Page 35 of Sunshine
I settle a hand over the ache in my chest and force a reply past my trembling lips. “What? Why?”
“We can’t do this.Ican’t do this.”
He paces three steps up the hall, then back again, and all I can hear are the wordssorryandmistake.
Me. I’m the mistake.
Dylan drags his gaze from the floor, and when it lands on me, his expression falls. He reaches out but I weave out of his way.
“Don’t worry about it,” I manage to say. “Let’s forget it.”
Sheer stubbornness is the only reason I can swallow my tears of rage and humiliation. With a purposeful stride, I stalk to the bar, tearing the white apron from my waist as I go. A delinquent urge to do something provocative crashes over me, and I don’t care if it’s stupid as long as it makes me feel better.
“Mona?” I say as I pass her pouring beers. “Do you mind if I finish up early?”
“Go ahead, honey.” She catches my apron as I toss it over the counter and hangs it on the wall behind her. “The crowd’s a little thin tonight anyway.”
“Thanks.” I scoop up my phone from behind the bar, then grab a hold of Wade’s hard, bulky bicep. “Hey. Let’s—”
“Poppy!” Dylan calls, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning around to listen, even as his footsteps draw nearer and his voice sounds just over my shoulder. “Don’t do this.”
“Is he giving you trouble?” Wade stands, tucking his thumbs into his pockets as he stares down his nose, even though he’s at least two inches shorter. “I’d be only too happy to take care of it for you.”
“No trouble,” I say. “I’ve just had enough for one night.”
I collect my ex’s dirty hat from the bar, and then tug on his callused hand. I remind myself that I know what I’m doing, even as a hurricane of butterflies spins in my stomach.
“Come on, Wade. Let’s get out of here.”
eleven
Dylan
Wade’s truck is pullingout of The Tipple parking lot by the time I throw myself behind the wheel of my old pick-up, but I know where he lives, and it’s probably a good thing there’s a little distance between us. I need a few minutes to cool the fuck down. I’m running on a mix of arousal and jealousy and rage, and I’ve never felt so out of control.
I trail the taillights of Wade’s pick-up truck all the way to his house, and when he turns onto the long gravel drive leading onto his property, I pull up on the road outside. I’m incapable of rational thought as I jump out of my truck and slam my door behind me, ready to drag Poppy out of there. But then I see her hop out of Wade’s truck and follow the guy up the front porch steps, and I stop. Wade holds the front door open and she steps through. Willingly. Without looking back.
Fuck.
Poppy isn’t my girlfriend, and she’s not my problem. Not mine to protect. Isn’t that what she said?
But it’s my fault she’s here at all. I fucked things up. My dick’s half hard after what happened at the bar and my lips taste likeher cherry lip gloss, but kissing Poppy was reckless. And what am I trying to prove by storming into that house and treating her like a kid in trouble instead of a grown woman who can make her own decisions? What the fuck do I think is going on here?
Inside the house, the curtains twitch, and a second later, my phone chimes with a text.
Poppy
Still not your problem.
I look back up at the window, but the curtains are still, and they don’t move again.
I’m halfway to the front door before I force myself to turn around and go back to my truck.
My fingers are on the door handle before I decide I’m an idiot and an asshole for leaving her here, so I turn back and stalk up the drive again.
I get two-thirds of the way this time when I spin on my heel and storm back to the truck, muscles tense and jaw popping as I slide behind the wheel.
The truck door slams in the night as I jump back out and start toward the house.
