Page 34 of Sweet Chaos
Dylan lifted one shoulder in a shrug and carved his hand through his hair. Tonight, it was messy and disheveled. Secretly, I preferred it that way. Nic was going on and on about the wine and Dylan’s awesome kitchen while he uncorked a bottle of wine and I just stood there trying to figure out what was going on.
Was he into threesomes? Oh crap. I hadn’t even thought of that. Was he attracted to Nic? Did he want to fuck both of us?
He pressed a glass of wine in my hand, his fingers brushing mine as I accepted the glass and thanked him, my eyes focused on the ruby liquid in my glass. I didn’t even want to look at him. It was always my undoing. “Don’t be jealous, Starlet.”
“Pfft. I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous?” I took a big swig of liquid courage, using great restraint not to chug it and demand a refill. God, why did he make me feel this way? It was his scent. All those damn pheromones just floating around.
He gave me a slow, lazy grin. “I don’t know. Why would you be?”
Thankfully, Nic chose that moment to ask for my help. Something to occupy my time and attention. Dylan, of course, did not help with the pizza making. He drank his beer and played on his phone while I assisted Nicola who acted like she was filming a cooking show. As a joke, Dylan changed the music and “Truth Hurts” blasted from his surround sound.
“In case you feel the urge to dance,” he said. Nic and I obliged, dancing as she prepared the dough and I was put in charge of the toppings. I grated enough mozzarella to feed an entire village in Italy.
We were about to roll out the dough on the floured surface when the doorbell rang. A few seconds later, Dylan returned to the kitchen with another guy—Hispanic with cropped dark hair, built like a linebacker.
“Look at that. Baby sister is all grown up.”
“Keep your eyes off baby sister,” Dylan growled, handing his friend a beer.
The guy, who I assumed was Cruz, chuckled and then introduced himself.
“I remember. Good to see you again. This is my friend, Nicola.”
“The chef,” he said with a grin, his eyes doing a slow descent, taking her in from head to toe. “Verynice to meet you.”
“Verynice to meet you as well.” Nic was practically purring.
O-kay. Now they were just staring at each other across the kitchen island. Like they’d just found their soul mates after a lifetime of searching and couldn’t imagine how they’d lived this long without each other. That’s truly how it felt, watching them. I’d never seen Nic act like this with any guy, and it appeared to be reciprocal. Until finally, Nic shook her head, snapping out of it and gave him a dazzling smile. “Do you want to help us roll out the dough?”
“I’d love to.” Cruz rubbed his hands together and rounded the island to stand by her side. She smiled, this little secret smile as they exchanged sidelong glances, and I felt like me and Dylan were intruding on their private moment. “Just show me what to do.”
Dylan smirked. I suppressed a laugh. Who would have guessed that Dylan would play matchmaker? He was full of surprises, and with each layer of himself he revealed, I fell just a little bit harder.
13
Dylan
They talked us into watching 80s flicks. Cruz took zero convincing. Dude was already pussy whipped. Within five minutes of meeting Nicola, he cracked like an egg and shared his entire life story. She’d done the same. Now I knew a whole hell of a lot more about Nicola Benedetti than I’d ever need to. Starlet and I watched from the sidelines as we ate our pizza, and she’d given me these sweet little smiles, almost shy like we were just getting to know one other and didn’t already have a convoluted history.
I had no agenda tonight. I wasn’t trying to get her into bed. Truth be told, I was content to hang out with her, watch movies, eat pizza, listen to her running commentary on the movie, whatever. Didn’t matter what we did, I just liked being around her. Which was strange. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this way about a girl. Maybe never.
I had never done the whole dating thing. First time I had sex, I was fifteen. She was late twenties, early thirties. Shelby. I used to mow her lawn when we lived in Little Rock. She was rich, lived in a big house surrounded by a couple acres, and her husband golfed every weekend. It was just fucking. No kissing. No intimacy or sweet words required. Afterward, she’d tuck a wad of cash in my pocket, wink and say, “Thanks. Same time next Saturday?”
Fucked up? Maybe.
Would you sell your soul to pay the utilities, put food in the cupboards, and have a steady supply of booze and weed? Turns out I would, and I did. She didn’t know I was only fifteen. Must have left out that little detail.
In high school, I had a reputation. I was the guy who could get you the best drugs, then screw your cheerleader girlfriend in the locker room and leave you bleeding all over the leather interior of your BMW after I fucked up your face. That was the guy Sienna had wanted. A taste of the forbidden. Her feeble attempt to give her daddy the middle finger. She knew what I was, and that’s why she’d chosen me. I was the guy she fucked until someone suitable came along.
But Scarlett… she was different. She actually liked me for me, and I wasn’t entirely sure what to do about that.
Turns out I didn’t have to do anything. Scarlett was a lightweight, got drunk on two glasses of wine. Now, the credits were rolling on a movie about kids in detention, and she was passed out. Snuggled against me, her legs tucked underneath her like a lovable kitten. My arm around her shoulders was numb, but I didn’t move it because I didn’t want to disturb her. The fuck was I doing?
“You two look cozy,” Nic observed from her spot on the other sofa.
“Like an old married couple,” Cruz said with a snicker.
I gave him the middle finger and he chuckled. “We’re gonna crash in one of the guest bedrooms.”
