“He said mayor business.”
A beat. Then, rougher, “I bet he did.”
I don’t miss the edge in his voice—jealousy, distrust—and though part of me appreciates it, I hate that Dylan has us both on edge. I dislike him. I distrust him. I just hope Penn knows he can trust me. Even if, God help me, I sound a little guilty for no reason at all.
“He’s going to stay with me until the truck comes.”
“Okay.”
“Are you having a good time with the guys?” I ask, injecting enthusiasm into my voice.
“Yeah, it’s all good.”
I lift the lid from my coffee, an uncomfortable knot in my stomach at how strained the conversation is becoming. “Okay, I’ll see you later then.”
“Keep me posted.”
I wait a beat, hoping he’ll say more, but the line clicks dead. For some reason, that silence weighs heavier than words ever could. Without saying anything, I stand, snag two sugar packets from the counter, and return to my table. Dylan’s eyes track me the whole way, sharp, calculating.
“That was Penn,” he says.
Not that it’s any of his damn business. “Yes.”
“Did you tell him you were in good hands?”
I arch a brow and shake my head, refusing to dignify his smug question with an answer. I stir my coffee, keep my eyes fixed on the window, my car still in view. Silence stretches between us, taut as a wire as we sip.
“How does Sloane take her coffee?” I ask, and his brows pull together.
“That’s a strange question.”
“Just curious.” He doesn’t answer, which is, in itself, an answer, as his gaze strays to the window. I turn, and relief floods me when the tow truck pulls up sooner than expected.
“They’re here.” I leap to my feet, dump my empty coffee cup in the recycling bin, and hurry outside. After talking with the driver, I ask if I can catch a lift. But when I open the cab door and see the mess of tools—and another guy already in the passenger seat—I freeze.
“You can’t ride in there,” Dylan says smoothly, almost too quickly. “Come on. I’ll take you. I’ll get you home safely.”
I hesitate, but practicality wins. “Fine.”
The second I slide into his car, I angle my body toward the door, as far from him as possible. He merges into traffic, the hum of the tires filling the silence until he decides to break it.
“You know,” he says with a casual laugh, “I thought you and Penn might have been faking an engagement.”
My heart trips. I school my face into neutrality. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he says, though his tone suggests he doesn’t buy it. “I thought maybe you were trying to make me jealous.”
“You thought wrong.”
Partly. None of this was to make him jealous. Rather it was so I didn’t look like such a failure, a girl who couldn’t make it outside of Snowberry. But at the end of the day, why did I even care what he thought? I shake my head, angry with myself. Although, I’m not angry that I’ve gotten to know Penn, not at all angry about the time we’ve been spending together.
“It worked,” he says with a smile.
I roll my eyes. “I’m with Penn.”
“You and me,” Dylan starts ignoring me, and I almost shut him down, because there is no ‘you and me’. But he rushes on. “We could have been something.”
Don’t engage.