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“Forget it. You think I don't know how to have fun, that I'm staid and boring.”
“That's not what I—”
“But you know what, Dylan?” I ask, whirling around to face him. “I do want to have fun. And I'm going to have some.”
Turning around was a mistake. In the now overcrowded pub, we are standing too close together. Close enough for me to feel his breath fan across my face, and as I look up into his sky-blue eyes, my stomach decides to go for the gold medal in somersaulting. I can't remember the last time I shared personal space with Dylan, but I'll make sure to avoid it at all costs from now on.
I'm about to take a step back when someone pushes past me, propelling me forward. My forearms land on Dylan's chest at the same time as his hands go to my waist to hold me steady. My heartrate soars as I stare into his eyes. Then his gaze drops down to my lips and I'm pretty sure my heart stops altogether.
Is it possible I've imagined every teasing thing he's said to me over the years? Because instead of pushing me away or making ajoke, like I would expect him to, he looks like he's getting ready to kiss me. He leans in, his gaze still riveted by my lips. And instead of feeling repulsed by the idea, I'm suddenly ravenous for the feel of his mouth on mine. His fingers curl into my hips as if he wants –needs– to bring me closer to him. The flare of heat in his eyes is enough to make my panties melt and my breathing become shallow. I close my eyes in sweet anticipation, only to stumble backwards when he abruptly lets me go.
Even though I don't physically lose my balance, it's like my whole world has just shifted and I can't seem to get my bearings. I stare at Dylan, hoping he'll say something to help me make sense of what just happened.
“Fun is overrated,” Dylan says flatly.
“What?”
“You don't need to worry about what your friends say, Claire.”
I almost laugh. Coming from Dylan, the sentiment is absurd. He is, hands down, the most reckless daredevil I know – a real thrill seeker. He regularly goes skydiving and bungee jumping and rock climbing – all in the name of fun. He rides his motorbike too hard and too fast. If fun is so overrated, why does he do all those things?
“Actually, I do need to worry about what my friends think. They care about me, and they want what's best for me. And tonight, they brought it to my attention that I haven't really had a good time and enjoyed myself for a while. So I'm going to take a timeout from chasing my goals and mix up my priorities, if that's okay with you.”
I don't really care whether he's okay with it or not. For one stupid moment, I actually thought he was as affected by our close proximity as I was. Then reality came crashing down. He rejected me years ago, plain and simple. And just now I prettymuch did the equivalent of offering myself up to him on a platter, and he passed on my offer all over again.
I hate him. And I hate myself for allowing that moment between us – for forgetting his first rejection. Is it possible to be completely sensible, staid, boring, and stupid?
I reach the bar just as Sam finishes serving someone.
“Hey, Claire. What can I get you?” he asks.
It's not quite the greeting I hoped for. One of his flirtatious smiles would have been much more... reassuring.
Can I really do this? Can I ask out this guy who probably gives his number out to hundreds of women every week? It is either that or turn around and confront Dylan again. In other words, the answer is simple. Hopefully, Sam likes his women blunt.
“How about a date?”
“Ah...”
His gaze is fixed behind me, probably on the blue-eyed devil in my wake.
“I'm real sorry, Claire,” Sam says, never taking his eyes off the man behind me. “But I don't think that's such a good idea. Austin's a mate of mine and we all kind of have this, don't-date-my-sister rule.”
I'm so mad it's a wonder steam isn't pouring out of my ears. “Is that so?” I ask softly.
“Yeah.” He scratches his head and looks around awkwardly. “I didn't realize who you were until Dylan told me. So...you should probably go ahead and tear my number up.”
“I'll be sure to do that.”
I turn around and once again find myself standing too close to Dylan. This time, though, I'm not going to think about kissing him. This time, the only thing I want to do is hit him.
“You are a giant jerk, Dylan James. I hate you.”
“I know,” he replies flatly. “But you'll thank me later when Sam still has his teeth. Austin wouldn't approve. I tried to tell you that.”
He shrugs as if I should have seen it playing out this way from the start.
Now I really, really, want to hit him. “You did tell me. I guess I didn't think Sam would actually be as much of a pussy as you implied he would be.”
