Damaged The Dillon Sisters - Layla Frost Page 0,46

gorgeous in the casual outfit.

Venomous ghosts whispered through my head, nurturing the seeds of doubt and cynicism.

Why me?

What’s his angle?

Is this a game? A challenge?

What was I thinking?

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he smiled down at me. But rather than the easy, charming curve of his lips, there was an edge to it. A wicked smirk. A glint in his too sharp gaze. “Is this your way of saying you want me to call you pet instead of flower?”

Melody inhaled so hard, I was worried she’d hurt herself. She exhaled in a shaky wheeze, and if she could’ve swooned with a case of the vapors, I’m positive she would’ve. Since I was fresh out of smelling salts—and also because I had no clue what they were—I was glad she snapped out of the Alexander fog without incident. She tilted her head toward the door. “I’ll, uhh, go inventory the kittens.” She scowled and shook her head at the weird excuse before slowly backing away. Once she was out of his line of sight, she wildly pointed at him and mouthed, Soooo hot!

She wasn’t wrong.

I stood and attempted to brush the fur off my leggings. “What’re you doing here?”

“We’re having dinner.”

“In an hour.”

Although we both knew he was there to make sure I didn’t ghost him, he said, “I like to be early.”

“Then I hope you also like to wait.”

“Patience is one of my many virtues.”

I rolled my eyes. “As is humility.”

“Clearly.”

After gently patting the still nameless pup goodbye, I opened the door. The pup let out a small, stifled yelp before shaking so hard, it was a wonder he didn’t vibrate across the floor. Only once I closed the gate—with Alexander on the outside—did he relax again.

“He okay?” Alexander asked, his voice quiet and calm.

“He doesn’t like… anyone, really. But especially men.”

“Abused?”

“Badly.”

His expression remained impassive as he nodded, but when he took my hand, his firm grip said he wasn’t as unaffected as he let on.

Without thought—an increasingly common and frustrating theme when he was around—I returned the squeeze. “He’ll be fine with time.”

Using his hold, he twisted me so my front was pressed to his. “And with the right person.” Before I could pull away—and I really fucking needed to pull away—he released me. “I figured it’d be busier in here.”

“Most of the staff and dogs are at a fundraising auction.”

“Were you supposed to go?” he asked, presenting me with the perfect excuse to get out of dinner.

I didn’t take it. “Not my scene.”

“Lucky for me.” He jerked his head to the side. “Give me a tour.”

If showing pictures of my apartment at group had left me feeling exposed, showing Alexander around the shelter was akin to flaying open my soul. He’d already seen me at my worst. My most vulnerable. Ready to die and desperate for it.

This would be the opposite. I’d be letting him into my best. Showing him what drove me. Sharing what tiny bit of joy I’d managed to find.

After a long moment where I gave serious contemplation to locking myself back in the cage with the nameless pup, I let my shoulders relax and unclenched my jaw. “Follow me.”

I had every intention of making the tour as brief as humanly possible, but between his genuine interest in all the animals, my genuine love of all the animals, and my coworkers’ genuine nosiness, it was taking for-freaking-ever.

He’s fucking up my whole system.

I was an intensely—and likely overdramatically—private person. I blamed years of being harshly judged, dissected, and analyzed. And I wasn’t just talking about on the pageant stages. I’d worked hard to perfect the balance between being friendly enough to not come across as a huge bitch while still maintaining my distance. It was a fine line, but I walked it as well as a beauty pageant runway.

Or I had.

Alexander showing up at my work had blurred the lines. Him being hot and outgoing and touching me so damn much had completely eviscerated them.

An hour later, and only halfway through the tour, I stopped us. “I have to go clock out.” I tried not to stare as he stuck a finger in the cage to pet Waldorf—one of the older cats. Since the notoriously hostile shelter mainstay was tolerating the attention and hadn’t ripped Alexander’s finger off, it was clear I wasn’t the only one swayed by his charm.

It was oddly comforting.

“I’ll be here,” he said, gently squeezing my hip.

Like all his little touches and grazes, it was innocuous and subtle, but it still