Page 24 of Luck of the Draw

The phone stopped ringing.

I’d wanted to give him a proper goodbye, but maybe this would be easier. Maybe it would be less painful for us both. I hated the thought of causing him pain, but I told myself it would be fleeting. A man like him wouldn’t be alone for long, not if he didn’t want to be. Even if it made me feel an uncomfortable prickle of jealousy to imagine him with anyone else.

I smiled up at him, cupping his face and drinking in his every feature. I wanted his image burned into my memory.

“Deeandra,” he said, turning serious. “This has—”

The phone started ringing again.

I pressed another soft kiss to his lips, needing to kiss him one last time. “Go answer your call,” I said softly. “Don’t keep your family waiting.”

He gave me a long, worried look, then grabbed his athletic shorts and tugged them on as he walked out of the bathroom and into his room, cracking the door.

The sounds of his family’s effusive greetings drifted out, and I smiled to myself even as my heart wept. How could I grieve over a man I’d known for fourteen hours? But my heart didn’t listen to reason. Tears burned my eyes as I left the bathroom and peeked out the blinds to see Sam’s car in the parking lot.

Damn it.

My borrowed dress was next to the sofa, but there was no way I had time to struggle into that, and my shapewear was tucked beneath it. Not to mention Melinda’s shoes were in Dylan’s room. I’d have to reimburse her because there was no way in hell I was going to ask for them back. So I put on Dylan’s T-shirt, which was as big as a dress on me, then went out into the kitchen and found a small notepad and pen and wrote:

Dylan,

This has been the greatest fourteen hours of my life. Thank you for that. Thank you for making me feel desirable and beautiful. I will never forget this time with you as long as I live,

Cinderella

Then I wadded the dress and shapewear into a ball, shoved my feet into my flats, and grabbed my phone as Dylan’s voice carried from the bedroom. “Nonna, I promise you. I haven’t lost weight. I’m eating.”

I opened the front door, then carefully closed it behind me, making sure to keep it as quiet as possible.

“That’s Dylan’s shirt,” the boy from last night said in an accusatory tone.

I jumped, placing a hand on my chest, feeling a fresh wave of gratitude that Dylan was so tall his T-shirt came to my mid-thighs. “What?”

“That’s his jersey,” he repeated, the accusation replaced with anger. “He wears his Boston Celtics jersey when they play sometimes. For good luck. You’re stealing it.”

I didn’t have time to have this discussion with him, but I also didn’t want him to alert Dylan to the fact that I’d left. That would be all kinds of awkward. “I’m only borrowing it.”

Then I raced down the sidewalk to Sam’s waiting car.

She stared at me, her mouth hanging open, and I could only imagine what I looked like, running away from a teenager in a borrowed shirt.

I jumped into the passenger seat, then said, “Go!” before I even got the door shut.

Being the good friend that she was, she threw the car in reverse and shot away from the curb before slamming it into drive, tires screeching as she took off and turned out of the lot.

Tyrell stood in front of his apartment, his eyes wide.

Great.So much for convincing him I wasn’t stealing Dylan’s shirt when it looked like I’d nabbed it and taken off in a getaway car.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, shooting me a worried glance. “Was he holding you captive in his sex dungeon and this is your escape?”

I rolled my eyes. “He wasn’t holding me captive.”

“I notice you didn’t deny the sex dungeon part.”

I couldn’t help my half-snort/half-chuckle. “He didn’t have a sex dungeon. He lives on the second floor, for heaven’s sake.”

“You don’t need to be so literal,” she shot back, then turned serious. “Why the quick getaway?”

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