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Isaac was unperturbed. “Cute, Sinclair—traded in your American fangirl for an English bulldog?” He brushed a flippant hand in Harry’s direction. “Easy, pup. All in good fun. Don’t get your shorts in a knot. See you all in Bermuda, eh?” Touching his brow in a mock salute, he walked away.
“God, I can’t stand that bastard.” Harry dropped back into his seat.
“Oh, cut him some slack,” said Georgina, who’d been silent through the exchange. “It’s not like he can go sit with his wife.” She winked at Dillon. “She’s probably still on the course.”
Dillon would have laughed, but already she could feel Kyle’s skeptical stare drilling into her, his attention long drifted from the meddling Canadian.
“Hold up a minute—American fangirl?”
Fucking Isaac Fortin. Of all the people she had to run into in Key West…
Dillon crushed the plastic bottle and screwed the cap back on. “No clue.”
“Lies.” Kyle drummed his fingers against his knee. “You’re seeing someone—”
“I called it, didn’t I?!” Jubilant, and returned to his boyish self, Harry pounded a fist on the table. “I told you both—she’s been too bloody pleasant this whole trip. Texting. Smiling at her phone when she thinks no one’s looking.”
Georgina rolled her eyes. “Thank God someone on Tinder finally swiped right.”
“Back to theAmericanpart.” Kyle narrowed his eyes. “What was he talking about?”
For the last week they’d been in Sydney, Dillon knew he’d grown suspicious. Perking up at her phone calls. Trying to glance over her shoulder while she texted. Typical Kyle, unable to mind his own business.
“I ran into him in Key West while I was at dinner with a friend.” She knew he’d never let her off that easy, but had to try.
“Who?”
“You’re not her bloody keeper, Kyle, Jesus.” Georgina rolled her eyes. “Tell him to piss off, Sinc.”
“It’s that girl from Hawaii, isn’t it?” He barked a laugh. “You’re unbelievable! Sam said you hooked up with her after——”
“—fucking Sam!” Of course she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
“Wait—the girl who hit you on your bike?” Now even Georgina wasn’t on her side. “You ran into her in Florida?”
“She happened to be there on business. We got dinner. End of story.”
“Bollocks.” Kyle crossed his arms. “Let’s hear the rest of it.”
“There’s nothing else to tell.” And there wasn’t, really. They’d had dinner. Well,twodinners. Two breakfasts. Lunches. Sunsets. Sunrises. Forty-eight of the best hours she could remember. They’d hardly shared a kiss between them, but it didn’t even matter. By the time Kam left for Los Angeles, Dillon was wholly besotted.
“She’s bloody why you’re going to California, isn’t she?” Kyle nearly tipped over his beer in his epiphany. “I couldn’t understand it—traveling over Christmas—when you’re always so dead set on being home with Seren and your mum in Wales! But it’sher, isn’t it?”
“Kyle, simmer.” Georgina swatted him, aware his outburst had brought the attention of other tables. “Sinc’s a big girl—she can do as she pleases.”
He ignored her. “You’re the only human on the planet who could get hit by a car and end up on a date with the driver. I don’t even get it.”
“Photo, mate.” Harry knocked his knuckles on the table. “Let’s see the girl. Judge if she’s worth it.”
“I don’t have one.” It was a lie. Dillon had several. One from the aquarium. One the following morning after her swim, when Kam surprised her by wading out to join her in her street clothes. And one on the sidewalk outside the airport, where Kam had snagged her phone, pressed her cheek to Dillon’s, and taken a selfie.
“Something to remember you by when you’re famous one day?” Dillon had teased, secretly chuffed to have the picture.
Kameryn had shaken her head. “A souvenir in the hopes you won’t forget me.”
Impossible.
And a week later, Dillon had booked a charity race in Santa Monica over the Christmas holiday.
