Page 4 of Ruined

Dinner at the Turtle Club tonight and then dessert at my house?

I think about it for a moment. Just as I’m about to respond, another text comes through.

Dylan

I’m not meaning sex. I want you to meet my boys finally and see my house.

Me

Okay

I continue working on my paper until it’s almost time to meet Dylan, then head out to the restaurant in Fox. I like the Turtle Club, though I’ve only been there once before. Vixen and I went when we first moved here. I pull in next to his truck and wait in my car. I know he likes to open my door for me and help me out. Even though I’ve never dated him before, he’s shown me how he wants to treat me. He has proven time and again that he wants to be there for me.

Dylan opens my door, and I reach out for his hand as he helps me out of the car. His arm wraps around me, and he leads me toward the entrance.

I’m hit with a wave of heat and the rich aroma of red meat and good food as we step through the door. We walk past the bar to the hostess station, and he gives his name for our reservation. I watch as the hostess checks him out. I’m standing right next to him, and she still eyes him. I know he’s sexy, but jeez, give it a rest, bitch.

I’m about to say something when Dylan leans down and kisses my forehead.

“Missed you today, baby doll. Can’t wait to get you home and in bed. We can cuddle and watch a movie,” he says, loud enough for the hostess to hear, but not so loud that others can.

I can’t help the sigh that comes from me. I honestly feel at peace at this moment. I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to move our relationship to the next step, but he’s here right now and wants to be with me. I’m also here and want it.

We are directed to a small table off to the side, and Dylan pulls out my chair for me. Before I sit, he helps me slip off my puffy down parka. I’m wearing skinny jeans and a slouchy cream-colored turtleneck sweater. After he pushes me in, I watch as he removes off his outer Carhartt jacket, revealing a long-sleeved Henley with a flannel layered over the top. His jeans sit low on his hips, and I remember how he felt last night.

“Baby doll, get those thoughts out of your head before I pull you onto my lap and show everyone here who you belong to.” His voice is deep and gruff.

My eyes snap to his sky-blue ones, now darkened and stormy. My breath quickens, and I fidget in my chair as I pull the side of my bottom lip between my teeth. He stands, and I watch as he moves toward me. Part of me wants him to clear the table with a sweep of his arm and take me, but the other part of me—the shy, scared little girl—wants to tell him to sit back down.

He comes to a stop, standing over me. I look up at him, my heart pounding. He leans down and kisses me deeply. His tongue dominates my mouth. He has one hand under my chin and the other gripping the braid at the back of my head. He tugs on the plait, pulling my lips from his.

“When we get home, I’m going to show you what happens when you provoke me,” he growls, and I shift in my seat.

Dinner is amazing, not just because of the food, but because of the conversation. I tell Dylan about my three older brothers. How I studied ballet and dance, but it never went anywhere thanks to my two left feet. He laughs and insists it couldn’t have been that bad. I can’t help but belly laugh as I tell him about one of my first recitals, where I knocked the other dancers over.

He tells me about his parents and growing up in the Mat-Su Valley and Anchorage. He lived in Anchorage until he was a teenager, then moved to Palmer, where they lived near a farm. Dylan invites me to go snow machining with him if the weatherwarms up. I’ve never gone snowmobiling before, and he laughs when I call it that.

We discover we have a lot in common when it comes to our likes and dislikes of books, movies, and music. But our upbringings were very different. I like that he has fun stories to share, and how much he loves his parents. He assures me they’ll like me, but I doubt it.

I follow him to his house, a huge log home with a rock chimney and a wraparound deck. It reminds me of the house in the television showYellowstone. When I park, he’s already at my door, waiting to help me out of the car.

“I’ll warn you they might have been partially trained to be police dogs, but they are jumpers and lovers. They failed out of the program, and I took them in.”

“I want to see them. You’ve talked them up so much. I want to meet these babies.” I smile and realize this is the most I’ve laughed and had fun in a very long time.

He leads me up the stairs to the porch, and we walk around to the side of the house, entering through the laundry-utility room. He helps me out of my coat, and I take off my boots. When he opens the door, two blurs rush him—one black, the other a tricolor. They jump up, tails wagging, yipping and barking in excitement to see him. Dylan shouts “Off!” and “Down!” repeatedly.

I stand back and watch for a moment, but then the dogs turn their attention to me. The tricolor one rushes me, and I instinctively hold up my hands, afraid he might attack. But instead, he sniffs me, then licks my chin. Standing on his hind legs, he’s tall enough to almost meet my eye.

“Down, Brutus,” Dylan orders the dog, and he immediately drops down. The all-black one moves toward me and leans against my leg. “That one is Otis. He’s the lover, not the wild child that Brutus is.”

“Hello, sweet boy.” I pet his head, and Brutus tries to push between us, wanting some loving too.

“Come on, baby doll.” Dylan holds out his hand, and I take it.

He leads me through the kitchen and into the large great room, where the fireplace is the main focal point. A large screen television is attached above the mantel, and a big leather sofa faces it.

“Want to get into something comfortable?” Dylan guides me to what appears to be the primary bedroom.

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