Page 5 of Broken As Puck

I’d already noted which players I’d spoken to and which I hadn’t, so I knew who to be wary of.

Layla’s dark eyes bored into me as she tucked her feet beneath herself and flicked her silky black hair off her shoulder. “Was Matt there?”

I dipped my head. “He was.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “And was he on his best behavior?”

I sighed and dropped onto the cushion beside her. “He tried to apologize.”

Her nostrils flared. “The nerve.”

Despite my own concern about the situation, I chuckled. My relationship with Matt had ended nearly ten years ago, and while I was still hurt, a lot of time had passed since then. I’d changed—I wasn’t so insecure—and however much I might not want to admit it, I was sure he had grown as a person too. What hadn’t changed was the fact Layla wanted Matt’s head on a platter.

My best friend was bloodthirsty, and I loved her for it.

“I don’t think he’ll be a problem.” I glanced at her half-drunk coffee on the table and wondered whether there was more or if I’d have to make my own.

Layla jutted her chin out. “Let me know if you need any help keeping him in line.”

I got up and went to the kitchenette. There was a serving of coffee remaining in the carafe, and I poured it into a cup and added one of the hazelnut creamers I loved. “I think all I need to worry about, where he’s concerned, is making sure he doesn’t have the opportunity to pester me into talking about our past. He won’t sabotage me.”

He wasn’t the kind of jerk who would endanger someone’s livelihood out of pettiness.

Layla picked up her coffee and sipped it, her lips curving in a catlike smile. “So, what’s your plan to make him stay away?”

I cocked my head. “What do you mean? I’ll just treat him the same as everyone else and avoid being alone with him.”

She rolled her eyes. “That isn’t going to be enough. He’s already shown that he wants to talk to you, and in my experience, dumbasses do dumbass things.”

“He’s not a dumbass.” It would have made it easier if he were. Instead, Matt was intelligent, talented, and a little rough around the edges from growing up in a poor household where he’d had to work as soon as he was able to.

Matt Matthews wasn’t afraid of hard work. He was just afraid of being judged and found wanting. That was a large part of the reason we’d ended on bad terms. I’d been insecure, I could own that. My ex before Matt had constantly niggled away at me about my weight, in ways so subtle that it took me ages to realize I wasn’t being overly sensitive. That didn’t help matters.

But Matt? He’d been too much like my family, always concerned about image. Constantly weighing the social ramifications of every word out of his mouth, which meant he wasn’t there when I needed him to stand up for me because he was too busy protecting himself.

Layla pursed her lips. “Are you sure you don’t have lingering feelings for him?”

I snorted. “The only thing I feel is the desire to take him down a peg.”

After all, anything else would be foolish.

Layla nodded and accepted my reply, but I could tell she didn’t fully believe it. I didn’t blame her. It had taken me a long time to get over the number Matt did on my ego.

“Do you want to catch the three o’clock yoga class?” she asked, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Might be a good way to decompress.”

“Actually, yeah. That sounds great.”

I went to my bedroom and sorted through my clothes until I found a clean pair of yoga pants, a baby pink tank top, and one of my favorite sports bras. Being a curvy girl, it was important to make sure everything stayed where it was supposed to while I exercised, and that was easier said than done. The first time I’d gone to yoga, I hadn’t realized we’d be in inverted poses, and I’d nearly spilled out of my top.

I stripped out of my professional clothes and dressed for yoga, then slung a small towel over my shoulder to mop up any sweat. The gym Layla and I went to provided yoga mats, so I didn’t have to worry about taking my own.

When I returned to the living room, Layla had changed into a pair of booty shorts and a tight black shirt that made her pale brown skin look luminous. I grabbed my jacket from behind the door. It might not be a long walk, but it wasn’t exactly warm outside.

“Aren’t you taking a sweater?” I asked, knowing she would freeze as soon as we set foot out the front door. Like me, Layla was accustomed to milder weather. Since moving to Chicago, she’d stubbornly worn shorts and skirts as much as possible despite the fact it was a whole lot colder here. Maybe she thought if she was stubborn enough, the Chicago weather would improve.

“Yes, Mom.” She grabbed a cute pink sweater that was hanging over the sofa and pulled it on. “Happy?”

“Much better,” I teased, playing the part.