Even if the most likely reason he was talking this much was to avoid having to listen to me, I still appreciated it. There’s no way in hell he could be enjoying this. This notion was confirmed when he declined coffee or dessert, and we left the restaurant in record time.
He held his hand out to me as we walked from the restaurant back to Nolan’s where we’d left our cars.
I stared at it. Should I hold his hand? It had felt so good to hold his hand on the way here, back when things had looked so promising, before he saw me for who I really was. Why not enjoy that warm, safe comfort one last time?
Or should Inothold his hand so I could walk away from this nightmare with my head held high?
If I held his hand, we could continue this charade of enjoying dinner until we got to our cars and made a clean, quick break, but?—
He took the decision from me when he grabbed my hand an instant before I face-planted. There was my answer. I should hold his hand because I couldn’t safely walk while looking at his hand and thinking about how good it had felt to hold said hand an hour ago. I couldn’t safely walk while I was so devastated.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“My pleasure.” He tightened his hand around mine, and I couldn’t help the shiver that ran through me. My foolish body was still reacting to the memory of his closeness at Nolan’s, to the hope and excitement that had felt so real and promising for that short time.
“Are you cold?”
“No, I’m good.” I laughed internally at that. I was so far from good. I was counting down the seconds until I was alone, praying I’d make it to my car before the dam broke.
I was going to kill Nicky for dragging me out tonight and setting this whole mess in motion. This evening had started out as one of the best of my life. How did it spiral so far out of control? Maybe going out to dinner with a smart, funny, sexy man I’d spent hours flirting with wouldn’t be considered out of control for most people. But it was for me. And I should have known it.
I shouldn’t have agreed to this disaster in the first place, but the flirting and Dylan’s disarmingly adorable smile weredangerous. That smile. Sweet, almost boyish, in contrast to his body, which was all man.
He was all those amazing things, and I was…me.
I’d been painfully reminded of that the minute we walked into the restaurant. It was loud and fancy, and whatever spell I was under broke. I should’ve made some excuse then and run like I was tempted to do, but his firm hand on my back had driven me forward, thwarting any opportunity to escape.
My dyspraxia is always worse when I’m nervous, but tonight took the cake for the worst ever. My speech, my clumsiness, my awkwardness, it was all so bad.
Thank God my silver Ford Explorer came into view, shining under the streetlight like a beacon of refuge.
“Thank you for tonight. I had a great time,” I said, preparing for a quick getaway.
“I had a great time, too.”
I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t afraid it would come out as a sob instead. “Right.”
I reached for the car handle, but Dylan used the hand he was still holding to pull me to a stop and turn me around to face him. He stepped closer, and I stepped back. He took another step closer, and I froze, allowing him to erase the distance between us. Shit. I needed him to let me in the car now before I lost the battle against my tears.
“I had a good time, Juliette,” he semi-repeated, as though that would make me believe it.
I didn’t have the energy left to argue. Even though I’d failed miserably, I’d tried really hard tonight. That damn slide I compared my dyspraxia to—it had been a freaking roller coaster at dinner, and I was exhausted from the effort of trying to be normal.
“Okay, good. Thanks. Have a good night.” I blinked up at the streetlight, fighting back tears. Just another minute. I could hold on for one more minute.
He reached out, gently cupping my face, running a finger down my jaw.
Shit. I stood no chance against him being nice. He tucked my hair behind my ear, touched his thumb to my lips, and held me in place while he lowered his face until it was mere inches from mine, forcing me to meet his eyes, forcing away every last shred of control I had.
“I’d like to see you again.”
I shook my head within the confines of his hands. Both his hands were on me now, his thumbs gently wiping my tears.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I’m so sorry.” I pulled out of his grasp, and he immediately let go.
“Can I have your phone number?”
I shook my head. I wasn’t going to do this again. This little taste, this tease of what I couldn’t have was torture enough. I groped for the door handle, grateful when he didn’t try to stop me.