Six weeks was a long-ass time when I had gotten used to seeing him every two weeks.
But still... I gritted my teeth and shook my head. I couldn't forget the way he'd lit up when Riley called him that night, and I refused to put myself on the line to have my heart broken. No way. I needed to get the fuck out of this situation before I forgot my resolve completely.
"Dylan," I snapped, peeling his fingers off my stomach where he held me against him. "I don't want to talk while you're naked. Shower or whatever; I'm going for a walk."
This time I moved faster, rushing out of the cabin and down the short flight of stairs to the dirt path. I thought I had made a clean break, I really did. But a second later I found myself swept up in a tight hold and tossed over a broad, dark shoulder. A naked shoulder.
"Dylan!" I shrieked. "What the fuck? You're naked!"
He just snorted a laugh and jogged back up the steps. I heard a thump as he kicked the door open, then he strode through with me hanging limp over his shoulder like a prize buck he'd just shot.
"No one is out here, Brooke," he replied with an edge of amusement. "Even if they were, it'd be their own fucking fault for spying on us."
He dropped me down on the couch, then mercifully reached for his sweatpants. Not before I got a good eyeful of his everything, though.
Groan. Why did I have to be so goddamn dick-drunk on Dylan Playboy Grant? Why couldn't I have met some nice, normal, available guy that night?
"This alpha-male behavior isn't cute, Dylan," I lied, licking my suddenly bone-dry lips. "You can't just pick me up and carry me around when I don't do what you want."
His brows quirked up as he sat down on the couch beside me, hooking his ankle up on his opposite knee, casual as all fuck. "Can't I? I'm pretty sure I can, Brooklyn. Who's going to tell me off?"
My lips parted in outrage, but he wasn't bluffing. He owned the camp, there was no higher authority than Dylan Grant. I certainly couldn't see any of the other guides or campers calling him on his behavior, and I wasn't exactly going to run crying to my big brother...
Fucking hell. Blake. That was a pit of darkness I didn't want in my brain right now.
"Look," Dylan continued with a heavy sigh. "We're overdue a proper conversation, don't you think?"
My brow wrinkled, and the last remaining scrap of my stubborn pride wiggled its way to the surface. "About what, Dylan? I lied about my name, so what? That's not exactly anything new. People use fake IDs all the time. I'm sorry I never told you, but, you know..." I gave an awkward shrug and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "People make mistakes."
His eyes locked with mine, and I was helpless to look away. Dammit.
"I'm not talking about the fact that you lied about your name or your age, although that could have gotten me into a whole world of shit if people had found out I was fucking a seventeen-year-old. Thanks for that, Brooklyn." I cringed, but he continued. "I was talking about the fact that you just walked out of the hotel that night, didn't even say goodbye, then dropped off the fucking earth. You didn't take my calls or return my texts."
A small part of me was quietly shocked—and delighted—to hear he'd been trying to contact me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered and bit my lip anxiously.
His brow furrowed, but it wasn't the venomous glare he'd been directing my way all damn day. This expression was just confused. Concerned, even.
"What happened, Brooke?" His voice was so gentle it hurt my damn heart. "I was worried about you. Those bruises I saw—"
"I blocked your number," I blurted out, cutting him off. "I knew I needed a clean break but would be too fucking weak to just say no whenever you told me you were in town, so this time I took the choice away from myself. I blocked your number, then deleted our message threads and..." I trailed off with a shrug.
"And never looked back, huh?" his tone was edged with bitterness, and his whole body seemed to vibrate with tension. It didn't help that he'd only put sweatpants on, so I could see every movement of his chiseled chest and abs. Holy hell, he was ripped. Like