Page 30 of The Playboy’s Playbook

Chapter Twenty-Six

LAILA

I toss 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.

“Laila, please.” He places his hands on mine and takes the sponge and pan from my hands, setting them down gently in the sink. I push against him, causing him to stumble before I walk to the living room and begin folding the laundry pile that’s accumulated over who knows how long.

“Can you at least look at me?” he pleads, his voice cracking at the end.

I shake my head and continue folding and placing the clothes in neat piles on his couch. I know he probably won’t put them away, but it keeps me busy as silent tears continue to slide down my face.

Matthew walks behind me again and places his hands around my waist and this time I let him touch me. I close my eyes, even more pissed at my body for melting into him, for betraying me once again.

“Baby,” he whispers against my neck.

“Do not call me that,” I grit out, trying to focus on my breathing and forcing my heart to remember that I’m pissed at him.

His breath tickles my neck as he leans closer and I try not to cringe away at the smell of alcohol on his breath. He tightens his hold on and he places soft kisses to my neck, running his hands up and down my sides before he grips my hips.

Matthew pulls away and grabs my hands and leads me to his bedroom. I expect it to be a complete mess like the rest of the apartment, but it’s surprisingly clean. He guides me to the bed and lets me sit down on the edge before he retreats into his bathroom.

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion as I hear water run. Matthew returns a few minutes later and walks over to his dresser, pulling off his shirt and putting a new one on.

He takes off his jeans, his back to me the entire time. He reaches back into his dresser and pulls a pair of pajama pants out and puts them on. He searches the contents of his dresser again and pulls out one of his t-shirts and another pair of pajama pants before walking over to me.

“I laid out an extra toothbrush and uh, the hair wrap…I bought it for you a while ago in case you ever wanted to stay with me. You can change in the bathroom if you want.” He looks down at his feet, avoiding eye contact with me.

“Where’s Luke?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.

He looks at me and then almost immediately diverts his gaze to the floor – he’s ashamed. “Home. He doesn’t…I didn’t tell him about tonight.”

“Why?” I try to keep my voice level and judgment free.

“I’ll text him,” he says lowly.

I hum and stand from his bed, getting ready to leave and head back to my mom’s house.

“You don’t have to go, Laila. The least I can do is give you my bed for calling you in the middle of the night.”

“Where would you sleep?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.

He shrugs his shoulders before bringing his hands together, wringing them nervously. “In the boys’ room.”

“They have small beds,” I state the obvious, but Matthew shakes his head.

“I just put a bigger bed in for Clay.”

Matthew puts his hands on my cheeks, titling my face up to look at him. His blue eyes study my face as if he’s memorizing every feature for the last time. I don’t like how he’s looking at me.

“Good night, Laila,” Matthew says before exiting the room.