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Chapter Fifteen
It was her last full day with Dylan, and Brooke couldn’t believe she was wasting half of it at this godforsaken departmental picnic, pretending to enjoy talking to the same people she was forced to interact with during the week.
She’d woken this morning with dread clawing at her belly. In less than twenty-four hours, Dylan would be headed back home, and their little sexcation would be over. No more kissing, no more orgasms, no more Dylan.
This was what you wanted, remember?Short and sweet. No commitment. No time for complications to develop.
So why did she feel like she was mourning a loss?
Because she wanted more time with him. Not infinite time, just more. A few more days would be good. A few more days and she’d have that itch well and truly scratched. She’d have Dylan out of her system and she could go back to her regular life, satiated and content.
Annoyingly, Dylan seemed to be in an extra-great mood today. Was he just settling into the vacation vibe? Or was he looking forward to leaving?
Brooke felt a fresh stab of irritation as she watched him holding court at the center of a group of female undergrads from her animal physiology lab. They were completely entranced by him, peppering him with questions about the modeling industry. You’d think they’d never seen an attractive man in their whole lives.
This must be what it was like to walk into a room with Henry Cavill on your arm.
Even though Brooke was standing right there, they were blatantly trying to flirt with him. Smiling a little too much, laughing a little too loud at his jokes. Touching his arm or his shoulder whenever they could get close enough. Treating him like a show pony because of his job and his good looks. He was a novelty to them, rather than a real person.
While everyone fawned over Dylan, Brooke might as well be invisible. She could probably take off her clothes and dance a jig, and no one would even notice, they were so busy gazing into his eyes and drooling.
It was a taste of what life would be like as his girlfriend. Overlooked, overshadowed, ignored in favor of the shiny, pretty model. You might as well be a piece of used furniture. Brooke guessed it would get old really fast. They’d only been at this picnic an hour and she was already sick of it.
At least Dylan seemed to be enjoying himself. After answering the students’ questions about modeling and New York City, he’d proceeded to start arguing with one of them about Bigfoot, of all things.
“If there’s no such thing,” Dylan was saying, “then y’all tell me what I saw outside Grosse Tête when I was twelve.” Usually his accent was barely detectable, but today he sounded like he’d sauntered straight out of the bayou.
The student, who was pre-med and consistently at the top of the curve, shook her head. “A bear? A person? Literally anything other than Bigfoot.”
Dylan gifted her with a dazzling smile. “Come on, you think I can’t tell some dude in a bear suit from a Bigfoot?”
“Clearly you can’t,” the future doctor said, grinning back at Dylan.
“This guy I know back home says he once saw a whole family of Bigfoots deep in the Atchafalaya near Bayou Chene.”
“It’s not a species,” one of the other students insisted. “You can’t pluralize Bigfoot.”
“Sure you can,” Dylan said. “One’s a Bigfoot. More than one, you got Bigfoots. Everyone knows that.”
He was having fun with them, leaning into both the dumb pretty boy act and the dumb country yokel act. Brooke couldn’t tell if the students knew they were being trolled or not. Not that they would care, probably. They were just happy to be gazing into Dylan’s beautiful face.
It irked her that they were underestimating him because of his appearance—exactly like he’d told her people did all the time. None of them saw him the way Brooke did: as a self-made success who’d built a million-dollar career, a generous friend who would do anything for the people he cared about, and the goofy guy who made jokes as lame as her own. To them he was a piece of meat. A collection of body parts and a nice face.
Although he didn’t seem to mind so much at the moment. In fact, he was actively encouraging it with his charming Southern boy act.
Disgusted, Brooke wandered off to check out the selection at the potluck table. The brownies she and Dylan had made last night were almost gone already, and she snagged the last corner piece for herself.
“On behalf of all womankind, allow me to say, well done,” Tara said, coming up behind her and clapping her on the back.
Brooke nearly choked on her brownie. “What?”
“Your underwear model toy boy over there.”
“I told you, we’re just friends,” Brooke said irritably.
Anything else that was going on between them was no one’s business. It wasn’t like they were in a relationship where Dylan would be involved in Brooke’s life on an ongoing basis. None of these people were ever going to see him again.
Tara made a scoffing noise. “Sure you are, and I’m Meghan Markle’s twin sister. Can’t you see the resemblance?”
