Page 11 of Lost With You
“This happened less than an hour ago. I’ve got a launch tomorrow morning, remember? A little busy here.”
“I canseethat.”
Dylan braced himself for the inevitable grilling. “She’s not my type.”
“She’sexactlyyour type.”
“I have real work to do, for academic tenure, and for Pops.”
“You’re talking about work tome?Remember the reunion? ‘All work and no play makes Garrick a dull boy,’ you said. Over and over, if my memory isn’t hazed by whiskey.”
Dylan sliced into a new tomato. His knife hit the cutting board with more force than necessary. Garrick was a workaholic. Weaknesses were always easier to see in other people, tough to see in oneself.
“I’m just imagining the two of you,” Garrick said, amusement in his voice, “sleeping under the stars, crickets singing, a cool breeze in the trees—”
“Shut up.”
“Three weeks together.” Garrick’s voice had shifted to glee. “You just might beat Logan’s record.”
Dylan frowned. Logan had fallen like a ton of bricks—he met the girl, moved in with her, and bought a house within a few months. That sure as hell wasn’t about to happen to Dylan.
Not again.
Dylan said, “You’re way off base.”
“Am I? We talked about this, too, on the rugby field that night.”
“Are you done?”
Dylan regretted the tone of his voice, but he’d been knocked off-kilter all day. First by Casey’s arrival, then her offer, and now by the sound of the plumbing shutting off, which meant Casey would be walking into the kitchen soon.
“All teasing aside,” Garrick said, clearing his throat. “This is great news. I’m glad you found someone to join you on the expedition.” He paused a moment, the sound of the city around him loud in the silence. “You know I want the best for you, Dyl—”
“I know.”
“I want the best for allthreeof us.”
“I got it.” They had made that promise to each other. Remembering that night on the rugby field made him suddenly need to clear his throat. He sliced the last tomato and tossed it into the bowl of greens. “How about for now you stick to wishing me luck, eh, Garrick?”
Garrick laughed. “Good luck, dude. I’ll see you on the Canadian side.”
Dylan ended the call just as the bedroom door opened in the other part of the house. Bare footsteps padded toward the kitchen. He turned his back to the doorway to clean the cutting board and the knife in the sink, to avoid being struck by the sight of her, all fresh and clean, as she strode in.
“So,” she said from behind him. “How are those burgers coming?”
“I just fired up the grill.” He grabbed the pepper mill and twisted it over the hamburger patties he’d set aside. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
“There are a few beers left in the fridge.” He figured she was a wine kind of girl, but she might as well start making do. “Otherwise, all I have is water. I had to clean out the food before I leave the cabin.”
“A beer would be great.”
He grabbed the salad and the plate of burgers and turned in time to see her cracking the metal top off a beer. Her long, dark hair dripped a dark spot down the back of the swishy blue dress she was wearing, a slinky summer thing that clung to her narrow waist and stretched over her slim hips. A few drops darkened on the swell of her backside. That small, firm ass had filled his palm when he’d pushed her into the canoe. As if she sensed the straying of his thoughts, she glanced over her shoulder, beer to her lips. His blood pressure shot up.
Shit, he was in trouble.
“I’ll get the door for you.” She pushed it open and stepped outside, holding it until he passed through. “Anything I can do to help?”
