“Some reality show. He’s fucking obsessed with it. Something Shore. Horrible fucking accents and people acting like idiots.” He set down the pizza and flopped onto the couch. He flipped the lid back on the box and grabbed another slice.
I grabbed a slice and sat down next to him. “Uh, do you mean Jersey Shore?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Playboy grumbled.
I didn’t know if I had seen Jinx, but it was hard to believe any of the guys from the Royal Bastards would watch Jersey Shore. “Well, I don’t watch Jersey Shore, but I don’t know if you’ll like what I watch any better.”
Playboy glanced at me. “Anything is better than that shit.”
I took a bite of my pizza and grabbed the remote. “Well, I’m in the middle of watching Stranger Things.”
“Never heard of it.”
I sat back, shocked. “How have you not heard of Stranger Things? It’s one of the most popular shows on Netflix.”
“That an app or something like that?”
I blinked twice and tried to wrap my head around Playboy not knowing what Stranger Things was and calling Netflix an app or something. “Do you live under a rock?”
Playboy chuckled and shook his head. “No, pretty girl. I don’t live with my head in my phone or my eyes glued to the TV.”
I wasn’t one to be glued to my phone, but if I was home, the TV was always on. Even if it was for background noise. “So what do you do?”
Playboy threw his head back and laughed. “Ride my bike. Shit with the club. Ride my bike some more.”
I tipped my head to the side. “And you never watch TV?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t say never, but I’m not addicted to any damn show. Only thing I’m addicted to is the wind at my back and my ass on my Harley.”
“You were staring at your phone when I walked into the kitchen.”
Playboy pulled out his phone. “I was trying to figure out how to open my fucking voicemail. I’ve got like fifty million voicemails, and I can’t figure out how to listen to them. Figured with you changing, I had some time to figure it out.”
I grabbed Playboy’s phone and was shocked how old it was. “What is this?” I laughed. It was an old iPhone 5 that had a cracked screen. “You know you can upgrade this, right?”
It’s not like I was a slave to technology, but I liked to keep my phone up to date with the latest model. Playboy was about seven years behind on upgrading his phone.
“All I need is for the thing to call and text.”
I hit the home button and swiped up. He didn’t even have a passcode to unlock it. “You have ninety-nine voicemails.”
“That's it?” Playboy asked. “Thought it was a hell of a lot more than that.”
“It can only hold that many. I’m sure people have tried to leave more messages, but your voicemail is full.” I clicked on the voicemail icon. “I’m assuming you don’t know what your password is.”
He shook his head. “Negative.”
“What’s the last four of your phone number?” I asked.
“Uh, seven, four, two, one?” He didn’t sound too sure about that.
I typed in the numbers and turned the phone to him. It had worked. “You really want to listen to all of these?”
“You got it?” Playboy, astonished. “I’ve been trying to do that shit for years. The fucking little envelope picture drove me crazy.”
I rolled my eyes. “The last four of your phone number is usually the password they give you and you’re supposed to change it.” Obviously that didn’t happen because Playboy couldn’t even get into his voicemail. “You want me to change it for you?”
Playboy shook his head. “Nah. I think I can remember what it is now, and you can delete all of those messages.”
“You’re sure?” I scrolled through the dates on the messages. The most recent one was from twenty fourteen. It was twenty twenty. Yeah, I was pretty sure whatever the message was didn’t matter anymore.
“Delete ‘em all,” Playboy grunted. “Then turn the fucking voicemail shit off.”
I rolled my eyes and did a mass delete of all of his messages. “It’s kind of surprising to find someone nowadays who isn’t into their phone.” I finished up deleting his messages and handed it back to him.
Playboy tossed it on the coffee table. “I’d rather leave the fucking thing at the club, but I need it on me if Barracuda needs me. He and the guys at the club are basically the only ones who have my number.”
That was why he hadn’t given me his number. He didn’t hand it out. I started the next episode of Stranger Things and settled into the couch. “Such a basic life,” I remarked.
“My life is far from basic, pretty girl.” He kicked up his feet on the coffee table.
There was the “pretty girl” again. “Do you know my name?”
He turned his head to look at me. “That a serious question?”
I shrugged. “Just wondering. You don’t really call me it.”
“It’s Raelyn, pretty girl.”
Even when he said my name, he still called me “pretty girl.” “You call all of the girls that?” The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“Only the ones I like.”
I gasped and snapped my mouth shut. Say what? He could still call all of the girls that because he liked all of the girls, but it also meant that he liked me. Right? Why did it feel like I was catapulted back to high school and I was trying to figure out if my crush liked me or not?
Except Playboy wasn’t a crush.
A man like Playboy wasn’t some crush. He was a whole hell of a lot bigger than that.
“Now are you gonna shut up, relax, and watch whatever shit this is?”
The opening credits rolled on the screen, and I nodded. Maybe keeping my mouth shut for an hour would be a good thing. I seemed to be doing a whole hell of a lot more talking than I usually did.
I finished my slice of pizza and grabbed another.
Playboy drained his beer and nodded to my glass that was still full. “Better catch up, pretty girl.” He walked back into the kitchen.
I heard him open the fridge. “I didn’t know we were having a competition.” I grabbed my glass and took a sip.
Playboy walked back into the living room and plopped back down, but this time, he was closer to me. He clicked his beer to my glass. “Bottoms up.”
“Is that a toast?” I laughed.
He took a long pull from his beer. “Just a suggestion.”
I rolled my eyes and took another sip. “I’m not much of a chugger.”
“Figured you weren’t.”
I wanted to be offended, but I couldn’t be. I really wasn’t a chugger. “Can we watch the show now?”
He motioned to the TV. “Watch away, pretty girl. Pretend I’m not even here.”
That was damn near impossible. Even if he didn’t talk, I could just feel his presence. Not to mention that he was sitting so close to me that I could now smell his scent. I wasn’t sure if it was an actual cologne he wore or if it was just the yummy, manly scent he had. Keep your mouth shut and do not ask him, Raelyn.