Page 68 of Property of Player

“How’s my girl?” he asks.

“Fine. How are you?”

“Good. We’ll be in Cali tomorrow. It’s been a long fucking trip, but fun. Blew a tire yesterday. That was a bitch—changing it in the fucking desert of Nevada. We’re all pretty beat. The heat’s been unbearable. Can’t wait to see the damn ocean, I’ll tell you that.” He chuckles, then sobers. “How’s your mom doing?”

“Better now. She had a fall and ended up in the hospital, but now Kayla has her at her house so she can take care of her.”

“So, you’re all alone?”

“Yep.” The lie comes so easily, and guilt flares under my skin.

“Well, enjoy the alone time. When I get back, I’m taking all your time. I may lock us in a room together for three days and fuck your brains out.”

“How romantic,” I tease.

He laughs. “You think I’m joking?”

I smile. “I hope not.”

“All right, angel. I’ll let you get some sleep. Flash me those pretty tits before I go.”

I do, and he whistles. “Damn, girl. You are fucking hot. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I love you, babe.”

It’s the first time he’s said it, and my heart catches in my throat. I swallow and repeat them back. “I love you, too, Player.”

“That’s good to hear. Sweet dreams, angel.”

And then he’s gone, and I’m alone.

He loves me. He loves me.

A calm settles over me.

Somehow, everything will work out. Somehow my life will turn around. It has to, because Player loves me.

I lay awake in bed a long time, but Randall never returns. Perhaps he’s already left town. Perhaps he’s up at the Crystal Palace getting drunk with a stripper on his lap. Perhaps he got arrested for a DUI. Perhaps I don’t give a damn.

I should be so lucky.

When the shot starts to wear off, my burn throbs, and I take a pain pill.

Yawning, I lay my head on the pillow and drift to sleep, dreaming of being held tight in Player’s arms.

Chapter twenty

Taylor

The next morning, I’ve got a text, but it’s not from Player.

RANDALL: Caught a load to San Francisco. Pays good money. You better be there when I get back.

I know enough about his business to know that a round trip from the East Coast to the West Coast and back takes a solo long-haul trucker about ten to fourteen days on average.

He can only legally drive so many hours each day, and for whatever reason, Randall has always been a stickler for keeping his driving logs clean. I pull up maps and check the distance there and back. It’s almost three thousand miles each way. Driving straight across the country would take him about four to five days of solid driving as a solo driver. Plus, a huge part of the total time depends on wait times to find a return load. Waiting for a new cargo assignment on the West Coast can add days or even weeks, if I’m lucky.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

At least it’s bought me more time to figure a way out of this mess.