His hazel eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “Aly, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
She looked him dead in the eye and without remorse said, “If you think I’m saying that I intend on having a one-night stand—or two—with a cover model, then, yes. Yes, I am.”
…
Dillon glared at the clothes laid out on Alyssa’s bed, willing them to spontaneously combust so she was forced to pack the asexual pantsuits she wore to work. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. She planned on flying to Vegas to hook up with a romance-novel cover model? Over his dead body!
“Aly, that’s fucking crazy. You’re just going to throw yourself at strange men like you’re a piece of meat?”
She blinked like she’d just been slapped. The cute wrinkle between her eyebrows that formed whenever she frowned stabbed him in the chest.
He winced. Shit. That was way harsh, but the horrific images of Alyssa in another man’s arms—another man’s anything—was short-circuiting his brain, leaving his mouth to run off on its own.
Dillon knew when it came to the topic of love and happy ever afters, Alyssa’s feelings were all over the place. It’s why he’d thought his assurances earlier that he had no intention of ever having anything affect their relationship would have made her smile. Instead, she’d run off to the kitchen like he’d set her napkin on fire.
On one hand, she was a hopeless romantic who daydreamed about vacationing in Paris, read copious amounts of romance books, and had a “Perfect Wedding” board on Pinterest.
On the other hand, she called herself the “product of love gone wrong” and half believed in some ridiculous curse her grandmother insisted they had. Alyssa’s father was a self-centered prick who strolled in and out of her life like he was dropping in on an extended family member whenever he happened to pass through town. He’d stay for a few months—just long enough to spin his promises of being a happy family and getting Alyssa’s mother to give him money for his latest “investment”—then he’d disappear again until he’d burned all his new bridges, run out of money, or both.
And whenever Alyssa asked her mother why she always believed him, her mom justified it by saying she loved him. Watching her mother become more and more of a broken woman as a result of “love” had also left its mark on a young and impressionable Alyssa. So even though she wanted to find love, she also admitted to being scared shitless of it.
It also didn’t help that her career in market research meant she knew hundreds of statistics about relationships. Including plenty that supported her fear that they were more apt to fail than not.
“If I was one of your male friends, would you have had the same reaction?”
Dillon rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “No, but—”
“So then why say it to me?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
Because I’m in love with you.
Not that he could tell her that. He knew he’d never be the right guy for her, with his tendency to roam inherited from his father. Given Alyssa’s upbringing, he loved her too much to ever risk hurting her like her father did. She deserved a man who was going to stick, who didn’t have a wandering eye.
Of course, the idea of her falling in love with someone else made his chest ache, and he rubbed it absently. Logically, he knew it was bound to happen someday, and when it did, he’d have to deal with seeing them together and no longer coming first in her life. To say that he dreaded that eventuality was a huge understatement. Because the thought of losing Alyssa hurt like hell.
Dillon had hoped he wouldn’t have to worry about that for a long time yet. She never dated or seemed to care very much about changing that fact, something he attributed to their easygoing relationship emulating that of an actual couple in every way except one: sex. Apparently, he’d underestimated her need for that particular aspect. Well, this was one hell of a wake-up call. Message received, loud and clear.
“The chances of my guy friends getting overpowered and forced into a situation they’re not comfortable with are slim to none,” he said finally. “You can call me a sexist jerk all you want, but we both know that if things go south, you have nothing but statistics on his chances of incarceration to throw at a guy.”
Alyssa adjusted her crossed arms slightly to a self-hug, and she drew her bottom lip in and worried it with her teeth. One of the many things she did that drove him fucking crazy. If Dillon had a dime for every time he’d been jealous of her teeth over the years, he’d have money to start up his own construction company five times over.