I wish I could say I put the incident out of my mind and moved on once they left. But that’s not the way my mind works. After the guy had left but before Rachel cleared the table, I peeked at the name on the receipt: Dylan Hart.
“Dylan Hart,” I said under my breath, rolling the name around on my tongue like the first sip of a fine wine. “Dylan Hart.”
Chapter 2
Dylan
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud-thud!
My fists made the familiar muffled sounds as they hit the bag’s leather surface. My mind was racing. When I felt like this, there was only one way I knew to calm myself down: training. Never mind that my muscles were already sore from going to the gym earlier that day.
With each punch, I felt less physically agitated. But I couldn’t get my mind off that waitress: the one who’d tripped over my bag, not the skinny one who had taken over for her afterward.
Why had she run away, anyway? Had I offended her somehow?
As usual, Claire’d had her theory. “Are you blind, Dylan? She’s into you! She’s just being really, really awkward about it.”
“I don’t know…” I’d mumbled in response.
“Well, I do know. And guess what? You’re into her, too.”
“How do you figure?”
“I’ve known you for practically your whole life. I can read you like a book.”
If I’d confirmed Claire’s suspicions, she’d’ve pushed me to get the waitress’s number. If I’d denied my attraction, she’d have called me a liar. So I responded with a noncommittal “Hm,” hoping she’d drop the subject.
Which she didn’t. Instead, she badgered me through the entire meal. She even suggested I ask the second waitress to ask the first waitress for her number! I told her that that was some third-grader shit, and that if I wanted to ask a woman out I could ask her to her face.
“So why don’t you?” she fired back.
“Because I don’t want to.” I scarfed the rest of my burger as fast as I could, taking huge bites to show that I was neither able nor willing to continue the conversation.
Thud! Thud-thud! Thud!
Replaying the conversation in my head, I was even more irritated than I had been when I was experiencing it. Because Claire had been right. When I’d seen that waitress, I’d felt something. Attraction, for one. That wavy, dirty-blond hair, those lively eyes, those curves… I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t my type.
So she was hot. That wasn’t all, though. There was also the weird feeling of protectiveness that bubbled up inside me when I watched her take that spill. I had this weird, sudden urge to wrap her in my arms, tell her everything was going to be OK and hold her till she believed it. And then to hold her some more, and maybe laugh with her. Because the whole thing had been kind of funny. She had this goofy, awkward charm about her…
And then there was that moment when I offered her my hand, and she just knelt. there in a daze, staring into my eyes. That was…I couldn’t even think of a word to describe what happened to me then. It was weird. Not bad weird, but not comfortable, either.
Definitely not something I’d ever felt before. And it made me want to do something I never would have considered doing before: go back and ask her out.
Thud-thud-thud! Thud-thud-thud!
Two little voices squared off in my head. One said, Don’t do it, Dylan. You’re gonna look like a weirdo. Women don’t want to be bothered by men while they’re working.
The other countered, Are you crazy? You have to go back. The fact that you’re thinking about this now is proof that there’s something there. And even if there isn’t, what’s the worst that could happen? A minute of rejection is better than a lifetime of regret.
Voice one: OK, let’s say she is interested. What makes you think she’ll stick around once she realizes what kind of guy you are? Once she learns your secret?
Voice two: One mistake doesn’t make you worthless. Claire doesn’t blame you. How long are you going to keep blaming yourself?
That argument was one I’d been having with myself for the past seven years—and I knew it wasn’t going to resolve itself tonight. I pushed the bickering voices into the background, refocusing my concentration on the feel and the sound of my fists striking the bag. One thought, however, continued to echo through my mind: A minute of rejection is better than a lifetime of regret.
A minute of rejection is better than a lifetime of regret.
Suddenly, my doubts evaporated. I knew what I needed to do. I ran to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I was red and sweaty. My eyes were bloodshot, and my hair was messy. I looked like a gym rat in my white tank top.
Should I change clothes? I wondered. No. I need to get over there before she leaves—or I lose my nerve.
On a whim, I picked up the tiny green bottle of cologne that had been sitting by my bathroom sink untouched ever since Ben, my little brother gave it to me on my 29th birthday. I sprayed it on the underside of each of my wrists, just in case all that sweat was more pungent than I’d realized.
I slipped my shoes on and ran out the door, fingers crossed that it wasn’t too late.
Intrigued? Find out what happens to Lana and Dylan in Cold-Cocked by Love, available now on Amazon!
About the Author:
Loretta Palmer is a young author based in New York City. She specializes in steamy erotic romances starring bad boys with a tender side.
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Tough, yet Tender #1: Cold-Cocked by Love
© Loretta Palmer 2016, all rights reserved.
Kindle Edition.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are consenting adults 18 years of age or older.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.
A Step from the Edge (Tough, yet Tender Book 2) Page 10