the haunted look in her eyes go away.

Either something is wrong with me, or Saylor has put some kind of spell on me.

There’s no other way to describe it.

SEVEN

Saylor

WHORE.

The word is burned into my psyche, and nothing I do can make it go away.

I’m fumbling around in my kitchen trying to do something useful, but my hands are shaking and my nerves are shot.

It isn’t the first time I’ve been called an unkind name. As a model, keyboard warriors don’t hesitate to tell you you’re fat, you’ve put on a few pounds, your eyes are too small, lips too thin, boobs too saggy—there’s always something.

But this is different.

This feels personal.

Someone isn’t hiding behind their computer or just posting on a random social media site.

This person came to my business—my second home—and assaulted my character.

I enjoy a healthy sex life but am in no way promiscuous and haven’t had sex in months. Besides, even if I sleep with every man I meet, it’s no one’s business. I’m not in a relationship so I can have sex with anyone I choose. I don’t because I tend to be picky and also because now that I’m older, I need more than a physical connection. Of course, I’d been planning to throw caution to the wind with Canyon.

But no one else knows that.

I hadn’t even told any of my close friends.

It’s supposed to be a one-and-done kind of thing.

None of this makes sense and as I flutter around the kitchen straightening things that weren’t messy and getting out cups, saucers, and honey for the tea, shame turns to anger.

“Who would do this to me?” I demand, slamming the flat of my hand down on the countertop.

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