Chapter 17
17
DYLAN
I stumble on the uneven sidewalk as I march down the dimly lit street, heading back to the restaurant—alone. The muggy summer air is not entirely responsible for the icy trickle of sweat down my spine. Each step feels heavier than the last, weighed down by the guilt settling in my gut after my failed attempt at reconciling with Olivia. Her words keep echoing in my head.
“You were never really there, Dylan. You’ve been distracted all night, paying more attention to your roommate than me.”
She’s right, of course. I rationalize it, telling myself I was being a good friend, looking out for Hunter when that sleazeball was getting handsy. Anyone would have done the same.
If Nina were in the same situation, I’d have intervened, too.
For the first time, a true wave of gratitude that she’s dating Tristan hits me. At least my sister will never have to sit across the table from a jerk like Lucas.
But even as I try to convince myself of my brotherly disposition toward Hunter, the nagging ache in my gut won’t let up. The truth is, the instant I saw Lucas reach for Hunter’s wrist, something inside me snapped. It wasn’t friendly concern—it was a visceral, possessive anger that took me by surprise. I keep picturing that faint-pink line on her skin where his fingers had been, and it sends a fresh wave of rage rippling through me.
But that’s not the only thing that haunts me. Alarmingly, the memory of Hunter laughing at his jokes before he revealed himself for what he was, gnaws at me even worse.
As I round the corner, the restaurant comes into view, its flashing neon sign a beacon in the night. My steps slow as I brace for an unpleasant interaction. They must’ve thought we did a dine and dash—no matter that the dining part stopped at the snails. Going back in will be humbling, but it’s still better than facing my thoughts. I don’t want to examine why Hunter’s interactions with her date bothered me so much. I’m not ready to confront what it might mean. Let’s focus on fixing one screw-up at a time. First off, the bill I forgot to pay in my hurry to chase after Olivia. I steel myself and push inside.
The warm aroma of garlic and herbs envelops me. I should be hungry, having had a single snail for dinner, but I’m not. All I want is to leave. I scan the candlelit space, hoping to slip up to the bar, pay the bill, and make a quick exit unnoticed.
I approach the bartender, a burly guy with a salt-and-pepper beard. “Hey, um, I was here earlier, and I… uhm, had an emergency… and I forgot to settle my bill.”
He raises an eyebrow, giving me a once-over. “Forgot?”
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. This isn’t like me. I’m the responsible one, the guy who always has his shit together. I’m a people pleaser, run a tight ship, and avoid confrontation as much as I can. The humiliation of coming back here, tail tucked between my legs, to confess I skipped out on a bill is like swallowing glass. “Yeah, my girlfriend and I had a bit of a disagreement, and I guess I just… left in a hurry.”
The bartender’s expression softens a fraction. He nods toward a server passing by. “Yo, Mia. This guy says he dashed on his bill earlier.” I wish he wouldn’t yell about my business for everyone to hear. “That ring any bells?”
Mia, the server who attended to us, stops in her tracks. She looks me up and down, recognition dawning on her face. “Oh, yeah. I remember you. You were with that blonde, right? The one who was shooting daggers at the couple next to you all night?”
I wince. “That’s us.”
“No worries, hon.” Mia waves a dismissive hand. “Your bill’s been taken care of.”
I blink, sure I must have misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The woman at the next table, the one with the dark hair and the jerk date? She covered your check.”
The floor tilts beneath my feet. Hunter paid for my dinner with Olivia. Of course she did. Because apparently, tonight wasn’t cringe-worthy enough.
I mumble my thanks to Mia and the bartender, then make a beeline for the exit, my face burning. Out on the sidewalk, I suck in the sultry summer air to clear my head.
It’s no big deal. I’ll give Hunter her money back. No harm, no foul. Then why is my gut twisting with an odd tangle of embarrassment and frustration?
I start walking, wondering how slowly I have to go to find her already asleep. I don’t have it in me to talk to Hunter tonight.
One stretch of sidewalk blurs into another, until I’m at my new building, fumbling with my keys and riding up in the elevator.
I unlock the front door, releasing a wave of cool air that tightens the skin on my arms as I step into the stillness on the other side. I kick off my shoes, not bothering to line them up in a neat row like I usually do.
The apartment’s layout has finally settled into my mind as I make my way to my room. All is quiet except for the AC vents. I’m halfway down the hall when I notice a thin strip of light spilling out from under Hunter’s door.
She’s still awake.
I stall, frozen with my hand reaching toward her door. I could knock. Go inside and… what? Thank her for covering the bill? Confess the confusing tangle of feelings I’ve been grappling with all night?
I let my arm drop.
No. I can’t. Not now, when my thoughts are so muddled, when I’m still reeling from the fight with Olivia and from realizing how much Hunter affects me. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.
Instead, I force myself to keep moving. I pass her bedroom, ignoring the tug in my chest, and slip into my room, closing the door behind me.
In the semi-darkness, I strip off my suit, letting it fall to the floor in an uncharacteristic heap. I’ll deal with everything in the morning, starting with the fallout with Olivia. I was a true jerk to her tonight; even the server noticed. My girlfriend should be my priority.
But for now, I need to sleep. A few hours of oblivion before reality hits and reminds me that everything in my life just got a lot more complicated.
I crawl into bed, the sheets cool against my skin. My last thought before exhaustion claims me is of Hunter’s face, the slight fear in her eyes when that jerk grabbed her, and that pink line around her wrist. My dreams are going to be pretty violent tonight.
* * *
I wake up to the harsh morning light after barely sleeping. My brain is still tangled in the events of last night. I need something to take my mind off it all. Before I know it, I’m in the kitchen, preheating the oven.
With the temperature set, I pull out flour and chocolate chips and grab a mixing bowl. The simple, repetitive motions of measuring and stirring ground me—scoop, roll, place, repeat. The mindless rhythm allows my thoughts to unspool. As the cookies start browning in the oven, the warm scent of chocolate and butter fills the kitchen, and for once, it’s almost as if everything is under control. I let the comforting smell wash over me as I ladle another ball of dough onto the second baking sheet.
The oven timer dings, shrill in the kitchen’s quiet. I slide a new batch of cookies in, the heat blasting against my face as I seal the door. Leaning back against the counter, I close my eyes, letting my head thump backward on the cabinets.
Just breathe, Dylan. It can’t get any worse.
That’s when footsteps jolt me from my spiraling thoughts. I jerk up, and my heart becomes a fist in my throat as I find Hunter standing in the doorway, all sleep-rumpled and cuddly in her pajamas.
Our eyes lock, and last night presses into the space between us, awkward and scraping. I want to break the silence, make a joke—make it alright—but my mouth has forgotten how to form words as I drink her in.
She’s beautiful in the morning light, her dark hair mussed, her eyes still hazy with sleep. Beautiful and achingly forbidden. Then she says, “Hey,” and I’m ready to drop to my knees.