Page 11 of Played
"Three guys, masks, guns. The whole thing."
"Oh my God." He pulls me into his arms, crushing me against his chest. His grip is fierce, almost painful. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"
"I'm fine. Just shaken up."
"Jesus, Liza." His hands move to my face, tilting it up so he can study me. "You're sure you're not hurt?"
"I'm sure."
He exhales hard, then releases me. His jaw tightens. "We need to call the bank. Cancel everything," he mutters. "Who knows...Joe Schmo with your card right now."
"The police already—"
"No, I mean to your bank. We need to cancel your cards before someone racks up charges. And did you file a police report? Of course you did. Did they say when you'd get your stuff back? Probably never, right? God, what if those guys come after you?"
"Daniel, they're not going to—"
"Dinner's cold." He runs a hand through his hair, looking frazzled. "I made chicken parmesan. I can heat it up."
Guilt twists in my stomach. He's clearly been worried sick, and here I was sitting in another man's car, wishing the night didn't have to end.
"I’m not really hungry," I admit, unwilling to acknowledge the guilt that presses down on me. "But thanks. For making it."
His face falls slightly, but he nods, resigning himself to the change of plans. I feel a stab of something close to remorse, understanding the depth of Daniel’s devotion—maybe a little too deep.
When I first met him, I craved that intensity, saw it as flattering, intoxicating. But now...now it feels like I’m slowly drowning beneath its weight, sucked under by suffocating love.
He pulls me close again, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
I let him hold me, but something feels off.
Suffocating.
CHAPTER FIVE
The pool hall is dead. Two guys shoot eight-ball at the far table, their low voices and the crack of pool balls the only sounds breaking the silence. I wipe down the bar for the third time, restless.
Jenna saunters in, her hair up in its usual messy bun, and hops onto a barstool. She’s my bestie, been my confidante through thick and thin, one of the few who knows the real me.
She slides onto a stool, her messy bun tipping to one side. "You look like hell."
"Thanks. You always know what to say."
She grins. "Seriously though, you okay? Word on the street is you had one hell of a day yesterday.” She tilts her head, concern lacing her words.
“Yeah, you could say that.” I lean forward, elbows on the bar, and the floodgates open. The robbery, the yelling, the fear—it all comes spilling out.
"There was this guy, though." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Julian. He was so calm, so sweet. Tall, dark eyes, beautiful smile. He kept this little girl from losing it completely,handed her gummy bears like we were at a birthday party instead of a hostage situation."
Jenna's eyebrows lift. "Okay..."
"He held my hand when they made us move. Drove me home after." I pause, biting my lip. "I haven't stopped thinking about him."
“Julian, huh?” Jenna raises an eyebrow. “Tall, dark, handsome stranger to the rescue? That's a normal reaction, I think,” she says gently. "Trauma does weird things. You went through something intense together. Your brain's just processing it."
“Something like that.”
“You’re not a superhero kind of gal, but I guess we all need a hero once in a while,” Jenna smirks, drawing circles on the bar with her fingers.
