“Hi,” I say softly.
“This is Dylan.” He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb. “Dylan, meet Kendall and Dixie.”
“Great to meet you both,” Dylan says. He’s holding a pitcher of what looks like margaritas in one hand and some clear plastic cups in the other. “Hold this for me?” he adds, deliberately handing the pitcher to Dixie.
She takes it, giving anyone who’s looking flashes of the twins. Vaughn’s not looking, and his lack of interest lifts my heart dangerously close to crush level. Dylan’s a different story. He grabs one of the nearby cushioned chairs, the iron feet scraping the brick while he gets comfortable next to her lounge chair.
“That spot taken?” Vaughn says. He nods right next to me, and my pulse gallops.
I’ve thought about him a lot this week. A. Lot. I followed him on Instagram for a glimpse into his model life—and grinned like a fool when he followed me back. Most recently, he posted a couple of pictures from his photo shoot in Miami. I posted one of me eating a hot dog from Pink’s Hot Dogs. (For the record, it wasn’t as good as Mo’s.) Our lives are completely different. His face is on display for millions to fall in love with. He hangs out with celebrities, travels, parties. I’m most comfortable in my pajamas, savor solitude, and sometimes feel like I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. The very last thing I want is to be on people’s radar. Once upon a time I dreamed of being in the spotlight, but not anymore. Part of the reason I gave up on acting is because I value my privacy. Call me a coward, but I can’t handle having my mistakes splashed around for public consumption. It’s not that I don’t own them—I do—but they affect more people than just me, and I never forget that.
But right here, right now, it’s just us, and all Vaughn wants is a place to park his super-fine butt. Next to me. “Have a seat,” I say, patting the spot. He looks too good to be true in cargo shorts and a white threadbare T-shirt that’s half tucked in the front. His light brown hair is finger-combed back from his face. Stubble lines his angular jaw.
He sits, his gaze sliding over me from head to toe and back up until his eyes meet mine. “Thanks.”
“Ladies, my lemon margarita. There is nothing better on a warm day.” Dylan hands one to Dixie. Pours another and offers it to me.
“Oh, I don’t know. I can think of one or two things to do on a summer day that hit the spot better than a cold drink,” Dixie says, innuendo clearly lacing her words.
“No, thank you. I’m good,” I tell Dylan.
“I knew I liked you the second I laid eyes on you,” Dylan says to Dixie.
Dixie laughs. “Everyone likes me when they first lay eyes on me. But fair warning, I don’t play nice.”
Dylan arches a brow. “But you do play.” He turns his attention to Vaughn, moving his arm so the cup he offered me is now in front of his friend. “Here, bro.”
“Thanks,” he says. “But I’m good, too.”
“Suit yourself. Means more for us.” He raises the cup, taps it to Dixie’s, and then downs half the contents like it’s water. When he’s done, he flashes another smile. “What do you think?”
Dixie takes a small sip. “Not bad.”
I stifle a laugh. Dylan has no idea Dixie is an expert at making drinks. He leans over so he’s in her personal space. “I can make it better. Want me to show you how?”
“Oh, would you please? Maybe while we’re naked?” Dixie’s delivery is so over-the-top there’s no mistaking the mockery in her voice.
He scoots back and aims a grin at Vaughn. “Oh, I really like this one.”
“Of course you do,” she says. “You think you see ‘fuck me’ written on my forehead in invisible ink put there just for you.”
“You mean it’s not?” Dylan deadpans.
“How’s the house-sitting going?” Vaughn asks me with a shake of his head.
“I haven’t burned down the kitchen, so good.”
“Hold up,” Dylan says, eyeing the oatmeal raisin cookies on the table between me and Dixie. “Those are fresh baked?”
I pick up the plate. “Yep. Would you like one?”
“Hell, yeah.” He takes two. I offer them to Vaughn. He also takes two, and I wonder if these boys ever get anything homemade.
“Fuck me, these are good,” Dylan says, talking with his mouth full of cookie.
Vaughn nods and when he’s finished chewing says, “They’re fantastic. And I don’t really like raisins.”
I laugh. “Maybe I’ll make you some chocolate chip ones.”