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His mouth flattened. “Everyone I meet is so focused on their careers and getting ahead. I don’t want to say they’re all shallow and fake, but…”
“They’re totally all a bunch of shallow fakers?” she guessed.
Dylan smiled and shook his head. “It can sure feel that way sometimes. It’s hard to know if people actually like you for you, or if they’re using you because of what they think you can do for them.”
“That sounds kind of awful.”
“It’s fine.” He ducked his head as he shrugged, so she wouldn’t see that it wasn’t actually fine at all.
She’d never imagined, looking at his social media, that he might actually be lonely. How could someone as wonderful and gorgeous as Dylan ever be alone? Those posers he knew in New York had no idea what they were missing out on.
“Do you still like it?” she asked. “Modeling, I mean?” It sort of seemed like he didn’t. But then how many people actually liked their jobs? Maybe this was just normal career dissatisfaction.
His head tilted to the side as he reached up to rub a hand over his jaw. “I like that I’m good at it. It’s pretty much the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”
“That’s not true. I seem to recall you making a mean lasagna.”
He looked pleased by the compliment. “I am a decent cook. It’s one of my few legitimate skills. Although everyone I know is always on a diet—including me—so I don’t get to put it to much use.”
He’d worked in the kitchen at Carrabba’s back home. It was how he’d saved the money for his first trip to New York when his Instagram account started to take off. He’d signed with his first agency on that trip. It had set the ball rolling for all the success that came after: his first catalogue job, his first magazine ad, his first billboard, his first runway show. Dylan had worked his ass off for everything he’d accomplished.
“I also recall you making it to first saxophone at one point,” she teased, remembering how excited he’d been at the time.
He laughed, stretching both arms over his head. “I’ll be sure to add that to my résumé.”
Damnthose muscles of his. Brooke looked away so her eyes wouldn’t pop out of her head. “Didn’t you also win a couple medals in the hundred-meter hurdles?”
“Yeah, you know, those high school glories don’t really translate into practical job skills.”
“You were always good at being a friend,” she said, darting a look at him.
His eyes flicked over to her and held. “Was I?”
“The best.”
“Well, that’s something.” The way he smiled at her made her feel warm all over. “Kind of hard to make a living at it though.”
“I don’t know. I’ll bet you’re good at lots of things you don’t even realize you’re good at. You never did give yourself enough credit.”
“I guess it’s lucky I had you around to boost my ego during my formative years.” He exhaled a long breath, shaking his head. “Damn, we’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t we?”
“We go back like car seats,” she said, smiling as the past enveloped her like a fluffy blanket. Almost all her favorite memories seemed to involve Dylan. She’d spent a lot of time trying not to think about those years, but there’d been a lot of good times amongst the bad. “Where would either of us be if my parents hadn’t bought the house across the street from yours?”
“I can’t even bear to think about it.”
“Me either.”
Being with Dylan was soeasy. She’d forgotten just how comfortable she felt with him. It was amazing how smoothly they dropped right back into their friendship, even after years apart.
“Speaking of this week,” she said, remembering Penny’s party, “a friend of mine is getting married—well, she actually got married yesterday in Virginia, but they’re having this sort of wedding reception thing here on Saturday night, and I was wondering—if you were interested—you could come with me. You don’t have to though.”
Ugh, why was she so nervous to ask him? It wasn’t like she cared if he didn’t want to go.
“I’d love to,” Dylan answered, like he absolutely meant it. Like he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do.
“I know you said you were sick of parties—”
“This is different. I’d love to meet your friends.”
