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I reel at the word—the strength of his tone when he says ‘fuck’. Stunned into silence, I pick my book from the sofa, and take my red-faced self into the kitchen. Dylan follows. Turning and leaning against the sink, I watch him warily. He runs his hand up and down his tattoo-sleeved arm, studying me with the intensity I can't cope.
"Even though I'm tempted to kiss that sarcastic mouth of yours, I promise I won't," he says in a low voice.
Holy crap. Can one person's words really unravel me like this? Forget about the ice cream earlier, I'm about to turn into a puddle on the floor.
"Good," I squeak.What a lie.
"Just so you know—so you can feel safe with me," he continues, but the intensity of the sexual energy from Dylan contradicts his words.
My stomach tightens at the image of his mouth on my sarcastic one, and my stupid breathing speeds up. I part my lips and of course he recognises my reaction. If girls regularly throw themselves at him for sex, he'll have a firm handle on reading female body language. Dylan moves forward, and I grip the edge of the sink behind as he holds his face close to mine. What the hell is he doing? Why behave in this way when he's just said he doesn't want me to react like this to him?
Dylan smells amazing. Amazingly amazing, with amazing sprinkles on top. Male with a hint of shower fresh. His cheek is millimetres from mine, a strange static in the tiny gap between, and I can feel him as if we were touching.
"But if you change your mind, let me know." His breath is warm, mingling with the short bursts coming from my mouth.
Pulling back again, he waits for my response and it hits me what he's doing.
I'm pretty sure Dylan is testing me.
Does he think I’m lying and Iama clever groupie? No, he can’t believe I am. That's insane someone would go to this amount of trouble and pretence to um... fuck him.
I shake my hair and pull a nonchalant face, sidestepping him. "Okay. I'll stay if you cook."
And he laughs, dropping all pretence of seduction and steps away. "I guess we’re eating pizza again."
Why am I disappointed? And I don't mean about eating pizza again.
* * *
I movemy pile of clothes and rucksack into the second bedroom, across the creaking hallway from the bright and sunny bedroom facing the sea. Dylan supervises as I transfer my things from his room. Is he worrying I’ll go through his bag and take something to sell on eBay?
He follows me into the room where two sets of bunk beds and a wardrobe are crammed. I dump the clothes on the bottom bunk nearest the window and pout at the lack of view from the window. Then I hoist myself onto the top bunk I slept on as a grumpy teen—back then the height implied superiority over my younger brother sleeping in the other. Dylan looks up at where I’m perched on the edge.
There's the sexy, amused smirk again.
"What?" I ask.
"I’m trying very hard not to say something," he says in a low voice, "about you preferring to be on top."
"Jeez! Captain Cliché!" I throw a pillow at him and he catches it. Then I jump down, and start sorting through my clothes, so he can’t see my dilated pupils and heavy breathing reaction to him as easily as he did last time. Why isn’t he leaving the room? God, please make him leave because every moment he stays in the confined space with me, the harder my heart beats.
"I’m glad you decided to say," he says softly. "I like being around you. Here."
Straightening, I turn back to Dylan, thankful he’s in the doorway and at a non-gravitational distance. "But this is weird."
"Yeah, but it’s good weird? Or not?"
"I have a boring, safe and predictable life—or did until this week when everything turned to shit." He makes a mock gasp at my swearing. "Sharing a holiday house with some guy who may or may not be famousisweird, but I feel like it’s time I did something weird."
I need this man to leave the bedroom so I can stop picturing what he said about being on top. In my imagination, I’m not on the bunk beds, I’m on him running fingers across those muscles while he…"I want to unpack."
"You already did."
"Tidy then."
"You mean, you want me to leave you alone?"
"I’m tired; I’ve had a long week. I’ll rest while you make dinner. Oh, wait, sorry. Order pizza."
