Page 63 of Playboy’s Purgatory

I’m not the only one at the table who notices them coming in. The group heads directly toward the table which is always left open for the club. Eagerness is written all over Lola’s face as she slides into the seat next to Playboy like she belongs there.

Lola practically drapes herself across Playboy’s back, but he immediately pushes her off with a sneer on his face. I’m too far away to hear what he says, obviously, but whatever it is makes Lola pale. It doesn’t make her give up though.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on edge. It’s almost impossible to pull my gaze away from the two of them. Right before I manage it, Playboy’s eyes scan the area and lock with mine.

His face is hard as steel, but his eyes burn with desire.

For me.

When Lola notices me, she flashes me what she probably thinks is a smile filled with triumph. It just makes her look constipated. I arch an eyebrow and stare her down.

She attempts to wrap herself around Playboy’s arm like she’s a fucking octopus, but he doesn’t allow it and quickly brushes her away. I try to keep my face neutral and not think smug thoughts, but from the way her expression changes, I don’t think I managed it.

“Woah, that is an epic level scowl on your face, Lara,” Opal teases. When I turn my look on her, she holds her hands up. “You don’t need to worry. He’s not entertaining her bullshit. I bet he didn’t even want her to come out tonight.” She points out, “He keeps pushing her away and he’s not even looking at her.”

“No,” Ezra giggles, “he’s too busy eye-fucking our little baker.”

“He is not eye-fucking me,” I grumble the words while knowing full well that they are lies. I turn toward Opal, “And why would I be worried in the first place or even care? They can do whatever they want,” the words might as well come out wrapped in fire and brimstone.

I’m aware I’m being a little ridiculous and am overreacting slightly. Maybe.

It’s not like I’m marching over there and pulling her out of the booth by her hair.

Oh, that’s tempting. Maybe I should do that.

Graycie must be able to read my mind because her hand wraps around where I’m making a fist on the table. “It’s a lot harder to haul someone out by their hair than it seems,” she informs me.

Surprised laughter bursts out of me. “I thought for sure you were going to tell me she’s not worth it or to not make a scene, but that’s what you go with?” I grin at her, momentarily forgetting about Playboy and Lola across the bar. “You always find a way to surprise me, Graycie.”

She shrugs and bats her eyelashes at me. “It gives you a good reason to keep me around.”

“Always,” I tell her honestly.

Bunz Out hadn’t been open long when she came to town. She was scared and lost, which I could sympathize with.

Opal sounds slightly concerned, “He’s about to lose his shit.”

When I look over, the fury on Playboy’s face is clear to see. He’s fuming and laying into Lola in a way that makes me wish I was close enough to hear.

“Fuck,” Opal grunts, “next time I’m telling Whiskey to reserve a table closer to the club’s table. I want to hear what he’s saying to her.”

“Me too,” Jessi chimes in. We turn to look at her slowly with matching looks of surprise on our faces. She just giggles and shrugs. “What? I like drama, I just don’t want to be the drama.”

Ezra and Jessi clink glasses just as another round is delivered to the table. Graycie giggles and we look over to find Snake waving like a fucking teenager and not the VP of the SOMC that he is.

“He is not waving like that,” Opal shields the side of her face and slumps down in her chair. “Why is my brother always so embarrassing?”

The scene is so ridiculous and funny that I can’t hold it together. I can feel eyes watching me while I drink most of my new drink and laugh with my friends.

I wasn’t looking for this when I moved to Dogwood Ridge. All I was hoping for was the possibility of a chance for Vanessa and Lola to build some sort of connection, but I found something I trust a whole lot more. Friendship.

“Who cares?” Riti teases her and chirps, “Free drinks.”

“Whiskey was never going to make us pay,” Opal says and my movement falters as I put my drink back down on the table.

I’m not sure why I didn’t think about that, but now that I have, it’s obvious. We were never going to pay for a drink tonight. Not with who is around the table.

That’s more than just friendship; it’s friendship with bonuses. Big ones.