prowl across the porch paused for a moment, but she got her stride back. That was the thing about Jennifer: she never got knocked off her stride for long. He actually admired that about her. She pouted at him, making the most of those lips she’d been born with. “You know, you used to be a lot nicer.”
“I used to be a kid,” he said. And a fool. So damn grateful and eager for what those men at the party could give him. So damn happy to be out of his cage he would have done anything for the people paying his way. He’d enjoyed being one of their golden boys for a few short years. An up-and-coming driver with a bright future. It had been a relief putting the darkest of his sins as far behind him as he could. Pretending his hands were clean.
But then karma, his old friend, came back around. She always did.
Luckily he was a far better engine builder than he’d ever been a driver.
“You leaving?” She’d gotten close enough that she could touch him. She didn’t. She wasn’t that brave. Or stupid. She’d been the last woman who’d touched him, years ago. And he’d liked it for a long time, until quite suddenly, he couldn’t stand it.
“Soon,” Dylan said.
“Want some company?” To his surprise, she lifted her hand toward his face, as if she were going to run her fingers over the scars there.
He turned his face aside and stepped back away from her touch. Jennifer had a habit of wanting more. Always more. Too much. And his world didn’t work like that. He didn’t work like that. Whatever he’d had to give a person had been taken from him years ago.
“You know that’s not going to happen,” he said.
She dropped her arm and the sly smile vanished. “You’ve changed, you know that? Ever since—”
“Go back to the party,” he said quietly. “Before you say something we both regret.”
She turned on her heel and headed inside.
Everyone in there thought the accident had ruined him. But he’d been ruined long before.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text message.
Layla.
All the bullshit inside that house and inside his head—it vanished.
And he smiled as he stepped off the porch and into the darkness of the tree line surrounding the mansion, having known somehow in his gut who it would be, texting him at this hour.
Sending her that article had been a risky but necessary move. He couldn’t have her thinking Ben was tame. He couldn’t have her getting hurt because he’d put her in that situation. And reading that article had brought so much shit to the surface, reminded him of what a scumbag Ben was, how capable he was of hurting the people around him.
After mailing that article to Layla, he’d sent one of his guys to a hotel in Cherokee because he wanted someone close to her if things went south.
Because that was the thing about Ben. Shit always went south.
Her first text was sent an hour ago; he must have missed it in his arrival at the party.
Layla: Hey.
And then her second one was just a few minutes ago.
Layla: helllllloooooooooo
Dylan smiled before texting her back: Hey yourself.
Layla: You’re there!!
Dylan: I’m here.
Layla: I’m drynk
Dylan: Drunk?
Layla: Very. But I’m still mad about the article
Dylan: That’s why you’re texting? To tell me ur mad?
He knew she wasn’t texting because she was angry. She was texting because she was as addicted to this shit they had between them as he was.
Layla: Not at this moment
His blood thickened and he would give anything to not be at this party. Half of him was ready to step farther into those shadows and tell her to do all the things that got her off. But that couldn’t happen here. He was very careful about how his worlds touched, like a kid who couldn’t let his carrots touch his potatoes.
There was no cross-contamination in his world.
Dylan: Cause you’re drunk
Layla: very. call me
Dylan: Why?
Layla: I want to hear ur voice.
Dylan: You like my voice?
Layla: Makes me very hot. Wt
Layla: Wet. Drunk texting is hard
Dylan smiled before looking up at the glittering windows of the three-story house full of people who kissed his ring but didn’t make eye contact. Jennifer was in there. That smile on her face that told him everything he needed to know about how good his chances were that she’d be willing to lift that skirt of hers in an upstairs bedroom.
Everyone in that party thought he was a hermit