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But Dylan suddenly hangs back when the elevator arrives. “Go ahead,” he says to the others. “I need a private moment with my girl.” He turns to me, his eyelids heavy. He manages a quirk of a smile and nuzzles my neck. He brushes his lips against me as if he’s talking dirty. “Buy me time,” he whispers and nips at my ear.
The scruff of his beard scrapes against my sensitive skin and the pulsing between my legs returns. Adrenaline. Hormones. This man. God knows what perks me up. Who needs caffeine? Who needs sleep? I suspect I’d wake up happy every morning if I took a daily dose of Dylan McAlister.
I pull it together, sigh, and giggle as if on cue. “Dylan. You’re naughty. Stop,” I say loud enough for the people crowding on the elevator to overhear.
“Perfect,” he whispers, and kisses the length of my neck. My skin pebbles, my nipples grow hard.
“Get a room, McAlister,” a guy says.
“Happy to loan you the spare key to my place,” the heiress says. I clench my fist around my purse and I’m half tempted to punch her.
“Yeah, yeah.” Dylan waves them off. The moment after the elevator door closes, he slumps against the wall and runs a hand through his thick hair. “Maybe we should take the stairs. I’m not sure I’m able to keep a straight face with these people.”
“The game’s over. You don’t need to worry about them anymore tonight. Besides the lobby’s twenty-five floors down and I’m the walking dead.” I punch the button for the elevator. “Do you want to talk about it? Tell me what’s going on?”
“What’s not going on,” he says, and checks his phone. “I’m off grid for twenty-four and all hell breaks loose.”
“Like?”
But Dylan’s eyes rip from his phone and train on the Fast Food King who won tonight’s pot. “You were on fire, Glenn.”
“I know,” Glenn says, his chin thrusting proudly forward, his tongue snaking between his lips. He devours me with the look of someone who is flush with victory and desires his spoils.
Ew. I edge closer to Dylan.
The elevator arrives and we step inside. “You coming?” Dylan asks, holding the door.
“Nah,” Glenn says and waves dismissively. “Grabbed a room down the hall. See you soon, McAlister. Be sure and bring the new girl with you.” His eyes linger pointedly on my breasts, and slide like oil down my waist to my ass. He adjusts himself with one hand and my skin crawls as the gate slides shut.
In the elevator, Dylan leans back against a wall and berates himself. “I should have folded that hand earlier. I know this shit.”
“I think you did great.” I lean in to him, brushing a thick lock of hair off his forehead.
“I’m used to doing better,” he says. “I’m used to doing a lot better. Truth is, Evie, I’m losing my game.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.”
“If I’m not hard on myself, I won’t be around this business for much longer,” he says, weariness rolling off him in waves that could drown a girl.
He’s wiped. Beaten. It makes my heart hurt. I take his hand in mine and squeeze it but I’m not sure he even feels me. He stares off into space inside that pristine cage, replaying the game in his head, worry slicing lines across his handsome face.
“There was a moment when Glenn hesitated,” he says. “I should have known he was bluffing. But he’d been playing fast and I didn’t follow my instincts.”
“We all make mistakes.”
“Not these kinds. These were stupid.” The elevator opens and we exit. I link my arm around Dylan’s as we walk through the lobby. My feet hurt. I’m hungry. I’m craving a hard mattress and cool sheets. I haven’t stayed up for twenty-four hours since I crammed for a final my junior year of college.
But then I remind myself that I prayed to God to help me do a good job tonight. I’m not about to let that go because all the adrenaline’s worn off and I didn’t get the outcome I prayed for. Sometimes unanswered prayers can be blessings in disguise.
We make our way through the lobby. There’s a fresh crew of guests and workers and the attention directed at me isn’t so appreciative this time. Curious looks circle thick around us like garbage running down the disposal. Judgment slops over me like a pail of dirty mop water. A well-dressed older woman hits me with one of those glares that lasts only a few seconds but carries a thousand words, none of them good. I avert my gaze just in time to catch the eye fuck from her husband. Ugh.
Sadly, no, I didn’t spend the last twenty-four hours in bed with Dylan. I just look as though I did. But even if I had, who died and made these people Law & Order: Special Morals Unit? Their attitude irritates me, lights a fire under my ass, and I up my game. I raise my eyes, meet theirs defiantly, and throw some sass in my step.
Outwardly, Dylan’s calm. Inwardly, he’s a walking disaster, still lost in thought. We exit through the hotel’s revolving doors. I can practically hear the clock tick-tocking down on our date but I desperately don’t want our time to end. “Buy you a drink?” I ask. We pause curbside, a dozen or so yards away from the front door waiting on a ride.
Circles under his eyes, he’s still so handsome, a few strands of silver in his temples, his white shirt rumpled with sweat and nearly twenty-four hours of playing a game of mental ‘Chicken.’
“You’re a sweetheart, Evelyn.”
