Page 41 of Sweet Chaos
He stared at me like I had three heads. “You’re going to Mavericksalone?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged one shoulder. “It’s no big deal. I’m sure I’ll find people to talk to.” That was obviously the wrong thing to say.
Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “What time do they play?”
“Ten but—”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“No!” I said quickly, my eyes widened in horror. Now I was cursing myself for telling him the truth. Me and my big fat mouth. “You can’t come tonight. You and Ollie don’t get along. I don’t want another repeat of my birthday."
He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You’re not going to that bar without me.”
“I’ll find someone else to go with me. I can ask Ryan or—”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
“No. You’re not invited.”
That was like waving a red flag at a bull. I could tell by the stubborn set of his jaw that he didn’t care if he was invited or not. “Wasn’t waiting for an invitation. See you later, Starlet,” he said with a wink.A wink. So cocky.
As if the matter was settled, he strode away and climbed into his SUV, slipping on a pair of black Wayfarers to shield his eyes. He watched me through the windshield, a lazy grin on his perfect lips as he drove away.
My stomach plummeted. This was a terrible idea.
15
Scarlett
“You’re just coming as my friend. I don’t want to mess up this gig for Ollie,” I reminded Dylan as we crossed the street to the bar. “No touching or kissing or… just don’t even look at me. In fact, you should stand on the other side of the room and pretend you’re not even with me.”
He stopped outside the bar and crossed his arms over his chest, an accusation in his voice. “Did he know you were planning to come alone?”
“Yes.”
“And he was good with that?”
I lifted my chin, my hands on my hips. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
“Last time I was at Mavericks, a fight broke out because some douche wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“And who started that fight? Let me guess, it was you.” I poked him in the chest.
“You’re missing the fucking point.” His gaze raked over me from head to toe, taking in the black tank painted with a skull in a wreath of thorns under a denim jacket, my snakeskin print mini, black fishnets, and Docs. His hand skimmed over my backside, cupping my butt cheek and pulling me flush against him. “Did you wear this for me?”
“No. I don’t dress for men.” It was true. I dressed for myself.
“So you were planning to wear this anyway to go to a baralone?”
Sensing where he was headed with this line of questioning, I rallied to my own defense. “I should be able to wear whatever I want.”
He scowled. “If you want a bunch of assholes hitting on you all night.”
“Well, now I’ve got you to protect me from all the non-existent dangers.” I rolled my eyes as he opened the door and ushered me inside, rock music blasting from the speakers. I handed the guy at the door a twenty for our cover charge, beating Dylan to it and we got our hands stamped.
Dylan led me through the throng of people crowding the bar, the walls decorated with Route 66 signs, Heineken mirrors, and dartboards. The crack of pool balls from the tables in the back cut through the music and clinking of glasses. It smelled like stale beer and sweat. A typical bar. Perfectly harmless.
I was happy to see there was a good crowd tonight, but I was paranoid about running into someone I knew. Or worse, someone who knew Sienna. On top of that, I’d texted Ollie to warn him that I was bringing Dylan and never got a reply. So yeah, this was a train wreck waiting to happen.
