Page 10 of The Playboy’s Playbook

Chapter Eight

LAILA

Matthew Foster sent you a friend request.

“ W hat in the blue hell?” I shout. Nola prances up to me and jumps into my lap, as if she can sense my confusion. I scratch behind her ears and continue to look at my phone.

A week in Oakridge and I’m already regretting coming home. In the span of the week, I’ve run into Matthew three times at the most random places. Well, besides Brody’s because that’s the local hotspot.

But the rodeo on my first night? The gym where I signed up for a membership for the summer? Now this friend request? If this is a sign from the universe, I need to know what I’m supposed to understand and learn from this.

Being the nosey girl I am, I click on Matthew’s profile and see that he hasn’t updated it in a couple of years. It looks like we have that sentiment in common of keeping most of our personal life off of social media, but even I post a few pictures to show I still exist.

He’s been tagged in several pictures and status updates. Everything seems pretty normal for a twenty-five-year-old posting on social media, but Matthew Foster isn’t a normal twenty-five-year-old.

I know I reached the end of his feed when I see his sister’s posts from her wedding five years ago. Matthew looks completely different in the pictures than he does now.

He was lankier and his beard was in desperate need of a trim. His eyes don’t sparkle, leaving him looking emotionless, like a robot. This isn’t even how he looked in high school, so it’s throwing me off how different he looks.

Against my better judgment, I accept the friend request because Erica asked me to consider being nice to him. So this is me being nice and accepting a friend request. Almost as soon as I press the blue accept button, Matthew sends me a message.

MATTHEW: Hey, Laila

MATTHEW: Thanks for accepting my friend request.

I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me because who the hell thanks someone for accepting a friend request? Nola looks up at me curiously before she returns her attention back to the toy she grabbed.

LAILA: Sure

Three dots appear and disappear for a moment before he sends another message.

MATTHEW: Are you free at any point this week?

LAILA: No

LAILA: Why?

MATTHEW: If you have time in your schedule, would you care to join me for a drink at Brody’s?

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.

“Why no ? 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.

Slowly, his breathing evens out and the storm in his eyes calms down. He looks boyish, like he just wants to cuddle under a blanket and escape the world.

I take a deep breath and ask in a much calmer tone. “Why did you want me here?”

“I-I really do want to get to know you, Laila. We were friends in school and you’ve grown so much and I just –”

“Matthew,” I start, but he cuts me off.

“Please. Let me get to know you,” he begs.

I study him for a moment and see nothing but tension in his body language. I nod slightly before asking, “What do you want to know?”

His answer is simple. “Anything. Everything.”