In what world? “Yeah? How’s that?”
“You’re passionate about the things you love. Not afraid to go after what you want.” Something catches alight in his eyes that sends a spiral of warmth up my spine. “And we’ve both lost people we can never replace.”
Pain twists inside me at the reference to my mother. “Yeah.”
I go to ask Dylan how he’s coping with the loss of both his parents—still an unfathomable thought to me—but the server sweeps back in to clear our plates. “Would you like dessert?” she asks, handing us two menus. I’m so full from the pasta that I give Dylan a glance to see how he’s feeling.
“All dinner and no dessert makes Jade a dull girl,” he warns jokingly.
I cover my mouth so that I don’t laugh.
Chuckling, he peers into his dessert menu. “I’ll have the tiramisu,” he tells the server, and I order the same because, as full as I am, I can’t turn down dessert.
Dylan pours me a second glass of wine, and I decide not to return to the heavy topic of loss. Instead, the conversation shifts to our few shared memories of when we were young, what we did after college, and a lot about Dylan’s photography. I’m clueless about cameras, but the excitement that dances in his eyes when he talks about composition and lighting and something called the rule of thirds makes me want to know everything. He tells me that sometimes it gets him down what camera phones have done to the photography industry, but then he’ll snap a perfect shot and remember why he can’t give it up.
Fifty minutes later, the dessert plates have long been cleared, and the server is hovering nearby.
I lightly pat my stomach, looking around the nearly empty restaurant. “Should we go? That wasamazing. Thank you.”
“Of course. Anytime.” Dylan clears his throat and waves at the server, who bounds over with the payment machine. He whips out a platinum credit card and pays the bill before we head outside to his bike parked around the side of the restaurant.
“So where to now?” I ask because I don’t feel like being taken home yet.
Something that looks like relief washes through his gaze. “Tough choice. There are so many good options in Still Springs.”
I chuckle at his sarcasm. We both know The Rocking Horse will be open, but there’s a high risk of running into someone we know there, and I really don’t feel like sharing him.
Dylan jerks his head at the bike. “How about I take you for a ride?”
My giggle sends a confused frown to his brow. “Is that your usual line, Casanova?How about I take you for a ride?” I do my best low-voice, smooth-guy impersonation.
“Oh, you don’t like my pick-up line?”
“It’s cheesier than cheese pizza.”
He meets my stare, the both of us trying not to smile. “I can do better than that.”
“Yeah? Give me your best line.” I fold my arms at him. “Actually, no. Give me your worst.” That feels safer than him taking a genuine shot at charming the pants off me. It’ll probably work.
Dylan runs a hand up the back of his mussed hair before amusement fills his eyes. “A girl at this bar in Austin once said to me: Excuse me, are you a bank loan? Because you’ve gotmyinterest.”
A spark of jealousy flares in my chest, but I hide it with a snort-laugh. “Cute.”
He nudges the tip of my shoe with his. “What about you? I bet you’ve heard a hundred shitty pick-up lines.”
I don’t even have to think about this one. “So, are you going to show me your tits after this or what?”
Dylan nearly chokes. “That’s a joke.”
“Wish it was.”
“Someone actually said that to you? As a pick-up line?”
“Yup.” My lips pop on the “p.” “The Rocking Horse, circa graduation year. I tossed my drink in the guy’s face.”
Dylan’s eyes make one of those slow, unabashed slides down my body. He then steps right up to me and brings the heat of his breath to my ear. “So, are you gonna show me your tits after this or what?”
He recoils with a smirk like he’s expecting me to whack him. But that’s not my style.
