Page 11 of Tangled Hearts

Now I really get why he and Mr. Football were joking about Dylan not being able to afford the bill. I bet his charming ass could retire right now and be just fine for the rest of his life. It’s crazy to me that Julie doesn’t realize that, or maybe it just goes to show how little she knows about him.

“I don’t have your number,” Dylan responds.

“You blocked me?” Julie lets out a gasp.

“I just didn’t save it.” He shrugs. That is kind of a dick thing to say, but Julie might have it coming.

"Why are you lying? You obviously stalked me here." Julie fluffs out her skirt.

“He’s here with the—” I tilt my head toward the paperwork in his hand.

Julie rolls her eyes. “He could have brought that to Luna any time. He’s using it as an excuse to find me.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” I can tell he’s not the least bit sorry.

“I think I’m going to go change.” I start to step down off the podium, and Dylan offers me his hand. I take it. “Thanks.”

“Why don’t you boys show me this prenup?” I hear Frankie say from behind me. I’m thankful that one of the ladies helping with the dresses is back here to help me get out of this dress.

I need a few minutes to get myself together. Don’t get me wrong; on one hand, I want to hurry back out to interact with Dylan more, and on the other, I want to stay in here until Frankie realizes I haven’t resurfaced and comes and gets me. I’m guessing I have a few more minutes until that happens.

The ladies get me out of the dress way too quickly, and it would be awkward to linger. When I come out, however, I don’t see Julie. Dylan’s attention comes right to me. He’s next to Frankie, who is reading over the document. When I see her bottom lip pull slightly up, I know she doesn’t like what she is reading. It’s a small tell. I don’t think anyone else would catch it, but I do. Not good.

Luna stands off by herself, perfectly still. I glance over to her soon-to-be husband, who is tapping away on his phone. Why aren’t they talking, and why is he even here? To help pick out the wedding dress? Is he that controlling? Why would he conduct a prenuptial agreement here, of all places?

“You okay?” I ask Luna.

“Oh, yes.” She gives me a soft smile.

“Luna—”

“Julie left.” She is quick to stop whatever I’m about to say. I get the message. I will let it go for now. There are too many other people around.

“It’s bullshit, and you know it.” Frankie squares off with Dylan. Here we go. “She’s not a breeding mule that can be tossed away.”

“Shit.” I wince at that. “Give me.” I hold my hand out. Frankie hands it over to me.

“Guys, it’s okay.” Luna tries to calm Frankie down. I’m going to need some of that calm too, because the more I read over theprenup, the angrier I get. Dylan might not be as charming as I thought.

“Luna knows that she’s not bringing anything into the marriage. It’s my legacy that is at risk.” At least Dylan drops his head a fraction, shaking it at Michael's words.

“You—”

“Okay, now.” I grab Frankie by the arm before she can rip Michael’s head off. “Not here,” I say next to Frankie’s ear while shooting my own glare at the two men who had the audacity to come up with this bullshit.

Because that’s what this all is. Bullshit.

Chapter Nine

DYLAN

My watch says it’s almost seven, which means happy hour is nearing its end. I double-check that the car I’m watching is still in its parked position since I can’t see Nat from the bar’s windows. Yes, I’m officially a stalker, but after the fiasco at the wedding dress store, I figured I wouldn’t be welcome at the table inside.

Kaden had called me earlier, asking if we were going to happy hour. I explained to him what happened, and after he was done cursing me out, he said he’d find a way to meet up with Frankie on his own. And he said that he was going to pretend we weren’t friends so it would help his cause.Whatever works for you, man, I’d replied.

My feelings aren’t hurt because I know I’m the bad guy in this scenario. Or, if not the bad guy, then the lawyerly henchman trying to help the bad guy. But this lawyer is having second thoughts about what side he’s on and is trying to go down a different path. Maybe it’s one that seems shiftless and lazy, but making hats and blankets for preemies in the hospital seems toa better use of my time than writing prenuptial agreements that dole out money based on how many kids a wife can pop out.

The bar door swings open, and I straighten up, only to slide back down when it’s three men who exit. These girls need to go to an all women’s bar because those men look like the kind that would ask you what song you were listening to while you were wearing headphones. Irritating jackasses.

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