Page 45 of The One Night Dash
He glances at me, then back at them, his voice low but certain. “Now we’re in the same city, running in the same circles. My family’s good—set up, secure. And the girl?” His eyes catch a hold of mine again. “She thinks I’m not her type. But I’m here to prove her wrong. And I’m in it for however long it takes.”
The guys let out a collectiveoof,a mix of sympathy and awe, and I swear one of them mutters “respect” under his breath.
Heat climbs my neck, my pulse racing, but also, what the hell is going on?
I lean in, talking directly to the guys. “The problem with this”—I throw my thumb over my shoulder at Dash—“he’s a pro athlete; he doesn’t have the time to?—”
“Me being here proves I’m willing to carve it out, no matter the cost.” He leans in now and throws his thumb in my direction. “Coach D is gonna feed me to the wolves. I’ll get fined, yet here I am.”
“Then you’re an idiot,” I snap as I turn fully toward him. “This over a spilled cup of coffee? To help out the sad girl? Be ahero?” I drop my voice to a whisper so only he can hear me. “Or words you read and have mistaken me for a?—”
“For the woman I can’t stop wanting,” he cuts me off, leaning in so close my pulse stutters. His voice is a low growl meant only for me. “And let me tell you, whatever that book hero of yours did to your FMC?” I swear I could swoon over his abbreviation of the female main character, but now is not the time.“He probably carried her bags, kissed her hand, maybe made her blush on a kitchen counter.” His lips curve into a wicked smile. “Cute. But me? I’ll ruin you for every paperback boyfriend on your shelves.”
Heat flashes through me so hard it’s blinding. My breath catches, my fingers tightening around the stem of my glass to keep from shaking.
He leans back just enough to meet my eyes, amusement dancing there, cocky as hell but dead serious underneath. “So, yeah, Noelle, Emmett’s not my competition. I’m what he?—”
“I would never let a man come between me and my dream.” I don’t give him the satisfaction of silence. I tilt my head, meet his stare, and smile slow. “And you’ll never replace my book boyfriends, Dash. Not in a million years.”
His grin deepens, like I just handed him a challenge instead of a shut-down. “Damn.”
“What doesdamnmean?” I demand that he answer.
“Who is Emmett?” someone at the table asks, but neither of us looks away. We’re locked in.
“You think I wanna change anything about you? Ruin your dreams?” He chuckles. It’s deep and throaty. “I’m going to be your biggest cheerleader. The man behind, on top of, inside of the next best sel?—”
I gasp when I realize I have just placed my entire hand over his face to shut his mouth, and then I quickly pull it away when he nips at my palm.
My phone vibrates in my clutch and, right now, I all but pray it’s Lauren needing something—anything—to pull me away from this uncomfortable situation that’s kind of also got my squirming beneath those blue eyes.
When I see it’s a text from Briar, I look up as I try to hide my screen.
Too late.
“Go ahead; check to see that she’s okay before I ask the obvious.” He leans back smugly as I open the message.
It’s a video of her in her dorm room, with her friend, both saying, “Boys are so gross.”
Then Briar saying, “They wanted a foursome.”
“What the hell did she just say?” he asks, grabbing for the phone.
I snatch my arm back and hold it to my chest. “She’s fine and in her dorm room.”
I glance at the men at the table, all watching us, seemingly enthralled, actually. Their forks hover midair, their wineglasses untouched, like they’ve forgotten there’s cake in front of them.
“Statistically,” Vik pipes up, pushing his glasses up his nose, “you’re playing against impossible odds. Women who self-identify as book romantics? Ninety-seven percent say their fictional boyfriends are irreplaceable.”
Vik smirks. “But there’s always that three percent …”
Carlton groans. “Don’t encourage him, Vik. This man does not need data on his side.”
Adam leans in, eyes wide like he’s narrating a TED Talk. “This is the most fascinating live demonstration of the ‘enemies to lovers’ trope I’ve ever witnessed.”
Heat floods my face, and I scold him, “He’s not my enemy, not yet, anyway. And I’m not the heroine in a book, Adam.”
“Never an enemy.” Dash winks.
