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14
I stareat my reflection as I pull fingers through my damp hair; brushing would send the blonde waves into a frizz. Grant said girls should wear make-up if they wanted to look pretty and freckles are ugly so I should cover them up. I've not worn a scrap of make-up since I left him.
What does Dylan think when he looks at me in all my plain-faced, unruly-haired glory?
What does his opinion matter? From now on, I'm me and the world can get lost if they don't like the Sky I am.
I rummage through the clothes stuffed into my rucksack, and pull out the least creased clothing I can find—a dark blue T-shirt with Mickey Mouse on the front and part of my slouching, beach holiday wardrobe. I groan, but the other items are summer dresses and I feel...exposed in those. The underwear choice isn't good—not all as bad as the pair Dylan had hooked on his fingers the first night, but no matching set. The realisation I'm debating what underwear to choose for eating dinner with Dylan shock’s me. He doesn't want sex anyway, and nor do I. Pulling on my denim shorts, I head towards the fragrant smell downstairs.
Disappointingly, Dylan has managed to find himself a T-shirt with a different band printed on the faded black cotton.
"Isthisone you?" I ask pointing to the symbol.
"I knew you’d ask that. No."
I shrug. "What are you cooking?"
Steam rises from the sizzling and spitting frying pan behind and he turns to stir.
"Stir-fry chicken with some sauce you bought." He holds up the jar. "And noodles." He points to the boiling water in the pan.
"Very impressive." I smile.
"Reserve judgement until you've eaten."
"I'll read my book while you finish then," I say, walking away.
"Aren't you going to help? Get plates or something?" he calls after me.
"Nope!" I grin. Maybe I'll help wash up.
The billionaire and his PA are hot and heavy in the elevator when Dylan interrupts my reading.
"Put down your porn. Eat." He leans over the sofa behind me, his spicy Dylan scent connecting with the words on the page. I'm reading about sex when attempting not to think about it? Smart move... I should've put the book down as soon as the story became as steamy as the boiling noodles.
I snap the book closed. "This isn’t porn. You can’t judge a book you’ve never read."
He arches an eyebrow.Omigod. Has he read parts?
Two mismatched plates filled with noodles, vegetables, and chicken lie on the table. I sit and inhale the mouth-watering smell rising from the plate.
"Not bad," I say.
"I knew you'd want wine..." He pours a glass from the bottle beside the plates.
"Are you having one?" I ask in surprise as he pours a second. "I thought you were dry."
Dylan shrugs. "One glass. I can control myself."
The connotation of his words doesn't go unnoticed, so I pick my fork up, and push it into the middle of the mound of food.
"Noodles," I remark, twirling some around my fork.
"Perceptive."
"A tip for you—don't cook a girl something she could spill all over herself on a first date."
"Date?"
