“We’ll take it from here,” he says. “Go sit down. You deserve a break. Pick out a dinner entrée, and I’ll get it for you.”
“I don’t think Pedro will be willing to make another dinner,” I say nervously. “You know that stereotype where the cook has a terrible temper? Well, he actually does.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Dylan says. “And get Lilla to sit down, too.”
Dylan introduces me to Marcus and Colton.
Marcus is cute with a shaved head and brown eyes, and Colton’s as attractive as I remember. He and Dylan are opposites—Colton’s blond hair and blue eyes contrast with Dylan’s dark features. Colton’s gaze stays steadily on us as Dylan’s arm goes around me.
Colton extends his hand to me. “It’s nice to see you again, Jasalie. I remember you from the Super Bowl after party.”
I shake his hand. “I’m sorry I was such a terrible server. Then and now.”
He chuckles, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement as he brushes his overgrown blond hair out of his eyes. “I don’t think my cousin thinks you’re terrible at anything, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”
I flush with heat and shoot a glance at Dylan, who winks and turns me toward the exit. “Go find Lilla and relax. I’ll see you soon.”
“Did you get enough to eat?” Dylan asks me as we sit together later that night, the event basically finished for the evening.
I nod and smile at him.
A couple of cameramen were allowed into the event for the final half hour, and Dylan and I posed for a few pictures. All were planned and perfectly executed, and he said they’ll be on some sports site tomorrow. Dylan made sure I was comfortable with the set-up, and he cut the cameras off as soon as he could.
The truth is, I didn’t mind standing there next to Dylan with his arm around me. It almost felt real like we were actually a couple, and the happy feeling inside my chest scared the hell out of me.
I’ve had dinner, dessert, and I’m on my second vodka and cranberry. I’m a little too relaxed, a little too unguarded for my own good, but I’m not caring much at the moment. I stare into Dylan’s eyes and lean closer to him until we’re only inches away from each other.
“You look beautiful,” he says to me.
“So do you.”
My gaze moves to his mouth, to those lips Lilla called kissable. I picture those lips all over my body, and I squirm in my seat. My dress feels too heavy on my breasts, and I have the urge to rip the fabric off.
Jesus. I swallow and look into Dylan’s dark eyes again. His are searching mine.
“What do you think?” he asks me.
“I think you scare me,” I say honestly.
“How come?”
He’s so close I can feel his warm peppermint breath on my skin.
Before I have to answer him, Marcus White saves me.
“Hey, you guys want to double-date?” he says as he and Lilla walk up to our table.
Dylan shakes his head no, but I take the out. Lilla’s always a good distraction.
“Sure,” I say.
Dylan looks at me and furrows his brow.
When Marcus and Lilla leave for the lobby, he says, “You afraid to be alone with me again?”
I flush with heat. “Don’t be ridiculous—of course not!”
“What’s that phrase?” he says as he stands up. “I think the woman doth protest too much?”
I make a face as he grins and holds out his hand to me. Ignoring the gesture, I stand up on my own and we walk to the lobby to meet up with Lilla and Marcus.
“Oh, my God! Jase, this is going to be so cool!” Lilla squeals in my ear as she links her arm through mine and we step out of the hotel. “A double-date with two football stars. I can’t wait to tell everyone back home!”
“Shh.” I shake my head at her and hope Dylan didn’t hear her.
If he did, he doesn’t act like it. He and Marcus stride in front of us and chat about football. We walk about five short blocks, and Marcus leads us into The Ivy.
The second we walk inside the bar, I can tell this is not my kind of place. This is the type of bar people like Lilla will talk about for weeks, about how cool it was, how swanky, how chic. It’s tastefully decorated, but I’m more concerned about whether or not I feel safe, and in this environment, the answer would be no.
The interior is dark, which unnerves me. I can hardly see where I’m going. People are hanging out on couches and low-seated chairs, and they stare at us as we walk by.
There are tons of young women, and they all turn and focus on Dylan and Marcus. I stand at the bar and pretend I don’t notice, but I do. I tug at my dress nervously and glance at Dylan, who’s telling Marcus what drinks to get for the two of us.
Dylan tries to talk to me, but I’m distracted and end up meeting the eyes of a woman who looks like she’s not much over eighteen and definitely not of legal drinking age. She’s at a stool a few feet away, and she raises her eyebrows at me in a challenging kind of a way, almost like she’s trying to see if I actually have Dylan or if it’s not really that serious. The man next to her has his arm around her while clearly flirting with a woman on his other side.
I frown at her and turn away.
Then Dylan gets mobbed by a group of loud women about our age. One asks Dylan to sign a piece of paper, which he does. One asks him to sign her shirt, which he does, on the sleeve. One asks him to sign her bra, which he declines. She follows up with a request that he sign her boob. Again he says no, this time with a sideways glance at me.
I stand with my arms crossed, wondering why I ever thought it would be less painful to go out than to be alone with Dylan.
Marcus turns around from the bar and hands Dylan two beers.
“Let’s sit in the back,” Dylan says in my ear.
He shifts both our beer bottles to one hand and takes my arm with his other hand. He leads me toward the very back of the room, to two empty couches behind the tiny dance floor.
Dylan sits down and pats the couch next to him. I’m nervous to sit so close to him in this dusky and intimate of an atmosphere. But when I see Marcus and Lilla heading toward us laughing and flirting, I change my mind. I sit down quickly, and Dylan immediately puts his arm around me and offers me my beer.
“Oh, my God!” Lilla shrieks as she and Marcus collapse on the couch adjacent to us.
I feel like I’m going to scream if she doesn’t stop with the shrieking and the squealing tonight. Normally, I find Lilla entertaining and fun. Right now though, my nerves are so frayed that her boisterousness is throwing me off.
“Dylan, that woman was crazy!” she says.
Dylan nods. “Yeah, that happens.”
“I mean it’ll wash off anyway,” I say. “Why would you want an autograph on your skin?”
Dylan laughs and takes a sip of his beer.
“They get it tattooed,” Lilla explains to me.
“Are you serious?” I say to her.
“Absolutely,” she says. “People do it all the time. They ask celebrities to sign their skin, and then they make the signature permanent.”
“People are crazy,” Marcus agrees. “But you gotta love ‘em. They’re our fans after all.”
Since they’re not my fans, I don’t have to love them. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ll never love fans like that.
Lilla starts in on a rant about fans and how great it must feel to have people infatuated with you.
“They’re not infatuated with you,” Dylan says to her. “They’re infatuated with the person in the football helmet they watch once a week for half the year. They don’t really know you at all.”
I glance at him and see that shadow again behind his eyes. Before I can think of what to say, the dark disappears from his face and he replaces it with a neutral expression.
Lilla’s eyes widen in alarm at the idea that Dylan may not agree with her on this hot topic. “But you’re on Hollywood Now!” she says. “And in those magazines! It must be so awesome to
see yourself like that. I would love to be on the cover of a magazine.”
Oh, God.
Dylan squeezes my shoulder lightly as Marcus and Lilla laugh together over the lime in the top of Marcus’s beer bottle.
“I could suck that lime like they do with tequila shots,” Lilla offers.
“Oh, yeah?”
Marcus hands it to her, and Lilla sucks on it while I groan out loud.
When Dylan leans into my hair, I shiver from the sensation of his breath on my skin. “Still glad you agreed to this get-together?”
“I’m pretty much getting what I deserve.” I turn to face him, trying to ignore how close his mouth is to mine right now.
Marcus chuckles at Lilla’s expression as she reacts to the sourness of the lime. He doesn’t seem to be very interested in talking. I can’t tell how much he and Lilla have in common, but getting to know her as a person does not seem to be one of Marcus’s dominant goals. He’s also more aggressive than Dylan. He’s already leaned in to kiss Lilla. She throws her arms around his neck, and they start making out. His hands are everywhere, too. No thought to us sitting here across from them at all. I can’t look at Dylan for fear he’ll take it as a sign that I want the same thing happening on this couch.
He doesn’t seem to think that, though. In fact, he asks me if I’d like to leave.
“Leave for where?”
“Outside. Okay?” He holds out his hand.
Persistent. This time I take it, and we walk out of the bar.
His hand is callused and strong, but he holds onto me gently. He threads his fingers through mine as he stops and leans back against the outside of the building.
“That was pretty awkward,” Dylan says.
I smile as I stand across from him. “Just a little.”
“I don’t know what Lilla’s um…” he pauses, seeming uncertain how to broach this. “I don’t know what she’s hoping for with Marcus, but I don’t think they’re necessarily on the same page.”
I look at him. “I know he has a girlfriend. And he’s a football player, just like you are.”
“Marcus is not just like me.” Dylan lets go of my hand and runs his fingers through his hair. “At all. I’ve never cheated in my life.”
I look at him in surprise.
“Never?” I say doubtfully.
“Never,” he says fiercely. “I’ve never been in a really serious relationship, but the few women I did date exclusively knew I would never break their trust.”
I exhale.
“But getting back to Marcus, I don’t know how serious he is about Lilla. Really,” Dylan adds firmly.
I sigh. “Well, Lilla’s a big girl. And she never listens to me anyway. I’ve warned her about a thousand times…”
“I’m sure you have. You’re smart.” He pauses. “And now more guarded than ever. Right?”
If I were going to tell him the absolute truth, I’d say that his behavior didn’t seem like Marcus’s at all. I would tell him that if anything, I’m less guarded now than I was before because I felt safe with Dylan at the bar. I felt like he cared for me and would even protect me if the situation arose.
But the fans scared me because I can’t be with him every single moment, nor would I want to be. And there are a lot of moments where women will throw themselves at him. I catch myself.
Shit. I’m acting like this relationship will continue past Tucson.
Nevertheless, I feel like I should explain something to him because it’s only fair.
So I take a breath. “I don’t look at you like a star you know.” That didn’t come out right. I try again. “I mean if we were truly friends and not just helping each other out with our respective problems, I wouldn’t spend time with you simply because you’re a quarterback, and rich, and…well, famous.”
That still sounds so bad, but Dylan seems to understand.
“I know.” He touches my cheek lightly.
My heart beats faster.
“I know you’re not going to go home to L.A. and brag to all your friends about the football star you hooked up with in Arizona,” he says.
So he did hear Lilla. Of course, this just makes me like him more. He’s smart, too.
I smile at him, and he grins and starts to say something, but before he can, two men, one with a camera, descend upon us.
Not again. Not now when all I want is privacy. I’m already getting a sense of what it’s like to live in Dylan Wild’s world, and it can be damn exhausting to always have to be on like this.
“Dylan Wild!” the guy calls out as he points the camera at me. “Same lady as earlier. She looks like a model. Is this serious?”
Dylan turns to me, checking to make sure I’m okay, and I try to smile, to replicate the way I handled the media before. Sometimes I’m good at playing a role; an expert, really. But when I’m not in the mood, I’m a terrible fake. So when the man keeps pushing for my name and identity, I send him a glare.
“Who I am is none of your busin…”
“Good evening, gentlemen.” Dylan grins, immediately putting on a mask for the camera like he’s done this a million times before. “If you’ll excuse us, please.” He turns to me and whispers, “I don’t want any photos with these guys. Just start walking with me.”
But before we can take a step, three more men—two of them with cameras—appear on the sidewalk. The five of them aggressively crowd Dylan and me further against the building.
“Hey, Model Girl.” One of them trains his lens on me. “Do you work for anyone we know?”
I ignore him, but then the other one calls out, “Model Girl, what’s your name?” in a flirty tone.
“Let her go.” Dylan’s tone turns hard, and he pulls me into his side.
He steps forward with his arm around me and tries to put me behind him as he goes to push through the paparazzi, but two of the cameramen block his path.
The men crowd in tighter, and one puts his camera right into Dylan’s face.
“Who is she?” he demands. “Who’s the Model Girl?”
Dylan puts his hand out to block the lens, but the paparazzo just laughs. “Come on, Dylan. You always give us what we want. Just a quick comment. Who’s the girl?”
“Hey!”
Dylan and the cameraman both turn at the angry sound of my voice.
“Sir. Back. Off. Us. Now.” I measure my words so they come out slowly in warning.
The paparazzo laughs harder and shifts his camera lens to me. “Or what, little girl? What are you gonna do about it?”
Dylan grabs my arm. “She’s not doing anything,” he says with a warning look at me.
Oh, I am so doing something. And I know exactly what. I step forward as if I’m going to leave. One of the cameramen instantly follows on my right side. I pause, almost involuntarily, like his energy can stop me in my tracks. He thinks he’s getting to me, and I sense his confidence rising as he closes in. I wait until he gets far closer than is comfortable, until his hand reaches out to grab me.
Without turning toward him, I stick out my right foot. His legs go out from under him, and he lands on his ass on the grassy patch by the concrete. The entire exchange takes less than ten seconds.
The other guys burst out laughing, and one calls out that I just showed him who’s boss. I look back over my shoulder at Dylan.
“Ready?” I say.
His eyes are wide as he looks at me in stunned silence.
I put out my hand, and he takes it.
CHAPTER NINE
We head down the street and don’t stop until we’ve reached the safety of the hotel lobby. Dylan hasn’t taken his eyes off me. I swallow again, and my stomach drops into my—well, parts of me that have never been this turned on before.
“Where in the hell did you learn to do that?” His gaze is so heated I feel like I’m going to burst into flames.
“I’m so sorry I lost my temper like that. I have a tendency to fall back on bad habits when I’m cornered. The streets taught me a
lot.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why can’t I keep my big mouth shut around him?
“What?”
He hustles after me as I turn abruptly and head for the elevator bank.
“Jasalie. You’ve lived on the streets?”
I press the up button and don’t look over at him. “Just briefly. No big deal. And I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry I pushed.” He steps back from me, but I see the hurt on his face. “It’s none of my business.”
A pang of guilt cuts through me. “I don’t mean to be rude.”
“You’re not. You’re just more similar to me than I realized.” His dimples flash.
“How so?”
“We both…” He hesitates like he’s wishing he hadn’t started this topic. “We’re defensive. On the alert. Right?”
“True.” I bite my lip.
“But you know what?” Dylan says. “I’m not scared of you. And you’re not going to make me either.”
I crack a smile. “Oh, yeah?” I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t scare you even a little?”
That shadow from earlier crosses over his face again. He covers it quickly with a grin, but I know I didn’t mistake it.
Dylan is feeling vulnerable.
And from the experience we just had outside, he’s not exactly an expert at fending off unwanted attention.
“Didn’t know Tucson had this many paparazzi,” I say with a searching look at his face.
He turns red. “My agent thinks it’s great. And the media knew we were coming here this weekend. The team officials didn’t try to keep it a secret like they could have. They wanted the attention.”
“And yet, every single cameraman within five square miles of our hotel seems to have one man in their sights,” I say as I touch his hand. “You.”
“Sometimes they follow me,” he mumbles. “Not like the entertainers get followed. But you know…”
He trails off, but I finish his sentence for him. “But right now it’s hunting season. Your team just won the championship, and you were the MVP. So they’re chasing you.”
His jaw ticks. “Jasalie, I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of getting you out of there. They took me by surprise, and they film everything. All they want is a story, so if I lose it in front of the cameras, it’ll be all over the press, and that’s the last thing you deserve. As it is, you’re probably going to see yourself in a shit tabloid somewhere. I wanted to control when the photos were taken and by whom, but some of those guys work for the low-hanging fruit tabloids.”
Dylan (Wild Men) Page 8