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When I looked over at her, she smiled at me and grabbed my hand again. I knew she hated it, but she was going to be supportive. I loved that about her.
We slid into a booth in the back corner and Bart dropped off two beers before I even realized that he had seen us come in. He gave me a quick wink as he turned and walked away, but he didn’t say a word, which was very unlike him.
“So, then what happened with you and Meg?”
“Nothing,” I said with a shrug, “never saw her again.”
“Have you dated a lot since then? I mean, I know you’ve dated, but anyone that serious?”
“Nope.”
“Really? How long ago was that?”
I drummed my fingers on the table, trying to count back the years.
“I guess it’s been about ten years. Maybe more.”
“You haven’t had a serious girlfriend in over ten years?”
I shook my head as I took a swig of the beer.
“I find that very hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“Because, well, because you’reyou.”
“What does that mean?”
Grace sighed at me, as if exasperated that she had to explain herself. But she did it anyway.
“You’re successful. You’re kind. You’re handsome,” she paused for a moment and glanced around. “And you’re incredible in bed,” she said with a whisper.
I laughed and gave myself a mental pat on the back.
“Honestly, I haven’t been in bed with that many women.”
“What? No way. You’re out with a new woman every weekend it seems like.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I’m sleeping with them.”
Grace ponders this for a moment and takes a slow sip of her beer.
“So you’re telling me that you haven’t had a serious relationship in a decade, and you don’t sleep around?”
“Nope.”
“I feel like I don’t even know you, Dylan Woods.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
She paused again and narrowed her eyes at me.
“I think it’s a good thing. But I want to know more.”
My heart swelled at that. How long had it been since someone, anyone, wanted to get to know the real me, rather than just what they see on stage or in the media?
“What else do you want to know?”
