I would laugh if he wasn’t being serious. There’s an abundance of attraction between Willow and me, but it’s not happening. Not tonight. Not next week. Not even next month.
When I tell Dalton that, he yells, “Why.The Fuck. Not?”
I throw my hands into the air. “Because of what you said earlier. You said ‘girl.’ I’ve got enough shit to swim through; I’m not adding fooling around with a minor to the mix.”
Dalton glares at me. “Don’t treat me like an idiot. I saw you watching her when she was pretending not to watch you, and from the number of times you’ve adjusted your crotch, I’m reasonably sure you know she’s a woman.”
He steps closer to me. Guilt is lining his face. “But just to be safe, I took a peek at her license when she went to the bathroom. She’s twenty-two.” He grimaces as if his next set of words are arriving with a bucket load of vomit. “In a few weeks. . . perhaps months.”
“Which is it, Dalton? Weeks or months?” I’m tired, dealing with throbbing nuts, and having inappropriate thoughts about a girl who is either eight or nine years younger than me.
Eight I could be okay with. Nine. . . I’m not so sure about that. That’s bordering on gross old man/daddy issues to me.
After scrubbing the stubble on his chin, Dalton murmurs, “It’s months, but only four—”
My brows rocket up my face. “So I’ll be thirty-one for a few weeks while she’sonlytwenty-one? Fuck, Dalton. That’s wrong. So veryverywrong.”
Dalton screws up his face. “No, it’s not. Age doesn’t matter when sparks are flying.”
“Says the guy married to a woman who’s only sixteen days younger than him.”
“We’re not talking marriage, Elvis. Just a bit of fun. A little playtime to loosen the tight strings you’ve been controlled by the past twelve months.”
I smack him in the chest before giving him a stern finger point. “If you ever use a word like ‘playtime’ around meeveragain, I’ll rearrange your face.” I check that the coast is still clear before asking, “Besides, who says she wants me? You heard her. She thinks football players are dumb fucks who get paid to chase a ball around a field.”
“We do get paid to chase a ball around a field,” Dalton’s reply reveals whose side he’s on. He’s not my wingman anymore; he’s Willow’s.
Fucking traitor!
I halfheartedly shrug, my attitude at an all-time high. There is a bro-code no man should ever cross—Dalton just crossed it.
“You might get paid to fuck around, but I don’t. I earn every penny I get.”
Dalton’s arched brow reveals he doesn’t believe a word I’m speaking, but he remains quiet on that matter, preferring to take up his first campaign. “Come on, Elvis, admit it. You like her as much as we do because she brings out a side of you no one has seen in years.”
His comment shows he’s including Becca. Even though she’s not in the room, she’s still a part of our conversation.
“Tonight was the first time in a long time I saw the man who stood at my side when I married the love of my life. There were points during the past decade I thought you’d never come back.”
I won’t lie, his words get me a little choked up. I know what he’s saying—whole-fucking-heartedly—but there is more at stake here than just the resurrection of a personality.
“Things are complicated.”
Dalton nods in full agreement. “I know, brother, I know.” He slaps my shoulder before giving it a squeeze. “Just like I knew Lillian wasn’t good for you, and Willow quite possibly could be. But you’ll never make any sense out of it if you don’t take a leap of faith.”
Those are the exact words I spoke to him when his feelings for Becca took him by surprise. He was scared. Rightfully so. They had the world against them, yet they still made it out of the storm without a drop of rain on them.
“She’s ten years younger than me—”
Dalton purses his lips. “Nine, but who’s counting?”
I continue crossing off my objections as if he never spoke. “She’s nothing like Lillian—”
He makes aduhface. “Like that’s a bad thing.”
“And. . .”
I flex my fists, lost on another objection. Dalton was right on the money when it came to Lillian. He called her a blood-sucking leech on many occasions—long before we became a couple. Did I listen to him? No, I didn’t. Did I pay for my error? Yeah, in more ways than you’ll ever understand. Have I learned from my mistake? Up until ten minutes ago, I would have said no. Now... now I’m just praying I get out of tonight alive.
