Page 92 of Knights Game

No, fuck that. I did not overreact. But then, wasn’t that the purpose of tonight, for me to watch. This is all so, new. And extreme.

“Motherfucker!” Bending forward, unclasping the straps, and pulling the uncomfortable shoes off my poor feet, I launch them into the road.

The first drop of water hits my forehead and the complete and utter irony that it’s about to piss it down makes me smile.

The first drop turns into two, turning into three, before it quickly downpours. Big thick raindrops drench me within minutes. I pull out the pins that had been meticulously holding up my hair all evening, dropping them into the darkness never to be seen again.

With each step closer to home, with each removal of hair pins, with each drop of rain that washes off the makeup and mask, I feel more like myself.

I’d rip the dress off if I could.

My mobile vibrates constantly in my bag, I yank it out, seeing his name and the missed calls, I turn the damn thing off. He’s probably injected some sort of tracker up my arse whilst I’ve been asleep. He knows where I’m going, it’s not rocket science.

What did he expect?

That I’d go to his penthouse, like a good little girl. Climb into his bed, naked.

Fuck off.

There’s one problem with my idea of taking a stand and going home: I haven’t got a key.

I stand shivering in the hallway outside of the front door and tap on it. Hoping Katy isn’t too bladdered drunk to hear my knocks.

I knock louder, turning my phone back on. And call her.

I can hear it ringing from outside.

Another shiver wracks my body, balling up my hand into a little fist I slam it against the door, shouting her name. Sod the neighbours.

If I don’t get in, I’m going to get pneumonia.

Finally, I hear movement inside, and then the door opens.

“Thank the lo—” Katy is not the one who answers the door.

No, the person standing before me is a bleary eyed Roman. Hair sticking up all over the place, his torso bare, revealing tattoos that curl around his biceps, over his pecs, onto his stomach, and I just stare. Completely ogling the goods that Roman had hiding underneath his stoic serious demeanour.

A laugh explodes out of me. “Fucking priceless.” I giggle.

“Why aren’t you with Luca and where are your shoes?” he asks peering round me into the empty foyer.

“Because Luca is a prick.” I push past him. I throw my clutch bag onto the hallway console table before walking into our living room. R-Catz is curled up on the blanket, looking warm and snuggly, “Lucky bastard.” I mutter before walking to the kitchen.

I don’t even know what I want from the kitchen, I just stand and stare into the darkened room. Turning, I walk back out, Roman still watching me.

“You need to get into dry clothes.”

“I know.”

“You’ll catch a cold.”

“I know.”

“Does he know you’re here?”

“Do I care?”

“Layla.” He sighs and takes my wrist to hold me still.

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