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Prologue
Three Months Ago
Tessa
I met him at the gym.
That probably should’ve been a sign to run or to at least ignore him, but of course I didn’t. He had a hot body, a cocky attitude and somehow this drew me to him. There was also this unspoken connection, a silence that fell over us that led me to believe that underneath it all, he’s not this persona he’s projecting. Like he’s more than just this gym rat who hits on women. Or maybe it really is just the fact that he’s pretty much the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever met. And now here I am lying in bed while he quickly pulls on his pants at three a.m. all set to bail.
“You know you don’t have to go,” I say, and immediately close my eyes at how stupidly desperate I sound. This will be at least the fifteenth time we’ve done this, not like I’m counting, and it’s not like I think there’s anything wrong with just hooking up, but it feels a little like I might be being used.
But again, I met him at the gym, and he certainly wasn’t giving off the boyfriend vibe at all, he made that crystal clear when he told me he didn’t do relationships, so I kind of put this back on myself too. I went into this saying I wasn’t looking for anything more because at the time, I did just really want to get laid. But it’s hitting me now that I’m not a one-night stand, or in this case, a multiple-night stand kind of person.
I want to be indifferent, but I pretty much suck at it.
“I gotta work in the morning, babe,” he says, and I almost laugh out loud at how damn cheesy he is. Calling me babe and acting like that will somehow make me believe this situation is more than it is. He needs to give up the act and give it to me straight.
“It’s three o’clock in the morning,” I deadpan, wondering if he realizes that he’s probably getting up for work in just a few hours. I know I am.
Actually, I have no idea what he does for a living.
The more I think about this, the more I realize I’ve been a complete fool, and I am so much smarter than that. I’m an architect with a degree from the University of Southern California with my own architecture firm. I’m a fucking catch and this guy certainly doesn’t see that.
“Where do you work?” I now ask, wondering if maybe I gave off the vibe that I wasn’t interested because I really was trying to come across as indifferent and clearly it worked.
“What’s with all the questions, Tess?” he says, and I cringe when he calls me Tess, but at least he knows my name. I guess I should try to look at the positives here. Tess is a name I was called as a kid, and everything about it feels childish.
“It’s Tessa,” I say back, brushing over it briefly before adding, “And it’s only one question.”
He flops down next to me, brushing my hair back and tucking it behind my ear. As soon as his fingers touch my skin, it feels like it’s on fire.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“I work in maintenance,” he replies, and I laugh out loud, regretting it immediately when he glares at me. I clamp a hand over my mouth, realizing he thinks I’m laughing at what he does for a living. Someone’s career has never been important to me. As long as you have a job and can support yourself, more power to you for doing what you want.
“I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at your job. I’m laughing because you’re just so damn cryptic. What the hell does that even mean? ‘I work in maintenance,’” I say, mimicking his aloof line back to him and he straddles my hips, pinning my arms above my head, making me laugh even more. “Dylan!” I squeal out as he buries his face in my neck.
When we are together, it’s fun. He’s charming and endearing, and if I’m being honest, he’s pretty hot with his tattoos and this dirty-hot look he’s got going on and his striking blue eyes. He’s nice to look at shirtless, so turning him away seems like a stupid move. But he’s secretive and quiet when it comes to talking about his life, and that should be a huge red flag.
I have no clue where he works or where he grew up or if his family lives in the area. All I know is he loves movies and can pretty much recite every line in everyFast and the Furiousmovie ever. He spends a ton of time at the gym and loves to work with his hands. But what’s missing is the connection that I stupidly hoped we’d get once we started sleeping together.
“Not everyone can be a fucking architect,” he says, his mouth next to my ear, and for the first time, I wonder if maybe I make him nervous, like he feels like he isn’t worth my time since we come from very different worlds.
“Does that bother you?” I ask, not trying to embarrass him, but rather get an idea if he has any interest in moving this thing we have going on into more of a relationship. It isn’t going to work if he’s worried about the fact that I make more money than him or that my title sits a little higher than his.
“No,” he scoffs, narrowing his eyes at me as he shakes his head. “And anyway, it’s not like we’re in a relationship and other people will find out.”
Boom.
There it is.
It’s not like we’re in a relationship.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I reply, my voice growing quieter. I’m not sure why I’ve suddenly changed the path this whole thing was on. Not to mention, I haven’t even clued him in on it, but judging by what he just said, he’s certainly not interested in anything more than hooking up. Not that I should be surprised by his response. He was straightforward with me from the get-go, telling me relationships aren’t his thing.
This is where I should tell him I’d like this to be something that goes further than just the confines of my bedroom, but that would take far more guts than I have. Putting myself out there only to possibly be, scratch that, more than likely be rejected, doesn’t really feel like a good time. My ego is wounded enough from my last shitty relationship. I’m not sure it can take the rejection and I don’t really want to find out.
He must sense my hesitation or catch the way my words falter a bit, and the room falls into this awkward silence. Not that things weren’t awkward before, or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m not cut out for casual sex, and I certainly know I don’t want to be someone’s go-to to stave off boredom and I’m pretty sure that’s all I am to Dylan.
