Page 5 of Sweet Chaos
“You were two seconds away from being roadkill. Were you even looking where you were going?”
I planted my hands on my hips. “Well, thanks to your lightning-quick reflexes, I’m alive and in one piece.” I threw my hands up in the air. “I can’t help it you drive like a maniac.”
I couldn’t see his face very well, but I was certain it wore a scowl. Mr. Dark and Broody was always scowling or glaring. No, that wasn’t true. I’d seen his smile. It was rare. Fleeting. But it was glorious. Back when I was just a stupid kid, I used to try to coax it out of him, like it was a prize to be won.
Dylan leaned across the passenger seat and pushed the door open. “Get in the car.” He tossed his gym bag into the back seat to make room for me.
“I’m okay to walk.” I watched as a car was forced to go around him.
“You live miles from here.”
“You don’t even know where I live.”
He exhaled loudly, losing patience with this conversation. “Stop being a pain in the ass. Get in the car, Starlet.”
He still called me Starlet, and it was that stupid nickname that had me climbing into the passenger seat and fastening the seatbelt. Or maybe it was the thought of walking after another draining session with my parents that wore me down.
“Why were you walking?” he asked after he entered my address in his GPS and we were on our merry way.
I almost planted my Doc Martens on the dash like I used to in his truck but thought better of it. Unlike the rusty old pickup truck he used to drive, this car was spotlessly clean, scented with leather and new car. “I needed the exercise.”
“Where’s your car?”
“I returned it in exchange for my soul.”
He side-eyed me but didn’t comment. Then he turned up the volume on his stereo, probably to save himself from having to engage in conversation. Fine by me. I had nothing to say. I’d rather listen to Post Malone anyway. But I snuck a few glances in my peripheral. The years had been good to Dylan. He was all lean muscle and man now. His cheekbones were more prominent, his firm, square jaw more chiseled and he still had those ridiculously long lashes girls would envy.
I’d gotten over my schoolgirl crush on him years ago, but I could still appreciate his sheer male beauty. And his scent. God, he smelled good. Something warm and spicy and masculine. If pure sex could be bottled, it would be called Eau de Dylan St. Clair.
He wore sweatpants and a black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Heavily inked tattoos trailed down both arms. I used to see him surfing, so I knew that his back and torso were inked. He had stars tattooed above his waistband, and I always wondered how low they went. Were there stars shooting from his dick? It cracked me up every time. Tonight was no exception.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“You.” I laughed again.
Dylan shook his head and pushed his tattooed fingers through his unruly raven hair. A lock fell over his forehead and I tucked my hands under my thighs to resist the urge to reach across the console and brush it away.
“You never told me why your dad cut you off.”
He said this as if we hung out all the time and spoke daily. We didn’t talk anymore. In fact, since I’d come back to Costa del Rey two months ago, we’d only seen each other a few times in passing.
“You never asked.”
“I’m asking now. What happened?”
“Nothing too dramatic. It was my choice. His money comes with too many strings attached so I decided to do my own thing.” My tone was breezy as if that had been an easy decision.
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“My dad expected me to follow in Sienna’s footsteps. Go to one of the colleges he deemed acceptable. Study something useful like Finance or Marketing. Do my summer internships at his financial holdings company. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. So I bailed on college and went up to San Francisco with my friend, Nicola. I took some art classes and worked odd jobs. Then we went up to Seattle for a while. Our friends are in a band. I worked in a coffee shop and had a market stall. Now here I am, back in Costa del Rey sans trust fund.”
“So that’s it? He cut you off because you didn’t go to college?”
I cleared my throat. “Well, that and I donated my college fund to charity.”
“Holy shit,” Dylan said with a laugh. “I’m surprised you didn’t give your old man a heart attack.”
“Let’s just say he wasn’t too happy.”
