Page 106 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

37

DALTON

“I’m not in the mood.”

Pickle handed me a cold soda. “You’re in a shit mood.”

“Exactly.” I cracked open the soda and took a long drink, hoping the caffeine would help clear my head. It didn’t. Nothing was going to clear the image of Janna’s face when I told her I regretted everything. The hurt in her eyes, the way she’d gone completely still before the anger kicked in.

“So what happened?” Pickle asked, settling into the chair across from me. “And don’t tell me nothing. You look like someone ran over your dog. Or I suppose your cat would be more appropriate.”

“I don’t have a fucking cat.”

“Sure. So, now that you’ve got that out of the way, what the hell happened? You got Laser pissed at me.”

“I didn’t do shit to Laser.”

“It’s a girls versus boys thing. I’m a boy. And that somehow makes me the enemy. So, thanks for that. What the hell did you do?”

I stared at the can in my hands. I felt ridiculous with a little hindsight. I had completely overreacted but we had just talked about my boundaries. “She wanted to bring a toothbrush over.”

Pickle blinked. “A what now?”

“A toothbrush. She made some comment about bringing one so she could brush her teeth in the morning, and I lost my shit.”

“You lost your shit over a toothbrush?”

“It’s not about the toothbrush,” I snapped. “It’s about what it means. First it’s a toothbrush, then it’s clothes, then she’s moving in, then⁠—”

“Then what? You might actually be happy for five minutes?” Pickle shook his head. “Jesus, Dalton. You’re fucked up, even for you.”

I stood up and started pacing. “You don’t get it. I can’t do this shit. I can’t let someone get close.”

“That’s so stupid.”

I frowned at him. “No. Not considering what we do. I told her from the beginning I couldn’t do serious.”

“A toothbrush isn’t serious, jackass. It’s practical. The girl’s got morning breath, she wants to fix it. That’s called basic hygiene, not a marriage proposal.”

I stopped pacing and glared at him. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see the way she looked at me. Like we were playing house or something.”

“And that terrified you.”

“Damn right it did.”

“You know what your problem is?”

“People who won’t leave me alone?”

“You’re so busy protecting yourself from getting hurt that you’re guaranteeing you’ll end up alone. You’re creating exactly what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid of being alone. I prefer it.”

“Bullshit.” He stood up. “You’re scared shitless of caring about someone for real. But here’s the thing. You already care about her. You cared about her enough to beat the hell out of those guys the other day. You cared about her enough to tell her about Ozzy. You cared about her enough to let her sleep in your bed without trying to fuck her.”

I clenched my jaw. “So what? That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything, and you know it. You’re just too chickenshit to admit it.”