Her Billionaires_ Boxed Set(32)
She nodded, making his head bob slightly, in turn triggering a grin on his lips. “That would be an inauspicious first date. ‘Woman eaten by bear.’”
“Why do you assume the bear would eat you?” He laughed and opened his eyes. She was looking at him with a half-smile.
“Because I have more body fat and you can run faster.”
“I would help you climb a tree.”
“Guys do that so they have an excuse to stare at our asses.”
He craned his head behind her body and looked down. “I don’t need an excuse.”
She blushed and looked up, a tight, amused smile on her lips. Had he gone too far? “First date?” she said. She seemed to be forcing herself to make eye contact.
Puzzled, he frowned. “Uh, yes?”
“That implies there might...”
“...be a second?”
She nodded.
“That’s up to you, Laura.”
Not telling Dylan about Laura really was going to kill him, but he needed this second date to confirm his suspicions. When he came out of his bedroom and found Dylan hunched over his laptop, naked except for his boxer briefs, shoulders curled and face staring intently at the screen as he chowed down a bowl of cereal, Mike couldn’t help himself. He snickered.
Dylan practically climbed the walls, startling, his face panicked and body spidery with a fight-or-flight stance. “What the fuck, Mike? Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Creep up on people like that!” He had one hand on his heart. “Fucking gave me a heart attack.”
“Hey, I didn’t do anything weird. I walked into my own kitchen to grab breakfast. You’re the freak. Why are you in another world?” A quick glance at the screen gave him his answer: the online dating site.
With Laura’s picture and profile.
Fuck. Suppressing his jealousy, Mike opened the fridge door and grabbed a half gallon of milk to pour a glass as he popped two pieces of bread in the toaster.
“I’m—ah, hell, I guess I’m stalking Laura.” A rush of protectiveness hit Mike in the solar plexus like a punch. He knew Dylan wasn’t going to harm her. Knew it was just because Dylan was crazy about her. Knew all that.
Still reacted.
“But I thought she blocked you?”
“She did. Wait—I told you that?”
“Yup.”
“Well, I made a new account and am trying that way.”
Mike blinked. The toast popped. Dylan returned his attention to the screen. As Mike grabbed peanut butter, he asked, “So you created a new identity to try to trick her into talking to you?”
“No. My new account says it’s me. I’m not that crazy.”
Yes, you are, Mike thought. Almost said it. Held back. Smearing the peanut butter with too much force, he shredded the toast, collapsing the piece and sliming his hand and wrist with nut butter. What a mess.
Yeah. What a mess.
“Aren’t you worried she’s going to be creeped out by you? I mean, she blocked you. Case closed. Move on.”
Dylan shook his head and sighed, his six pack folding in and then out, the muscles rippling up through his chest. Mike admired it with a contentment, like looking at fine art. He didn’t need to touch it; just seeing it was satisfying enough. Knowing it was there when he wanted it sufficed.
“Seriously, Dylan. Any woman would be freaked if some guy went around chasing her like this. You tried messages on her old account. She blocked you. You tried calling—same. Now you’re getting unhinged.”
Beep-blip! “Woot!” Dylan shouted. “She’s responding!”
Mike rushed across the room to see. A swirl of good and bad mixed within him, for if she wanted Dylan again, would she stop seeing Mike? Or, hope against hope, would she consider seeing them both?
Please leave me alone, she wrote. Mike couldn’t contain a snort of laughter. Dylan scowled.
“Fuck!” Schadenfreude aside, Mike’s inner thoughts mirrored Dylan’s, because in the end while this was amusing, watching Dylan twist in the wind, the fact that he wanted to share Laura meant that somehow he had to find a way to make her see his partner again, to clear up whatever misunderstanding had developed that one night they’d been together.
Of course, Dylan couldn’t know that Mike was dating her—man, when had this become so complicated?
When you asked her out, Dumbass.
Oh. Yeah.
“How many messages have you sent her?”
“Thirty-four.”
“THIRTY-FOUR?” Mike howled with laughter now, unable to hold back, leaning against the counter and spilling the last bit of milk in the half gallon carton as it toppled over, sideways, then plummeted to the tiled floor. “Shit!” he shouted, grabbing a hand towel and bending down to clean it up.