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I lied.Despite my best attempts, there's no way I can finish a whole pizza. Not with half a cow on top, and a fair bit of pig too. Plus, Dylan studies me with barely concealed amusement. Again.
"What's so funny?" I ask, swapping a slice of pizza for my wine glass.
"You're not pretending."
"What do you mean ‘pretending’?"
"It doesn't matter." Dylan finishes his last slice of pizza and stretches. Thankfully, he put a T-shirt over his way too distracting toned chest, but the faded black T-shirt rides up revealing that same washboard stomach I’ve only ever seen in pictures. Or on Instagram. He grins at me as he drops his arms.Dylan so knows I’m checking him out.
More wine. I tip the bottle but only a dribble reaches my glass. Tapping my fingers on the table, I debate whether to open another. Dylan refused a glass of wine, telling me he's having a dry spell, and drinks one of my Cokes instead.
"So now what?" he asks.
I wipe tomato sauce from the edges of my mouth. "I'll pack my bag."
"Already? We've hardly spoken."
"What do you want to talk about?"
He places his elbows on the table, and fixes his baby blues on mine. "Why you came here."
"Why did you come here?" I ask.
"Same reason as you."
"How do you know what my reason is?"
"Staying in a two-bedroom seaside house on your own? You're taking time out from something. Running?" Dylan cracks another can of Coke with slender fingers and watches for my reaction.
"So what areyourunning from?" I ask him.
"Life's intense. I need to pull back and unwind. Disconnect from the people around me." His expression darkens.
"Oh, well, at least you didn't say the police," I say attempting to lighten the mood.
Dylan laughs, the dark look blowing away from his face. "Funny, Sky. So who are you running from?"
"No one." But the speed of my retort doesn't fool him.
"Yeah, none of my business. That's cool. We can ignore each other's business together for while if you like?"
The way he trails his hand up and down an arm, long fingers stroking those unfortunately tattooed biceps distracts me. The expression on his face as he looks at me suggests he's thinking, not trying to act seductive. Is this seductive? I really can't remember because Grant never was.
"A while?" I ask.
Dylan spreads his ring-covered fingers on the table. "How about we chat about stupid stuff, irrelevant stuff, not the real life crap? We know nothing about each other, no preconceptions. What do you think?"
His eyes shine at the idea and I scrunch my nose. "No preconceptions isn't true. You did ram your car into the back of mine. Then you wouldn't give me your insurance details so I've already formed an opinion."Great, here comes the wine-induced burbling.
"Which is?"
"Straight up?"
"Straight up."
"Not the kind of person I'd normally sit with and share pizza." Telling him that I think he's a serial killer with an underwear stealing fetish springs to mind, but thankfully not from my mouth.
