Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Willow didn’t go to the Hawkins ranch again. If Dylan wasn’t going to wait for her, she wasn’t going to go running to him. She could not be the girl who waited in the bleachers again. Instead, she went to the gym.
But the moment she walked in, she knew he was there, too. It was like she could sense his presence. Looking over, she saw him, sweaty and tired, lifting free weights on the mat.
Charlie’s Gym was dimly lit and underground.
There was the constant thwack of fists from the boxing ring and the punchbags.
The groan of people working out, the crash of heavy metal weights as they were dropped the last few inches to the floor.
It was sweaty and dark and not a place that Willow would ever have thought would get her pulse racing.
But that was exactly what happened as she found herself working out opposite Dylan, without speaking, without acknowledging the other’s presence.
She was determined to let him come to her.
But it was agonizing, her eyes kept drifting toward the wall of mirrors to see him lying back on the bench press, sweat glistening over his skin.
If he looked up, she’d swiftly look away.
She brushed past him accidentally as they both headed over to get the free weights at the same time, their fingers grazing for a second.
She looked up and saw the smirk on his face, like he enjoyed seeing her riled.
After that, she made certain not to even sneak a look his way again.
But it was almost impossible, took all her willpower.
It was only as she was heading out, her hair freshly washed and hanging loose to dry, that she allowed herself a glimpse, back into the gym, and saw him standing with some guys, towel over his shoulder.
Their eyes met and her skin prickled. She forced herself to turn away, carry on up the stairs, but suddenly she could hear footsteps behind her.
She knew it was him without having to look.
Her heart thudded as heavy as one of the free weights, her body tingling on high alert.
She tried to stay cool, but she could barely breathe.
He was right behind her every step. She imagined his breath on the back of her neck.
Then suddenly, they were outside in the fresh air, she still didn’t look but instead felt the grip of his hand on her upper arm and allowed him to draw her with him around to the back of the building.
There, out of sight, he pressed her back against the rough brick wall and clamped his mouth hard down on hers.
He braced his hands either side of her head, towel still over his shoulder, sweat on his T-shirt, hair slicked back.
Willow’s whole body craved the release, her hands reaching up and grabbing on to the bunched muscles of his shoulders, pulling him closer, wanting to be crushed up against that wall.
But as quickly, reason took hold, and with the same grip she pushed him away. He blinked back to reality. She caught her breath, swept her hair out of her eyes, straightened her top.
Dylan took a step back, put his hands in his pockets and, eyes heavy and languid, said, “You haven’t been by the ranch.”
“You didn’t wait for me at Wildwood,” she replied, crossing her arms, raising an accusatory brow.
His forehead furrowed as he said, tone slightly mocking, “That’s not what this is, Willow.”
She knew it wasn’t, but the words still stung. Stepping away so she was no longer between him and the wall, she tossed her hair to hide what felt like teenage rejection and said, “I’m well aware of that, Dylan, I just figured you might have waited to say goodbye out of politeness.”
His mouth quirked but he didn’t say anything. He clearly wasn’t giving her any more than that.
Frustrated that she had seemingly played a bad hand, given away too much of how she felt, she hitched her bag on her shoulder and said, “See you around, Dylan.”
He stood back, still with the hint of a smile on his face as he said, “See you, Willow.”
Back at Silver Sky, Willow found her dad sitting at the kitchen table doing the crossword.
He glanced up when he saw her and gave her a nod hello.
She felt the shame of what she’d just been doing, wondered if her lips were bruised or her cheeks flushed.
She poured herself a coffee from the machine and pulled up a chair next to him, focusing on reading the clues rather than thinking about Dylan.
Her mom came in from the living room. “How was the physio?”
Willow’s hand shot up to her mouth. “Oh, goodness!” She’d been so distracted after the gym by darn stupid Dylan Hawkins that she’d completely forgotten to go. “I got waylaid at the gym.”
She could not live like this.
Over the next few days, Willow made a point of avoiding Dylan. She wasn’t going to play whatever game he was playing. She was not some love-sick high schooler.
Later that week, when she was walking back to her car from her rescheduled physio appointment, she passed by the park and saw a football game going on.
It was just guys messing around, nothing too serious.
She only gave it a fleeting look, but it was enough to pick Dylan out from the group.
She’d recognize those wide shoulders, that stance, even the way he threw a ball, a mile off.
She knew instantly that he’d seen her, too.
She saw him pause mid-play, heard one of his team shout his name like they could tell he’d been distracted.
Willow just sashayed on past, gazed fixed on the sidewalk up ahead, grinning to herself.
Next day he sent her a message—a photo of Thunder with a little bird sitting on her back. She smiled when she saw it, but she made certain not to reply.