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I didn’t want to be alone with him, or even around him much at all. Because what he wanted, whatIwanted, was too damn tempting. I didn’t like the guilty feelings creeping back in. I was still with Austin and feeling this way about Dylan wasn’t fair to him.
Carl, the general manager they’d hired, and Shayna and Aaron, the taproom servers, were all there and all busy. They had a bus of older people from some group doing a tour, so Dylan was talking to most of them and being friendly.
Maddie pushed some art mockups toward me so we could check the designs against the general ambiance of the place.
Shayna hustled by, and I waved her down. “What group is this?” I asked, motioning toward the throng of people surrounding Dylan.
“I can’t remember their official name. It’s kind of like Red Hats, you know, the group for older ladies, but it’s for everybody. They pride themselves on getting out and doing cultural things. Museums, breweries, theater, that kind of thing. And that group,” she said, pointing at some women walking into the taproom, “are just regulars. They come every couple of weeks.”
Then she hurried away to serve the other guests.
We focused on the designs until Carl stopped at our table, curious to see what we were working on.
Laughter rang out from the other side of the room, so we all looked. Two women stood in front of Dylan, both laughing louder than they needed to.
It was instantly obvious that they were flirting their asses off. They seemed to be in some sort of competition to get his attention, one trying to out-laugh the other and flirt harder.
Carl’s eyes flicked to the women he chuckled. "I see Dylan’sfan clubis out in full force."
Fan club?
I glanced at Carl, confused. He just laughed good-naturedly.
“That’s just what I call them. I think they come here more for him than the beer. And that one,” he said, nodding in the direction of the one with the tightest pair of jeans, “is like the fan club president. She’s been trying to get with Dylan for months. We have to pry them off so he can actually get any work done some nights."
I watched her step closer to him.
“Those jeans have to be cutting off circulation tosomething,” I said, amazed that she could breathe at all.
Dylan seemed to be eating up all the attention.
He smiled and laughed, patted their shoulders and touched their arms. They touched him more, though, and a couple of times he seemed to lean into it when Miss Tight Pants stroked her hand down his arm.
I felt an odd pang in my stomach. I shook my head slightly, annoyed with myself.
None of my business if Dylan had admirers.
It shouldn't bother me at all.
I had a boyfriend.
“You should have seen her when she noticed Dylan’s tattoo below his collar and insisted that he show it to her.” Carl shook his head.
Aaron was rushing by and caught what he said. He stopped and leaned down.
“I thought we were gonna need a mop,” he said with a laugh before he hurried away.
Carl shook his head again and said, “I’ve got to get back to work, ladies.”
I watched Miss Tight Pants flirting with my—withDylan—for a few more minutes until she and her friend went elsewhere, and Dylan headed our way.
We were still waiting for Brent to join us before starting the meeting, so I focused on the art, ready to show it to them as tentative designs to see which they liked best.
After Maddie excused herself to use the ladies’ room, Dylan touched my shoulder.
“I’m sorry about the other night at the restaurant. I acted like an ass.”
“You sure did,” I said, but I couldn’t help but smile at the end of it.
