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I stared at the huge hot chocolate. “Oh, my God. I’m going to be in a sugar coma in like ten minutes.”
He laughed and beat me to the sofa. “I promise to tuck you in if you crash on the sofa.”
“And not carry me to bed like a gentleman? You caveman.” I sat down next to him and tucked my feet under my butt.
“Saylor, if you want me to carry you to bed, it can be arranged.” He paused and gave me a meaningful look. “But the likelihood of me leaving you there alone is extremely slim.”
I choked on the mouthful of whipped cream I’d just spooned into my mouth. There might have been a marshmallow in there, but since it went down without me being able to chew it, I couldn’t tell you.
“There’s a reaction I’ve never had before.”
I put my mug on the coffee table and kicked out at him. “Shut up. Can’t you see I’m dying?” I wheezed, coughing on every other word.
He put his mug next to mine and reached over to help me. He wrapped one arm around my body and smacked my upper back, firmly enough that it dislodged whatever awkward little air bubble was making itself a nuisance in my throat.
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I tilted my head up and—
Why was his face always so close to mine?
I leaned back, breaking the closeness. Understanding, Dylan released me and returned to the other side of the sofa. He reached for the remote and turned on the TV.
“Do you mind if I watch the sports news?”
I grabbed my book from the table and sat back. “Yup. I’m always okay if I have a book.”
His eyes were warm and shining, and his smile reached them fully.
I nestled in and opened my book, letting my bookmark fall out onto my lap.
But the words were a blur.
I wasn’t okay.
Everything tonight balled into a massive explosion of emotion, and I dipped my head to hide any change in my expression.
Dylan was nice.
Too nice.
Too attractive.
Too caring.
Too perfect.
And I was sitting here, not doing anything about it, because of my own fears.
What if Sebastian was right? What if the reason I’d had so many failed relationships was because the universe had been keeping someone for me?
What if that someone was Dylan?
What if he’d been sent to me in a way that wasn’t obvious? That was subtle? That was designed to have him fit into my life so that I didn’t need to make that happen myself?
I peered over the top of my book. He was on his phone, scrolling, and his gaze flicked up to the TV every now and then.
Could I do it?
Could I cross the line?
Could I kiss him?
“Why are you staring at me?” Dylan lifted his chin and met my eyes.
I could.
I was going to.
And I was going to do it right now.
I slipped my bookmark back into my book, closed it, and set it on the table. He continued to stare at me as I moved closer to him, and his gaze never wavered as I drew my face level to his.
Fuck it.
I was doing it.
I was doing to do this right now, and it ended how it ended.
“Saylor, what are you doing?” Dylan’s voice was low, but his tone was steady.
“Kissing you.”
I pressed my lips against his.
I damn well kissed him.
And he pushed me away.
Emotion welled in me. Shame balled like a tsunami, and sheer horror at what I’d done slammed into me.
“Saylor—”
“Never mind.”
“You’ve been drinking. You’re not thinking straight.”
“It’s fine!” I darted off the sofa and buried my face in my hands. “Forget it. I’m going to kill Seb.”
“Kill Seb? What did he—oh, bloody hell.”
“It’s fine!” I threw my arms out, holding back tears.
“You’re misunder—”
“Don’t you tell me I’m misunderstanding!” I pointed at him. “It’s fine, okay? I made a mistake. It’s fine. I—I’m going to bed.”
He moved toward me. “Pinky—”
“Don’t call me that!” My voice broke on the final word. “Just… Leave me alone.”
His lips turned down. “Saylor…”
I ran into my room and slammed the door behind me, turning the key to lock it for good measure.
It felt as if someone had reached into my stomach and ripped out my guts. All the signs, all the signals, everyone telling me to go for it…
I did and look how that had gone. With him pushing me away.
This was it.
This was the one.
This was why I didn’t open myself up to people.
All it resulted in was me being hurt.
I was so, so tired of being hurt.
“Saylor.” Dylan’s voice was gentle and muffled from the other side of the door.
“Leave me alone!” I yelled, curling up under my bedsheets. “Please!”
“I just—”
“Go!” My voice fully broke, and I pulled the sheets over my head so he didn’t hear me cry.
The one time I felt ready to pull down my walls.
The only time I’d ever felt really ready to do it.
