Her Billionaires_ Boxed Set(74)

Maybe that was a result of something earlier. He made a face at the thought. Dylan frowned, watching him. “What?” he mouthed. Mike shook his head imperceptibly and resumed paying attention to Josie, who was giving them hints on how to handle Laura.

If being whacked over the head by their own stupidity could be categorized as a hint.

Right now, he’d take any advice if it had half a chance at working. Why did he know when to back off and give someone space, but was utterly clueless when it came to drawing close? Josie assumed they’d been stalking Laura, coming to Jeddy’s at the same time, and he knew trying to explain that it was a weird coincidence— Jill would have called it “the universe speaking to us”—was futile.

Josie and Laura would believe what they wanted to believe, and nothing he and Dylan said or did would make a difference.

So why were they even trying?

Because.

Because.

That’s all Mike knew. Because. Laura staggered back to her booth and Josie walked away. The old waitress made a lewd comment. Mike inhaled. Mike exhaled. Mike inhaled. Mike exhaled.

And then Dylan stood, eyes flashing and intense, body aimed for Laura’s booth, and Mike stopped breathing.



“Fuck,” Laura whispered.

“What?” Josie asked, sucking the last remnants of ice cream from her spoon.

“Fuck me, Josie!”

“I don’t do girls. Well, except for that one time in college when—”

Laura grabbed Josie’s arm, her fingernails sinking in. “They’re coming over here.”

“And you’re surprised?” Josie looked at Laura like she had three heads.

Three.

As if he owned the joint—no, as if he owned her —Dylan slid into the booth right next to Laura, arm stretching across the back of the booth, his chest against her shoulder. Mike had the decency to stand at the side and look awkward. Because he was awkward. This much, she knew.

And Dylan was being a strutting ass because he was a strutting ass.

This she knew, too.

What she didn’t know was why they had decided once again to come after her. One fuck. She had been just one fuck, right? They’d convinced her (you convinced yourself) to have her first threesome and she’d reveled in it. Still felt it on her skin, inside her, in her mouth, on her thighs—everywhere.

But this wasn’t how she wanted it to go. Her guilt at dating two guys at once was bad enough. Learning they knew each other and were an item (sorta) that wanted her to complete them was too much to absorb at nearly 6 a.m. When she needed to go to work on zero hours of sleep. She still needed a shower, was starting to get a headache, and now six eyes stared at her with expectations that turned into a churning soup of hope and dread.

“Can you people pick one table and stick to it?” Madge croaked, refilling Laura’s water glass. “Breakfast rush is about to start and I’ll need the table.”

“We’re over here now, Madge,” Dylan replied, winking at her.

“You done with your food?” She nodded at the half-full plates. Mike gave her a closed-mouth smile and nodded. “OK,” she sighed. “I’ll bring your check here.” Laura pretended Madge was the most interesting sight ever and watched pointedly as the old woman cleared the table in about three seconds, delivered the checks, and pointed a new group to an empty table.

“Man, how old is she?” Josie asked, admiring her energy.

“She’s been here at least since we were in college and put up old Warlock,” Dylan joked, nudging Laura. The heat from his chest made her feel like she couldn’t breathe, as if the warmth itself, made true from his blood, his flesh, his movement and soul, were some sort of force field that stopped time, stopped her heart, stopped everything and made her want to bathe in him. His presence. His scent.

Wait. What?

She looked up at Dylan, the muscle of his upper arm poking through the thin lines of his cotton t-shirt. Could she lick it without being caught? Bad Laura. Bad.

“You made the Warlock Waitress?” Laura’s hold on reality was tenuous at best. Learning these two had been responsible for a local culture legend would send her over the edge.

“Not quite,” Mike chuckled. “It was really Jill’s idea.”

If Mike had thrown a bucket full of cold ice water on her head, he couldn’t have jolted Laura out of her slump any faster. Jill. Of course. Of course it was Jill’s idea. Some part of her that had been churning and unfocused came into play again, sharpened by competition. She wasn’t seriously threatened by a dead woman, was she?

Even one who looked like she’d been hand-chiseled by Ralph Lauren?

Dead, Laura. Dead. You can’t compete with the dead.