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“Don’t care, old man.”
“I’d like to get you something to go with the necklace.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I want to.”
An hour later I stare at all the brilliant baubles in the jewelry cases, the diamond horseshoe pendant he gave me resting comfortably on my breastbone.
“Do you have any earrings that go with her necklace?” Dylan asks the clerk.
“Happy to show her options,” he says, unlocking a drawer, pulling out small black velvet boxes and placing them on the glass countertop. “The round cut two carat studs would go perfectly with your necklace. Try them on.”
I remove my earrings and put in the studs. “They’re gorgeous. Dylan. What do you think?”
He’s wandered a few yards away. He’s staring into a different case. He’s looking at engagement rings. For a second I forget how to breathe and I tug on a lock of my hair, winding it around my fingers. “Dylan, what do you think?”
He walks toward me, a funny look on his face. “About? Oh, the earrings. They look great. Do you like them?”
“I love them.”
He kisses me sweetly. “Sold. Ring them up, please.”
Two days spin by in a flash. It’s laughter and sex. Glamour and sex. Affection and sex. We’re back in our ‘old married couple’s routine, finishing each other’s sentences, egging each other on.
We lie next to each other on a king-sized bed in his suite at the WW Vegas boutique hotel and casino. Electric candlelight flickers from sconces across the thin green and gold pinstriped walls cocooning our suite. There’s a view of the Strip in one direction and the brilliantly lit aquamarine pool in the other. Vegas is the epitome of glitz but this place is elegant. And yet a part of me misses that that kitschy little motel in Sugar Grove.
I trace Dylan’s freckles with my finger, drawing constellations on his high cheekbones. I know we’re only got this weekend. The time to let him go draws closer but I’m going to hold tight to him for as long as I can.
I’ve never really experienced anyone like him. Because of Dylan I learned my biggest weakness could also be my strongest strength. My empathic reactions — my most tragic wound — is transformed into my super power. My life would be perfect if I could have Dylan in it every day go to bed with him every night and wake up every morning spooned up against him.
Will I meet another man I’m attracted to as much as Dylan? Who knows? What I do know is that it’s finally okay for me to be empathic. No more pushing it away, no more keeping it under wraps. It’s mine to own. Using my empathic ability with clients is already a big messy stew of passion and sex and sadness.
But if I can help heal these broken men, help them get their power back, I’m cool with that. I’m signing up for a wild ride, but I joined this ruthless rodeo when I was born into my crazy family.
“We never actually talked about why you left me swinging in Dallas,” Dylan says, playing with my hair.
“Yeah, about that,” I say, unsure if I should share the details.
“Patrick told me he scared you off.”
“He did?” Did Patrick also tell him what went down with creepy Glenn?
“He said he gave you some kind of ‘Come to Jesus’ lecture about you not being the right girl for me.”
I nod. “I’m sorry I left the way I did. Everything got overwhelming really quickly.”
“You had to go, Evie. Ripping off the bandage was probably best for both of us. How else were you going to take care of your mom? Hey, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
“What?” I say and tickle that spot under his ribs, the one that always earns a smile. I take a mental picture of the creases around his eyes, he way his long, brown lashes brush against his high cheekbones. I burn his laugh into my memory forever and ever, fucking-amen. I tuck that laugh inside my heart, in a file that reads ‘I Will Never Forget’ because I will never forget Dylan McAlister’s laugh. He’s water on a stifling hot summer day. He’s love on a cold, hard, mean winter day.
He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “It’s going to sound weird.”
Dylan McAlister’s the man who marked me with a diamond necklace. The first man to make love to me in years. The first man to make me come. He’s the real deal. I’ll give this man my soul. I’ll ink his name on my skin. He’s already burned in my heart forever. “Tell me what you want.”
“Your hair,” he says. “I want to cut your hair.”
***
