Sarah couldn’t tear her eyes away. In fact, she hadn’t been able to blink since Dylan walked downstairs for the first time. “Oh my gosh—Lacy, that’s so weird. I was just thinking about nailing his ass too!”
This time, Lacy didn’t even bother with the look. She just stifled a long-suffering sigh, and crouched further down in the bushes. Camera at the ready.
Every Thursday, Dylan met with one of his mistresses here at the house. Every single Thursday without fail. It was why he’d taken a shower. It was why she was kneeling down in the dirt—her purse full of dog treats.
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But as prepared as she might have been, she’d neglected to take into consideration the giant elephant in the room. (And no, it wasn’t the dog.) Dylan was charmed. It didn’t matter what she did to catch him, something always went wrong. Today would prove to be no exception.
Just as she was raising the camera to her eyes, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. He reached down to grab it, shaking his damp hair out of his eyes, sending Sarah into a mild fit.
“Hey! Are you on your way over...” He paused as a shrill voice echoed out in the living room. A slight crease furrowed across his brow, as he glanced at the clock, before putting his hand on his hips—standing in an unintentional pose that made Sarah swoon. “Oh—that’s no problem. I’ve actually got to work, so later won’t work either. But we can try next week.”
The hair on the back of Lacy’s neck stood up in a rage, as she clutched the camera strap in her fist. Seriously? She was here in the bushes on the one Thursday they weren’t hooking up?
Inside the living room, Dylan was nodding once more, in a sudden hurry to get off the phone. “Don’t worry about it, babe. I’ll see you later.”
He hung up before she could stop him, running a hand back through his wet hair. For a second, an almost wistful look drifted across his face. Then, without a care in the world, he started scrolling through his contact list—looking for another person to help him pass the time.
It was a bitter defeat that Lacy had never quite gotten over. A cosmic injustice she was still smarting from, months later. And things even got weirder. The woman, her client, who was sleeping with Dylan, was actually married to a rich business tycoon. No wonder she had so much cash to throw around. The three of them all met at the office when all hell broke loose. The husband was crazy jealous. Lacy never expected that little twist. He swore revenge on Dylan.
Needless to say, the day that she’d burst in on Dylan at home, accompanied by yet another seething husband, was supposed to be her great triumph. The day that her client’s husband finally caught the infamous Dylan Stone to bring him to justice once and for all.
But even that hadn’t gone according to plan. In fact, that was simply the day when her entire world had started to slowly unravel.
“What the fuck was I even thinking?” she muttered to herself, pacing away down the street towards her car. “The man’s a cheater—of course I found a woman in his bed.”
They were fighting words, helping her keep the rage alive. But even as she said them, a part of her had to admit that they weren’t entirely true. A part had to see the fault in the logic.
Dylan wasn’t a cheater, because Dylan never had a girlfriend. He made no commitments, had no one steady for him to cheat on. The women were the cheaters, he was merely the willing instrument of their marital destruction.
But this...this was different. We were together, weren’t we? Did I get that wrong?
A wave of depression cut through the rage, and she stopped where she stood. Bowing her head as forbidden tears stung the corners of her eyes. There she was, already using the past tense.
Falling asleep on the porch swing? Making me breakfast in bed, and trying to bake a pie? Those weren’t the things that Dylan did with his mistresses. It was different, wasn’t it?
Before she could answer the question, there was a sudden noise behind her. Her muscles tensed, and she glanced around to see Dylan sprinting towards her—a look of panic in his eyes. She was sure he was good at perfecting his stories after he was caught. Because that’s what good playboys did. They con. They make women hope there is still a damn chance. Because that’s what they do.
“Lacy—wait!”
Just like that, the rage came back. The depression was nowhere to be seen.
“Leave me the fuck alone!” she growled, storming up the street. She had parked her car here somewhere, she was sure of it. “I’m sure your special friend is waiting.”
A hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around on the spot.
“She’s not my friend,” he panted, trying to catch his breath. “I’ve never seen...” He trailed off suddenly, as a peculiar look flashed across his face. A second later, he was back in control. “I asked her to leave. All of that is behind me now.”
“It’s behind you?” She put her hands on her hips, glaring up into his eyes. “The parade of naked women that climb in and out of your bed are all behind you? You’ll just cancel all future rendezvous? Send a collection tin around the greater Cleveland area to collect your house keys?”
His handsome face fell with a quiet sigh. One that seemed remarkably out of character for someone like him. One that tugged on Lacy’s heartstrings, no matter what she did to fight it.
“Look, things are...complicated.” He shifted uneasily, looking like he was dying to reach out and pull her into his arms. “But at the same time, they’ve never been so clear. I want to be with you, Lacy. No one else. Never again. Just...you.”
There was a heavy pause. Then she looked intently into his eyes.
“And why should I believe you?”