Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
“Is it about that boy? The pretty one?” she asks.
“Boy? Really?” Dylan is no boy.
“They’re all boys,” she says dryly.
“Let me ask you something. Do you believe that you can meet someone and just know?”
“Are you talking about love at first sight?” I nod. I suppose I am.
“I believe in souls and energy. That you should trust what you feel, but those pretty boys can be smooth operators, so you have to be careful.”
“He’s not pretty. He’s handsome and a bit gruff.” I don’t know how else to explain him. Dylan is in a category all his own. I think that’s the problem. I’ve dealt with a wide variety of men and boys working at the bar over the years. I know their games and smooth-talking ways. Dylan slipped right past all the defenses I’ve built.
I thought with a few days apart, some of the lust would fade, but the longer he’s gone I somehow get pulled deeper. Into what, I’m not sure, but it’s scaring the hell out of me. How can I miss someone so much I barely know?
“You’re really into this kid.” Oliver pulls the onion rings back out of the fryer, dropping them into the bin. I know I might as well tell her the truth because she can read me like no one else.
“He wanted to buy me a plane ticket to come see him. That means something right? James thinks it was for a booty call.”
“I saw him. I don’t think he needs to fly a girl out to get laid. He wanted to fly you out. So yeah, I think it means something.” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. We don’t have a label on whatever it is we are, but I’d hope he isn’t doing random booty calls. From the way he speaks and what he’s told me so far, that's not him.
“Pretty boy’s back,” James says, pushing into the kitchen, the door closing behind him.
“Really?” My heart gives a flutter. He kept his word and came back. That has to mean something.
“Asking for you. He looks like shit.” Did something happen to him? Is that why he hasn’t texted me? It doesn’t matter. He’s here, so he can’t be that bad.
“You just called him pretty.”
“Worn out. He looks worn out,” James explains.
“Okay.” I run my fingers through my hair. I’m suddenly nervous for some reason.
“You look fine, honey,” Oliver reassures me.
“Thanks,” I tell her before I head out of the kitchen into the bar. It takes everything inside of me to play it cool. I’m mad at him. Right? To be honest, I don’t know what I am anymore. This man has my emotions all over the place.
Dylan’s eyes are on me the second I step out of the kitchen. My breath hitches. I told myself I’d made him out to be more handsome in my head than he really was. But that’s not the case at all. The man is fine. His whole face lights up with a smile. He heads straight for me.
“I’m sorry. I know you might be mad at me, but I need you. Just a taste.” I don’t get a chance to respond before his mouth drops to mine. I melt into him instantly, kissing him back.
Damn I missed him. I knew I did, but seeing him here now has only confirmed it. When his mouth is on mine, I’m weak. He has me in the palm of his hand.
A few catcalls ring out in the bar. Dylan lifts his mouth from mine.
“Ignore them.”
“Already was.” He smiles down at me.
“Dylan—” I lick my lips.
“I know you’re upset with me.”
“I just—I don’t know.” I take a breath. “Don’t break my heart. Please. If this can’t happen between us, I need you to walk away. I’m not strong enough to take another heartbreak right now.” Dylan cups my cheek with his hand.
“The last thing I’d ever want to do is break your heart, Irish. I’m trying to make you fall in love with me so that you can’t leave me.”
I’m pretty sure I’m already there, but I don’t tell him that. I grab the front of his shirt and pull him down for another kiss.
CHAPTER 15
DYLAN
I manage to stay awake and help close down the bar. My efforts are repaid with smiles from Irish and fewer frowns from James. Manual labor appears to be the key to both their hearts.
“You look tired,” Irish says as we climb the stairs to her apartment.
“Not too tired for you.” I’d have to be dead not to be hard around her. Even though my energy bar is seriously depleted, the sight of her ass is keeping me upright—in many ways.
“Maybe we should just sleep. I’ve had a long night, too.” She sticks her key in the new lock I installed last week.