Page 40 of Wildest Dreams

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “I see you’ve mastered the art of small talk. No wonder women pay a small fortune for you to date them.”

That drew a snort out of me. “I’m off duty now. I can be my real self.”

“They’d want someone else?” She studied me tiredly.

I wasn’t in the mood to dig into my own bullshit, but taking her mind off her good-for-nothing ex was probably a good idea.

An indulgent smile puckered my lips. “They paid top buck, sweetheart. They got the fantasy. The real deal. I was the most attentive, sappy, possessive, gallant man on the continent.”

“Did you sleep with all of them?” She licked her lips, tracing her tongue along a spot of mayo. I imagined doing it myself and stifled a pained groan.

“No, not all of them,” I admitted. “And I was up-front about it with those I wasn’t interested in screwing. Most of the time, though, they weren’t interested in more than a fake relationship, too battered from whatever had made them hire me in the first place to want to sleep with another man.” I sniffed. “Otherwise, yeah. I had sex with a lot of them and got paid for it. Low-hanging fruit is usually ripe and easy to bite into. And I didn’t have the time nor the inclination to look for hookups after spending all my time playing pretend.”

That is until someone took liberties I didn’t offer.

“Anyway, have you decided what you want to do in New York?” I needed to nudge her into finding a job, because I was dropping her ass as soon as Bruce signed on the dotted line.

“Not yet, but I agreed to work at the Alchemist for a while.”

“The fuck you did.” I choked on my burger, coughing out a piece of pickle. “Tucker works there.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” She sat up straighter, the defiant zing returning to her dark eyes. “I’m not going to turn down a perfectly good job offer because of that bastard. I already lost so much because of him. Skipping this opportunity would be letting him win again.”

“Dylan.” I leaned forward, putting my hand on her shoulder to catch her attention. I didn’t expect the jolt of electricity that ricocheted between us, nor the shudder that rolled across her skin and made her retreat from my touch. “I can’t afford to subsidize your ass past the terms of our deal,” I explained honestly. “I don’t have those kinds of funds.”

“I’m not expecting you to.” Pink budded across her cheeks, and her right brow arched. “Which is why I took this position.”

“Your ex aside? You need something sustainable, with regular hours. An actual profession. Go study something. Chase your dreams.”

“No point. I’ll never outrun them.” She grabbed the empty paper bag, tossing our leftovers into it. “I had my chance, and I blew it. I could’ve had my pick of any college. I chose to serve sunny-side-ups and clean coffee stains from sticky floors. What’s not to understand?”

“You’re a bright kid. You have potent—”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes, shooting up to her feet and walking over to deposit the bag in the trash. “Spare me. Studying requires money and childcare. I have neither. Being a single mom is like arriving to battle with one hand tied behind your back. I’ll forever be in survival mode.” She hugged herself, abrittle note to her tone. “You have no idea what it’s like, to feel homesick for a place you’ve yet to create. To watch people fall in and out of love from the sidelines and know that part of life is off-limits to you. To double- and triple-guess yourself, because every decision you make also affects your kid. I’m just trying to get by. Bartending will help me do that. I can’t afford to give up this work, because no one can promise me I’ll get another chance at employment here.”

It was then, when she was hugging herself, that I noticed it. The mauve-purple ring of finger dents circling her small wrist. It looked like the spot was going to become swollen too.

Her eyes followed my gaze, and she tucked her hand behind her back.

“Who did that to you?” My tone was deadly lethal, even to my own ears.

“Oh, this?” She snorted, massaging the spot softly before wincing in pain and dropping her hand. “It’s nothing. I was in a rush and…” The rest died in her throat.

“And?” I coaxed, my tone so cold she shivered.

“I fell—”

“Never lie to me, Dylan,” I warned. “I can tolerate a whole fucking lot, but I don’t do well with liars. Why are there fingerprints on your skin?”

“It was a mistake, okay?” she hissed out. “Tucker’s never hurt me before. Physically, I mean. Psychologically, he’s murdered me about a hundred times.” A humorless laugh escaped her.

“Tucker did this?”

“Accidentally.”

“You can’t be fucking serious.” I didn’t recognize my own voice, it was so thick and groggy. “He touched you? That motherfuck—”

“Leave it.” She reached out to squeeze my arm. Our eyes locked. It was the first time I’d allowed myself to see her—reallysee her—since she came to New York. Normally, when we looked at people, we looked through them too. But not right now. My entire attention was on her.

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