Dylan ignores me as he and Dante shoot death stares at each other. Dylan’s hand is around Dante’s neck, but Dante’s still being stupid and licking his lips like he’s ready to pick a fight.
“You won’t hurt me,” he challenges Dylan. “You don’t have it in you.”
“I’ll kill you if you so much as talk to her sideways ever again.” Dylan’s voice has dropped another octave. “That’s a fucking promise.”
Harlow and I make eye contact, and I read her stunned expression clear as day—she envies me for the way Dylan’s defending me.
But I’m ultra aware that we’re in public and that two teammates fighting is not a good look, especially not for a star quarterback. And I may be decent at self-defense, but I know better than to continue to try to insert myself between two professional athletes. So I come up with a different plan. I have no clue if what I’m about to do will work, but I’m out of ideas for how to get Dylan out of here before some shopper’s camera finds him first and he ends up on the front page of a tabloid.
“Dylan.” I tug at his belt. “I’m leaving.”
He jerks his head over to face me. His eyes fill with confusion and…fear?
“What did you say?”
“I’m leaving.” I try to keep my voice even. “Are you coming, or are you staying here?”
His gaze hooks with mine, and I lift my chin in what I hope is enough of a challenge to sway him.
I’m not sure what does the trick, but Dylan, with a last growl at Dante, releases him. Leaving our cart where it is, we turn and leave the store.
As soon as we’re safely inside Dylan’s car, I turn to him. “You don’t need to defend me like that,” I say.
“Jasalie.” Dylan curses under his breath and then grips the steering wheel with both hands. “I hate that I’m the reason you just had to go through that.”
“You’re not the reason!” I say. “Dante’s the one who said those things. And while I love that you want to protect me, I’m really okay. I don’t ever want to come between you and a teammate. What happened after the Super Bowl was one thing…”
“Green deserved a lot more than getting cut from a football team,” Dylan mutters.
“He crossed a line, obviously, but in this case…and I’m not saying Dante wasn’t being a jerk. He’s…” I refrain from saying everything I really think about Dante, starting with that he’s a jealous asshole. “He clearly likes to push people’s buttons.”
“He always has. He doesn’t usually get to me like that, though. It’s just that when he turned it on you…”
“And Harlow,” I add.
“Of course I think that’s shitty.”
“What about the way he treats you?” I say in a tone so soft I can barely hear myself. “Does that bother you?”
Dylan’s eyes flash with a rare show of temper. “I can’t talk about Dante and me right now. I’m sorry. He…” He punches the steering wheel. “He pisses me off.”
He starts the car, and we drive back to the hotel in silence.
As we step into our hotel room, I touch Dylan’s back. “Hey. I get why you’re extra protective with me. But…”
Dylan’s blank expression gives me nothing as he lets out a deep breath. “I think I need to go to the gym. Get this whole thing with him out of my system.”
He’s shutting me out. I know because I do this, too. I learned the hard way that it’s easier to take my own way out the door before I’m kicked out. Dylan may not shut down the way I do, but he’s making it clear he’s not up for company at the moment.
“Why are you pushing me away?” I ask him.
“What do you mean?” He doesn’t look at me when he says it.
I’ve never once seen him avoid addressing me directly. Until now.
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“I’m not,” he says firmly. “I just hate the idea of seeing you hurt, especially because of me and my job.”
