Love Game

“Stay,” I said. I grabbed a blanket from off the back of the couch. “I mean, you may as well. It’ll still be dark over there, even with the candles.”

Daisy nodded. “True.”

“Here.” I shook out the blanket and she stretched out on the couch. I laid it over her and gave Keanu a pat on the head. “Right. So. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Kai,” she said sleepily. “Thank you. Talking about the break-in with you? It helped.”

I nodded, suddenly not sure what to say or what to do with my hands. I jammed them in my pockets. “Great.”

Back in my bedroom, I shut the door and muttered a curse. Where had my game gone? No woman left me tongue-tied. No woman made me want to feel…anything.

“Because my dick wants to remain in close proximity to a sexy-as-fuck woman. End of story.”

But the words were empty. Meaningless. I cared about Daisy Watson when I had refused to care about anyone since Dad’s death had carved a hole in my heart. This was only going to end badly. Better for Daisy’s sake to nip it in the bud before it was too late.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Jason’s number.

“It’s three a.m. where I am,” my agent said. “If that means anything to you at all.”

“She’s a receptionist,” I blurted.

A silence. Then…

“Yeah? So?”

“So? She’s not qualified to fix me, Jason.”

He sighed and then yawned. “She told you.”

“Yes.”

“That was very honest of her.”

“She feels bad for all the money you’re paying her. My money.”

“Does it really matter?” Jason asked. “Honestly? You piss more than twenty grand away throwing chairs at ball boys.”

I paced my room, ran my hand through my hair. “It’s a waste of time. That’s all.”

“Why are you telling me this now? At three in the morning. Did something happen?”

“No. Yes. There’s a storm. A power outage in the guesthouse. She came over. We talked.”

I nearly told Jason about Daisy’s horrifying night of the break-in, but it was too personal.

I’m an arsehole but not that much of an arsehole.

“You talked,” Jason said. “And?”

“And she told me the truth about being a trainee. She felt bad about it and—”

“Did you fire her?” he asked, sounding wide awake now.

“No, I didn’t fire her. I…”

I sighed, bit off another curse. And in that moment, I realized I had no one to talk to. No father to confide in. No mates that would take anything seriously or advise me something more than “bang her brains out.” I’d kicked out of my life the people who mattered. Or never let them in in the first place.

That must’ve been why I pathetically blurted to my agent and only friend, “I like her.”