The Playboy's Crush By Deborah A. Olaleye

ONE

   Shane had never been more embarrassed than he had been the previous week. He had been shunned by a lady—an extremely beautiful lady—who didn't even think twice about drowning in his good looks.

Derrari hadn't helped matters either. He had laughed to his fill when he heard of what had happened, but that wasn't what really bothered him.

He couldn't get his mind off Lara. His mind kept replaying what she had said, much to his annoyance.

You have ruined me. And thanks a lot, okay? Because now I have to lose it all.

What could she mean by that?

Was she trying to imply that she could have all she wanted with that ugly dwarf of a man?

It was incredible. Preposterous.

There had to be more to it.

He recalled what George said about a deal being over.

That attested to the fact that whatever was going on between the two wasn't based on attraction but more on intimidation, of which Lara was undoubtedly the victim.

Why did he even care?

He had no idea who she was.

Brushing aside his thoughts about her, he settled back on his work but was unable to focus as his mind kept visualizing Lara's tearful face at George's words and what she had said about her life being ruined over that.

Frustrated, he shot up from his desk and walked to the window.

He needed to stop thinking about her.

He looked out the window, taking in the activity of the busy road outside—the swift movement of cars, people perambulating here and there, the gentle breeze of the wind caressing his face—yet his mind flickered to Lara.

Heaving out a sigh, he made his way back to his seat.

He needed to gain control of his mind again and forget about her, and there was only one way that could be possible.

Picking up his cellphone, he dialed Derrari's number while shutting down his laptop. "Are you up for a drink?"

"No problem," Derrari replied.

A few hours later, he was in 'The Broken Shaker' with his buddy, swigging cups of beer.

"Man, I can't believe you haven't gotten over the lady yet. I'm really disappointed, though. I already made a bet that you would have gotten over your obsession with her and gone back to shagging bitches by now," Derrari said.

"You can't understand." Shane took a drink from his cup.

"Yes, I can't," Derrari agreed, his voice laced with sarcasm, "as I've not been bewitched as you have been. There are hundreds of ladies out there, all ready to be at your service."

"Made-up beauties," Shane corrected. He leaned back with a sigh. "There's just that thing about her."

"She's exceptionally beautiful; you can't set your mind straight, blah-blah." Derrari rolled his eyes. He had heard those words without counting over the previous week. "Although, truth be told, she is ethereally beautiful," he admitted. "I can't believe a man like that," he chuckled, "is her fiance." He laughed, recalling Shane's description of the man. "Man, you're good." He could picture the man in his head in the explicit way he had been described by Shane.

Shane looked pensively, ignoring Derrari's jest. "She needs help," he thought aloud. "She needs to be helped."

"Alright. Prince Charming to the rescue! Am I here to be bored with your silly talks about your infatuation with a stranger, or to have fun?"