His lips quirked in acknowledgement of his words.
We sat there for a few moments in strained silence. Long enough for Anne to return with my water and his decaf then leave again after another curious glance my way.
“So, how do you know my dad?” he asked as he added more sugar and creamer to his coffee than I’d ever seen a man use before. “Does he owe you or your family money?”
“What? I don’t know your dad. I don’t even know your name. Mostly because you still haven’t introduced yourself.”
One eyebrow went up in a cocky, smug expression that was somehow both annoying as hell and hot as fuck. “If I introduce myself, common decency would mean you should tell me yours. Are you going to tell me yours?”
I didn’t even have to think—my head was already shaking with my answer.
“That’s what I thought.” He sat back against the booth back with that smug grin curving his sexy lips. “That’s okay. I’m Dylan, the youngest and most screwed up of the Burns brothers. Nice to meet you.” He jerked his chin at me.
Dylan. Seriously? I was sitting across from the exact Burns brother I’d wanted to avoid. I fought like hell to keep my poker face in place. “Is it though? I mean I defaced your shop, and I’ve called you an arrogant asshole at least five times.”
“What? No, you haven’t.” He blinked. “I mean, I remember the art but not the insults.”
“Oh right. Those might not have been out loud.” I hitched a shoulder as some of my disdain leaked out. “Sorry. Not sorry.”
His laugh was husky…and surprising. Why did he have to be so nice about everything—the mural insulting his family and business, my blatant insults to his face—nothing seemed to faze him.
It was seriously annoying.
“I’d love to know what you’re thinking right now to put that expression on your face, but given what you just confessed…I’m gonna pass.” But his eyes twinkled as he tapped his fingertips against the top of his bench seat. “So if you’re not going to tell me your name, how about you tell me what you do? Do you go to school? Do you have a job? Or do you just run around like Batman and avenge wrongs?”
I snorted—a very embarrassing and unattractive sound, gah!—then shook my head. “I’m no Batman. Or Banksy, for that matter. Your additions made the mural so much better than what I was going to do.”
“I’m going to guess art student at a local college…” Dylan’s eyes narrowed on me as he squinted slightly. “Sacramento State?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “UC Davis.”
“Seriously? That’s awesome. I took some art classes at Sac City—just enough to hate myselfandthe instructors. College wasnotfor me.”
His adulation made my skin feel itchy. “Art school isn’t for me either. I’m in marketing and communications,” I muttered grudgingly. “Or I was.”
He hummed softly. “Was? What does that mean? What happened?”
I huffed out a breath and avoided his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.”
Tears burned my eyes, but I’d be damned if I let them fall in front of him. Not again.
Everything felt so brittle, like I was on the verge of collapsing in on myself like a dying star. I didn’t know what to do. How was I going to get through this?
“You got this. I’ve known you all of an hour, not even that, and I can already tell you’re a tough-take-no-shit woman. You’re strong. Whatever is going on, you’ll figure it out. And I’ll help you with whatever I can.”
That got my attention.
I jerked my gaze to him, but it was hard to see through the tears pooling in my eyes. “What? Why would you do that? Why would you help me?”
“Because I can.” He tipped his head and looked away for a moment before returning my gaze again. “And because like recognizes like.”
I wasn’t anything like him. I’d never got myself a sweetheart deal while screwing everyone else over.Iwas no snitch. My lip curled at the thought. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just…that I see a lot of myself in you. I’ve had to climb out of a pit myself. Still climbing actually.” His lips quirked, and his eyes held so much pain I actually believed him. “And I’d really like to help you get your feet under you if I can.”
“A value plate with bacon.” A plate landed in front of me with a clatter. “And a choconana pancake breakfast with all the fixings. What’s going on, Indy? Why are you here with him, and why are you crying? Did your dad do something?”
Oh god. Just when I thought tonight couldn’t get any worse.
