17. Chapter 17 Ride ’Em Cowboy #2
Izzy breaks the tension. “Speak for yourself. I’d take notes if it wasn’t my turn next.”
I force a laugh, pretending not to notice Dylan’s lingering gaze. But Izzy sees more than I’d like her to, she just doesn’t know how far this has gone.
The rest of the night flies by with laughter and easy conversation. I try to play it cool, but my senses are hyper-tuned in on him. Every look, every word, every smile sets off sparks that feel thrilling and terrifying all at once.
Thankfully, every so often, Izzy pulls me to the dance floor whenever one of her favorite song comes on. We laugh and spin around, swaying our hips like no one’s watching. Except someone is watching. Dylan. And I like that he’s watching.
On our way back to our booth, I stumble over my own feet, bumping straight into Dylan. He catches me, instantly steadying me.
“Careful there,” he murmurs. “Someone had a little too much to drink.”
I flop into my seat, swaying slightly and glance up. “You need to be more careful,” I whisper. “You can’t keep looking at me like that.” I wave a lazy finger. “My best friend—no, my sissy-in-law—she’s gonna notice you flirting with me.”
His voice dips. “I’ll try. But you don’t make it easy.”
My cheeks flush. “How come you’re still sober?” I poke his chest lightly. “Too cool to drink with the rest of us?”
He shakes his head. “Not my thing.”
I lean in and catch the faint smell of peppermint on his breath. Instantly, my mind spins and I wonder what he tastes like. What his minty tongue would feel like pressed against mine. “You must think I’m a mess,” I spit out.
“Trust me… that’s not what I think of you.” His voice softens. “Not even close.”
I tilt my head, words slurring. “You’re always so… good. Always smiling. Never mad. Never eating donuts. And you clearly work out, what? Five—no, ten times a day?”
I blatantly eye him up and down. I know I’m drunk, but I can control my words at work. With Shantel. With my uptight mother-in-law. Literally everyone else. But with him?
Im-fucking-possible. Is that a word?
“What’s your deal?” I squint. “Are you secretly… an undercover FBI agent?” God, please don’t tell me he has handcuffs and a uniform. Fuck, now that image will be stuck in my head all night.
“Bet you’d like that.” He lets out a soft laugh, but there’s something hesitant in his eyes. “I used to drink. Not anymore.”
“Anymore?” I repeat.
“Made my fair share of mistakes.” He pauses. “But some things are better left in the past.”
I move in closer. “You’re being all sexy and mysterious,” I say, my elbow slipping off the table. “But you know what I learned? Mysterious is like… como se dice … a vault locked for no reason. Just blow it up and tell me. What kind of mistakes?”
He stiffens, then grins. “Now you speak Spanish? It’s not important tonight. Go enjoy the party.”
I shake my head, intrigued, the alcohol in charge. “Come on, Mr. D. Big D. Dill pickle. Don’t hold out on me.”
“Trust me,” he says, as his smile fades. “There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing good about my past with alcohol.”
I wave at Izzy, trying to flag her down for another drink. But she’s too wrapped up in Luis, her laughter echoing through the bar.
Dylan’s hand reaches for mine, his touch steady but gentle. “Jenna, maybe slow down a little?” His voice isn’t pushy, just a little protective. And I like it.
“Oh, so now you wanna boss me around?” I say, gazing down at his big hands. Not now. Head out of the gutter, Jenna.
His fingers brush against mine so subtly and softly. I have no idea if it’s intentional. But it sends a rush of heat between my legs and all the damn way up. “No,” he murmurs. “But I’m your friend. And I care.”
“Friends?” I laugh, too loudly, and the motion makes my drink slosh over my shirt. I welcome the icy cold needed right now. “I don’t wanna kiss my friends!”
Dylan grins, slow and lethal. “Damn it. Didn’t I warn you to stop making liquid drip down your body?”
“Well, actually,” I ramble, the words tangling. “I kissed Izzy once—no, she kissed me. And then I kissed her back. And… I forgot your bib.” My forehead scrunches as I try to make sense of my own sentence. “I don’t like girls, unfortunately. I don’t make sense.”
“Makes perfect sense.” His gaze darkens. “You wish you were into women, so you wouldn’t want me so bad.”
A man in a business suit walks by, and instantly my stomach churns, and I think of Jacob. His face flashes through my drunken, dirty mind, and I go quiet.
“Hey, you okay? Don’t you hate crowded places?” Dylan asks, the teasing fading into something softer. “Want to get some air? Walk off all that tequila.”
I nod and lower my glass as we head back to the bar. “I think I am done for the night,” I mutter, as it suddenly feels like the walls are closing in.
Izzy gives Luis a look, then Dylan, then back to me, exhaling extra dramatically. “You sure? It’s so early. Only one more drink? Live a little.”
Dylan steps in before I can answer. “I’ll walk her out, make sure she gets in an Uber. You stay… Luis hasn’t been on a date in years. Let the man have his moment.”
Luis scoffs. “Says the guy who’s been stealing hearts since we were thirteen. Some of us actually have to try.”
Izzy raises a brow. “Umm, hello? Said girl is right here listening. But please keep putting in the effort. All. Night. Long.”
Luis nearly chokes on his drink, and Dylan laughs, rubbing his forehead.
I glance at Dylan. “Stealing hearts, huh? Guess that makes you a repeat offender.”
His gaze flickers to mine for a second before I turn to Izzy and whisper, “So, maybe let’s not tell Jacob two hot guys crashed our Friendiversary. No need to get him jealous over nothing.”
Izzy grins, twirling her drink around. “I got you. It’s not like we're having an orgy or you’re planning to have hot, filthy sex with Dylan in the bathroom stall,” she gasps, eyes wide.
“Unless you want to have an orgy?” She does some weird double wink.
“Cause for you, I’d make an expectation…
no, an invitation—wait… an acceptation. What’s the damn word? Whatever. You get it.”
“Exception, Izzy,” I say, laughing. “But I would much rather have an invitation.” I pause, lingering. “You sure you’re okay if I leave?”
“Yes, please. I was planning to leave soon… with him.” She nudges her chin, winking at Luis, who smirks back. “Dylan will make sure Jenna gets home safe… to her husband. Right, cowboy?”
“Of course.” He clears his throat. His voice a tad unsteady.
I hug Izzy and kiss her on the nose. Awkwardly. “Text me when you’re home.”
Dylan nods his head for me to follow. We weave through the crowd, and mid-way, a guy whistles and reaches for my hand.
“She’s with me,” Dylan growls, stepping between us like I’m his. Goosebumps crawl up my arm as he leads me outside.
The second the doors open, a cool breeze brushes my skin. A small relief from the heat inside. I suck in a breath and grip my wine glass tighter.
Dylan steps closer.
“I should… call the yellow bus car,” I slur my words like a drunk poet.
Standing next to him, the city noise fades. And I feel this reckless urge to let him kiss me again.
My pulse hammers. But I pull back, breaking the moment.
The glass slips from my hand onto the pavement, shattering. And I freeze. Not from the glass breaking, but from the sound. From the reminder of him.
Ryan.
No one will love you. You’re too broken. You’re only good for one thing.
His voice slices through my thoughts. Dishes slamming inches away from me. A subtle warning. A threat that says— next time, it’ll be you .
I fall to my knees, fingers trembling as I reach for the shards of glass. My mind travels back in time when I used to walk on eggshells, terrified of making a mistake. Sometimes I wonder if he was right… if I am still broken.
“Jenna?” Dylan crouches beside me, gently reaching for my wrist. “Stop. You’ll cut yourself,” he says, tossing the large pieces in a nearby trash can. “You okay?”
I blink hard and force myself to focus on him. On the warmth in his gaze. In his touch. He doesn't know what that sound just did to me.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie, swallowing the truth. I refuse to go back there. Not now. Not here. But Ryan’s voice still plays in my head, whispering how worthless I am. How I deserve everything and to clean the mess up.
Dylan studies me, waiting for more. “You sure? You’re shaking.”
I nod quickly. “Yes, positive.”
He guides me to a bench, his hands steady. I sink down and my body turns to jelly. He sits close beside me.
“Have I ever told you what my name means?” I ask, needing a distraction.
His head tilts. “Guessing it’s something special?”
“It’s ancient Greek,” I murmur softly. “It means paradise, little bird, or heaven.”
Dylan smiles. “That fits. Our friendship feels like a piece of paradise. And you… you’re like a bird with wings you’re scared to use, waiting to break free and fly.”
His words hit deeper than expected.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever feel free,” I admit. “What about your name? Know what it means?”
He shrugs. “No clue.”
I type quickly into Google and read aloud. “It means son of the sea or born from the ocean. That’s totally you. You could live out on the water—fishing, diving, sailing…”
He grins. “And now you can add skinny-dipping in Thailand… with you.”
Before the moment drags, a woman with big lips and bouncing cleavage appears. He rises as she approaches.
“Dylan! You look amazing! I missed you.” She kisses both cheeks with exaggerated familiarity. I always hated that impersonal greeting. Don’t touch me unless it’s with a genuine hug.
“I still owe you lunch—and that dance. My number hasn’t changed.” She tosses me a quick smile before sauntering off.
What. The. Actual. Hell. My jaw clenches, chest tightening.
“She seems… nice,” I say stiffly, standing up. “I should call an Uber now.”
Dylan turns to me, his eyes narrowing as he catches my tone. “Why are you rushing out? Jealous?”
I pace the sidewalk, refreshing the app for the fifth time. “Jealous? Please. Go enjoy her coconuts—or dance—or whatever. She’s, what, twenty? Freshly legal?”
Dylan spins me around, gripping my arms. “I told you.” His voice is deep, rough. “I want you and your fuckin’ oranges. There’s no one else.” He lifts my chin up, waiting for my eyes to meet his. “You can have me anytime you’re ready to stop fighting this thing between us.”
His lips part, and for a heartbeat, I’m ready to fall into him.
But I stop myself.
“Exactly!” I snap, yanking away. “You want a challenge. Something to toy with until it gets messy or you get bored.” My words tumble out quickly. “And I can’t be your plaything. I have a family. This isn’t just about me.”
The Uber pulls up, and my hands shake as I climb in.
Just as I start to close the door, his hand catches it, and my heart stops.
“I know you do,” he says, gripping the car. “But you’re wrong about me.”
He looks at me for what feels like eternity, like he wants to say more. Then quietly shuts the door.
As we drive off and he fades away into the night, I should feel relief. But all I feel is a deep, aching loss.
What am I doing? And why the hell can’t I seem to stay away from Dylan Wyatt Hayes?