“That was pretty awkward,” Dylan says.
I smile as I stand across from him. “Just a little.”
“I don’t know what Lilla’s um…” he pauses, seeming uncertain how to broach this. “I don’t know what she’s hoping for with Marcus, but I don’t think they’re necessarily on the same page.”
I look at him. “I know he has a girlfriend. And he’s a football player, just like you are.”
“Marcus is not just like me.” Dylan lets go of my hand and runs his fingers through his hair. “At all. I’ve never cheated in my life.”
I look at him in surprise.
“Never?” I say doubtfully.
“Never,” he says fiercely. “I’ve never been in a really serious relationship, but the few women I did date exclusively knew I would never break their trust.”
I exhale.
“But getting back to Marcus, I don’t know how serious he is about Lilla. Really,” Dylan adds firmly.
I sigh. “Well, Lilla’s a big girl. And she never listens to me anyway. I’ve warned her about a thousand times…”
“I’m sure you have. You’re smart.” He pauses. “And now more guarded than ever. Right?”
If I were going to tell him the absolute truth, I’d say that his behavior didn’t seem like Marcus’s at all. I would tell him that if anything, I’m less guarded now than I was before because I felt safe with Dylan at the bar. I felt like he cared for me and would even protect me if the situation arose.
But the fans scared me because I can’t be with him every single moment, nor would I want to be. And there are a lot of moments where women will throw themselves at him. I catch myself.
Shit. I’m acting like this relationship will continue past Tucson.
Nevertheless, I feel like I should explain something to him because it’s only fair.
So I take a breath. “I don’t look at you like a star you know.” That didn’t come out right. I try again. “I mean if we were truly friends and not just helping each other out with our respective problems, I wouldn’t spend time with you simply because you’re a quarterback, and rich, and…well, famous.”
That still sounds so bad, but Dylan seems to understand.
“I know.” He touches my cheek lightly.
My heart beats faster.
“I know you’re not going to go home to L.A. and brag to all your friends about the football star you hooked up with in Arizona,” he says.
So he did hear Lilla. Of course, this just makes me like him more. He’s smart, too.
I smile at him, and he grins and starts to say something, but before he can, two men, one with a camera, descend upon us.
Not again. Not now when all I want is privacy. I’m already getting a sense of what it’s like to live in Dylan Wild’s world, and it can be damn exhausting to always have to be on like this.
“Dylan Wild!” the guy calls out as he points the camera at me. “Same lady as earlier. She looks like a model. Is this serious?”
Dylan turns to me, checking to make sure I’m okay, and I try to smile, to replicate the way I handled the media before. Sometimes I’m good at playing a role; an expert, really. But when I’m not in the mood, I’m a terrible fake. So when the man keeps pushing for my name and identity, I send him a glare.
“Who I am is none of your busin…”
“Good evening, gentlemen.” Dylan grins, immediately putting on a mask for the camera like he’s done this a million times before. “If you’ll excuse us, please.” He turns to me and whispers, “I don’t want any photos with these guys. Just start walking with me.”
But before we can take a step, three more men—two of them with cameras—appear on the sidewalk. The five of them aggressively crowd Dylan and me further against the building.
“Hey, Model Girl.” One of them trains his lens on me. “Do you work for anyone we know?”
