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"Steve. Does he always talk to you like that?"
"Sometimes we need pulling into line when we do stupid things."
"But you’re twenty-four and successful. Not a naughty teenager."
Dylan sits back in his chair. "He’s been with us since I was; I guess I’m used to his ways."
I don’t voice my true opinion of Steve. I’m grateful for his rescue mission this morning, but he has an agenda.
"Why is Kim getting involved?"
"She’s the band’s PR manager. When crap like this happens, we create a story for the press. We need something to give them so they’ll leave you alone." Dylan doesn’t look at me, and he rubs his arm in a way I’ve seen before, fingers playing slowly over his phoenix tattoo.
"Isn’t this easy? You tell everybody you made a mistake and we’re over. Get photographed with someone else? Maybe your model um… whatever she is."
Dylan blows air into his cheeks, gazing across his fields. "Apart from the fact Cressida moved on. This situation is her chance to end our arrangement and she's about to go public with her boyfriend, Dean Ryder the football player. Heard of him?" I pull a blank face and he laughs. "No, probably not."
I sip the orange juice, the refreshing iced drink perfect for my dry mouth. Now I’m with Dylan, in another place removed from the everyday, I’m slipping back towards him. As soon as we’re together, the Dylan Morgan gravity pulls us closer.
Dylan reaches a hand across the table, curls his long fingers around mine. He turns my hand over, tracing calloused fingertips across the back before lacing our fingers together. This small, intimate touch fires unexpected arousal low in my body. I ready myself to admonish the smug smile I expect, but his blue eyes remain focused on my hand, rubbing my knuckles.
"So you won’t give this a chance?" he asks quietly.
I pull my hand away and rub my forehead. "Can’t you see, this will end badly for me. Look at what’s happening. It’s exactly what I ran from in Broadbeach."
"How do you know? Are you psychic? Why not take a chance? Every relationship has a chance of ending badly."
"I don't think I'll have a relationship for a while, Dylan. As I tried to explain, part of this is because I'm trying to find my way into a new life. Things are scary enough, everything turned upside down after five years of thinking my life was mapped out for me. Until I sort myself out, I can't give myself to anyone else."
"I don't want your life; I just want to be in it. For fuck’s sake, Sky, I'm asking you to date me not fucking marry me!" Dylan pushes his chair back and stands, walking to the edge of the terrace, and his sudden reaction alarms me. "Lucky for the next guy then," he says, resting against the wall. "He might be the biggest dickhead around with a dodgy past but you won’t have the benefit of the internet to check him out. The next guy will have a chance and I fucking don't!"
Am I being unreasonable? So much in my life terrifies me at the moment, and Dylan intensifies the fact I have so little in my control.
"I don’t know what to say to you." Funny how I hardly know him, but already know him so well—well enough to see in his eyes he's shutting down.
"Whatever, Sky." He stalks back into the kitchen leaving me shaking and on the edge of tears.
This is another reason I’m hesitant—I’ve seen him switch moods in a heartbeat before, and that Dylan scares me.
We were having a conversation which could’ve ended differently, as we began to reconnect as the Dylan and Sky at the heart of this situation. Now I’m edging away again because his behaviour knocked the idea out of my mind.
