Page 36 of Yuletide Acres

“Or he won’t. He might be perfectly content with that lifestyle.”

She faces me, studying my face. “I can’t imagine you’d be happy in that capacity.”

She’s right. Plus, the idea of Dylan screwing countless women makes the alcohol in my belly threaten to reappear. “That’s not my style. Hence why Dylan and I are just…friends? Pseudo friends? He doesn’t hate me right now, so we’ll go with that.”

Susan bends over the pool table, taking her shot and sinking a solid. “Keep telling yourself that, honey. But this entire bar feels the chemistry between the two of you. Eventually, that flame is going to burn out of control.”

“Or burn itself out.”

“If it hasn’t after a decade, it’s not going to. Your shot, sweets.”

I bend down, glancing up and down the table and hoping I can will the damn ball into the hole because there’s no chance I’ll sink anything otherwise. I gasp when Dylan’s arms wrap around me, his hands resting over mine.

His lips are at my ear, his entire body pressed close. “You want to aim for that one. So, you want to hit the ball right…here.” With a smooth stroke, the ball sinks into the pocket and I release a giggle of disbelief. “Good job, beautiful.”

“What can I say? I’ve got skills,” I laugh, joining in with Dylan.

I have two choices—stay away from Dylan or enjoy being around him. While the possessive side of me wants to scratch out the eyes of any woman looking in his direction, the rational side of me knows that point is moot.

There’s no reason to hold Dylan’s reputation against him. Hell, it’s been ten years. It’s not like he was waiting for me to reappear. Besides, being friends is a far safer path to tread with Mr. West.

Now I need to convince my body of that fact.

We return to the darkened booth after Dylan single-handedly whips Susan's and Jill’s butts, but I’m surprised when he settles next to me instead of across the table. His friends sit across from us, with Jill being the first to speak.

“How’s Marissa, Dylan?”

“She’s good. Addicted to brownies, and I blame Susan for feeding that addiction.”

Jill chuckles, swigging back some beer. Her attraction to Dylan is obvious, and I feel a momentary pang of sympathy for the woman. Unrequited love sucks. “It must be hard for her around this time of year. Hard for you both.”

Dylan clears his throat, adjusting in the seat. Okay, this topic makes him uncomfortable. “Marissa never knew Merry, so it’s hard for her to comprehend.”

“But it must be hard for you,” Jill presses, and I see Susan elbow her friend in a non-verbal plea to cease and desist. “What? He lost his wife, Susan. I’m allowed to inquire how he’s handling it.”

“Six years ago, Jill,” Dylan grits out, his fingers tapping the table. “But thanks for asking. I’m doing fine.”

“Well, I’m always here if you need a friend. It seems your other roster is full up. Look at the time. I’d better be going.” With a fake smile to the table, she struts away, and I’m sure she’s gleeful at the idea of throwing a cog in any sexual wheel between me and Dylan.

Susan stands, rolling her eyes in her friend’s direction. “That’s my cue, too. Poppy, it was so nice spending time with you. I hope to see you again, soon.”

I smile, my hand idly stirring my drink as I struggle to maintain a sunny disposition. “I had fun. Get home safe, Susan.”

The two women leave the bar, and I ponder my options. I can leave as well, or I can try to make light of the moment. “She’s a peach, Dylan,” I remark with a chuckle, opting for the second choice.

Dylan laughs, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Jill is a bitch. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” Okay, her behavior isn’t fine, but since I’ve got a decent amount of alcohol in me and Jill brought up Dylan’s wife, I opt to continue in that vein.

That’s the trouble when I drink. I’m never mean. Heavens, no. But I tend toward asking questions about topics that the sober me knows best to leave alone. “Tell me about Merry.”

Dylan’s eyes widen as he leans back against the booth with a low groan. “Why do you want to know about Merry? Just ignore Jill. She’s always been a shit stirrer. I’m really and truly fine, Poppy.”

I ponder my reasons as I sip my drink. Why do I want details? Is it to know what I’m up against? To understand why she was worth pursuing, and I wasn’t? Morbid curiosity? “I know that you’re fine, Dylan, but I’d still like to know about your wife. I hope I find a love like that one day, too.”

“Don’t pray for a love like that.”

“Too unattainable for me?” Lord help, I really hope he isn’t about to rip into me again.

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