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He didn’t want to make a scene, and I understood it. But I couldn’t disregard that I had also specifically told Peter we couldn't be seated upstairs.
“No, it's not,” I insisted before turning to Peter. “I told you earlier—”
“Lennon,” Dylan cut me off, taking a step toward me.
His firm yet gentle tone commanded me, stopping the words from leaving my mouth as I stood, lips open and staring.
It all came back to me in that second—his demands and instructions on what to do with my hands, lips, mouth, and body. The mind that I had trained so diligently to see him as nothing but a friend now saw him naked from the waist up, all his tattoos on proud display. It was all I could do not to drop my eyes to the crotch of his slacks, half-expecting to see his zipper open and revealing the erection I tried desperately not to miss.
I stared stupidly at him as his brows lifted, and his gaze softened.
“I told you,” he said in a low voice that teetered toward a warning, “it'sfine.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, and he assured me he was. My head jittered in something akin to a nod as I looked back at Peter, who was clearly growing tired of this exchange. “Okay, we can go upstairs.”
“Great. Glad we cleared that up,” he said in a tone new to me with his glare pinned on Dylan.
He was annoyed … and, dare I say it, maybe a little suspicious.
The hostess led Peter, our friends, my parents, and Connor up the stairs while Dylan insisted on going last. He didn't say as much, but I knew he was worried about slowing everyone down. So, I waited with him, knowing he would've done the same for me, and when there was no one but us, he offered his arm.
“Come on, blindy,” he said, joking in a way I could now only accept from him. “Let's see if we can make it up there without breaking something.”
Laughing, I rolled my eyes, but there was something about the way my arm held to his that felt good—it feltright. And as we climbed slowly and patiently, arms linked and sides touching, it annoyed me that Peter hadn't waited.
Come to think of it, had he ever?
I was his girlfriend, and he knew my limitations. But he always walked ahead, rarely taking my hand to lead me here and there. Hell, going up this staircase, he was the first one to follow the hostess without a second glance in my direction.
What did that say about him? What did that tell me about our relationship?
You're psyching yourself out. He's a good guy. He's exactly what you've always wanted.
Yeah, but do I really want—
“Hey,” Dylan said, bumping his arm against mine as he stiffly maneuvered his leg to the next step. “Thanks for looking out for me.”
“Well, duh,” I said. “I wouldn't just not say something. And just so you know, Ididtell him we couldn't sit up here, but I guess it was the only—”
“It's okay,” he interrupted. “I just appreciate it—that's all I'm saying.”
“Well, you're welcome.”
Dylan opened his mouth to say something else when we reached the top of the stairs, and Peter shouted with amusement, “It's about time you guys got up here!”
Peter had never made me angry before. But he sure as hell did then.
Dylan dropped my arm like it was made of poison and walked toward the table with a limp more noticeable than before. “Yeah, sorry about that, guys. Definitely one of the downsides to being a one-legged cripple.”
The room fell so silent that you could hear an ant skuttle across the floor as Dylan noisily pulled out his chair and sat with little grace. I drew a deep breath of preparation before taking a seat across from him and between Peter and Tarryn.
This is going to be an interesting night—that’s for damn sure.
The hostess cleared her throat awkwardly and doled out the final two menus.
“Thank you so much,” Dylan said, opening his the moment it was in hand as she passed mine across to me.
“Um …” She lingered close to his chair, twiddling her thumbs over her skintight, dark dress. “This is so awkward, but … are you … are you Dylan Pierce?”
