Chapter Six
Sean
Friends.
He wanted friendship, and honestly, that was more than I should’ve expected. Dylan was possibly the most closed off man I’d ever met.
Also, the most drop-dead gorgeous.
I’d been the one in pursuit all night, hiding behind the casual act I’d perfected over the years. No big deal, no second thoughts, take it or leave it. That was my thing.
That was always my thing.
But right now, I couldn’t imagine walking away. Leaving anything on the table with him felt like it might ruin me.
Didn’t matter that it made no sense. It just was.
“Friends works.” I turned in my seat and stuck my hand out to him, the buzz of alcohol still humming through me.
A handshake was very civilized. Very adult. Very much the move of a man without ulterior motives.
His grip closed around mine. It was warm, firm, and lingering. He held on a moment too long, or maybe I did, and his eyes dropped to our hands like he wasn’t sure what to do with the contact.
That was all it took.
I pulled. Hard and fast, before I could talk myself out of it.
He came crashing into me, all chest and shoulders and the sharp scent of his cologne, the air punching out of my lungs as my back hit the door. For a second, I froze. Every smart remark, every easy deflection, every carefully constructed layer of aloof charm. All of it went quiet at once.
Well. Okay then.
If I was sober, I might’ve seen his move coming. As it was, the speed and force of it knocked me back, lighting me up from the inside out. He was pinning me against the door of his own car like I’d made a move on him. Which, to be fair, I had. But still…
A laugh tore out of me.
Uninhibited and fucking real, not the performance I was used to putting on. The high it gave me hit harder than any drug I’d ever touched. Or maybe it was the sharp look on his devastating face making my head spin.
Then his fierce expression broke, and suddenly, he was laughing too. The rough sound vibrated against me, shooting sparks along my skin.
I’d spent the night watching him hold himself together, rigid and purposeful.
He’d stood in that room full of people who’d hurt him—people who were still hurting him—and quietly erased himself, pretending none of it bothered him.
Like the sight of the woman he said he loved, in the arms of another man, was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
It was the best act I’d ever seen. Almost as good as my own.
But it was still an act.
I’d pushed every button I could think of to see if I could get him to crack. To give me a hint of what he was hiding underneath his beautiful buttoned-up exterior.
And here it was. He was laughing with me, in the dark, his hard body dominating mine, and every cell in my being was crying for more.
I reached up, curled my fingers into his messy blond hair—the only part of him that wasn’t under control—and pulled his mouth to mine.
He didn’t hesitate or try to pull back. He kissed me, and the part of me that had been hurting for longer than I could remember cracked into pure, uncomplicated need.
The kiss wasn’t the exploratory, testing kiss of a man unsure of his footing. Dylan kissed me like he’d planned it and wasn’t interested in revisiting the decision. He was rough and unyielding, forcing me to open for him in a way that would’ve made me hard if I wasn’t already.
I’d been sporting a semi from the moment I’d first spotted him. But now…fuck, now my dick was ready to punch through my zipper.
His dominance was absolute. Exactly like I’d hoped it would be.
The groan that came out of me when he caught my lip with his teeth was loud and unfiltered. There was no way to hold back the lust ripping through me.
Except, it was more than lust. More than anything I’d ever experienced. Something without definition or a single shred of sense.
His mouth was still on mine, his arm wound around me with a strength and sureness that made my eyes close and my spine go loose.
I’d done this before. More times than I could count, with people whose names I’d forgotten before morning. It had always been easy and fun, never lasting more than a night or two.
This didn’t feel disposable like that. Nothing about this man did. And instead of backing off, I wanted to crawl inside the feeling and stay there.
I slid my hand inside his jacket, pulled at his shirt, tried to get closer. To feel more of his heat, his commanding presence. Just more of him.
My fumbling grew almost frantic, and he stopped.
He jerked away, and the loss was sudden and absolute. My chest heaved, cock ached, and something deep inside me ripped apart.
Locked in place, I stared as the most intriguing man I’d ever met close himself off again. The wall went up, a look of regret settled over him, and the rejection I’d been battling all night won.
I knew that look. I’d seen versions of it my whole life—teachers, coaches, managers, women, men. A look that said you’re too much without a word ever being spoken. It was a look that sent me reaching for another bottle, the next body, the nearest exit.
Fuck. I should’ve said something. Cracked a joke, acted like I didn’t care. That’s what I always did when things got uncomfortable. It was my whole goddamn playbook.
Not this time.
For once in my life, I kept quiet.
He raked a hand through his hair and stared out at the Bay. “I’ll drop you at your hotel. We can pretend this never happened.”
Pain shot through my chest. “Whatever you say, sir.”
He rounded on me with a snarl. “This isn’t going to happen. I already fucking told you all the reasons why. And still, you had to go and pull that move…”
Something desperate cracked through his expression. “I can’t let this happen.”
I continued watching him—jaw tight, hands gripping the wheel, the careful distance he’d put between us that wasn’t nearly enough to undo what had just happened in this car.
“Okay,” I said.
Not a joke or a deflection or any of the other things I’d have reached for an hour ago. Just okay. Simple and quiet and completely unlike me.
I turned back to the window and watched the Bay slide past as he pulled onto the road.
Neither of us spoke. The engine hummed, the tires bumped over uneven pavement, and the space between us filled with everything we weren’t saying.
I could still taste him. Still feel the ghost of his hands on me, his weight against my chest. My body hadn’t caught up to the fact that it was over.
I wanted to say something. Fill the silence, make him laugh again, hear that rough sound one more time. But every line I reached for felt wrong. Too light for what had just happened. Way heavier than anything he’d allow.
So I sat with it. The silence, the ache, the fading warmth on my skin. I sat with all of it, hating every second.
My focus went soft as I tried to locate the version of myself that didn’t give a shit about any of this. The one who shrugged things off, moved on to the next game, the next meaningless encounter, and called it living.
He was still around. I just couldn’t find him right now.
And that scared the hell out of me more than anything Dylan McCoy could’ve said or done.
Still, I’d learned the hard way—more times than I could count—when a man said I can’t, he almost never meant I won’t.
I could work with that.