Page 99 of The Way We Touch
I walk over to lean my back against the kitchen wall behind the dishwasher. The strength drains from my limbs, and I slide down it until I’m sitting on the floor with my face against my knees.
My friends rush to my side.
“What are you thinking?” Allie sounds nervous.
What am I thinking? My head is spinning, and I think about everyone discussing this story and me. I think about it spreading across the Internet. I think how much it sucks to go viral.
“I think Davis is an asshole, but Natalia? Lainey? They said what they thought.” I can’t forget the images on his Instagram feed—model after model after model. “We are from completely different worlds, and I’m not his type.”
Of course, I fell in love with him. He’s handsome and rich and polished and sexy, but what am I? A redneck girl miles away with bare feet, no plans, and a weird hot pepper fetish. I’m a curiosity, not something you bring home to Papa, no matter how much you hate him.
Or maybe it’s what Natalia said: you do it, because you hate him.
“Stop right there.” Craig’s voice is sharp, and he squats in front of me. “Not a single word of this story is true.”
“I don’t feel so good.” I place my hand on his shoulder, and he helps me stand slowly. “Would you mind covering for me tonight? I have a recipe and ingredients set out, but you can do whatever you want.”
“You are not believing this story, Dylan,” Craig orders, following me to the back door. “I won’t allow it.”
“I don’t want to believe it.” My heart twists in my chest. “But maybe it’s a warning.”
“It’s bullshit.”
Nodding, I hold out my hand. “I just need a minute.”
I feel like the wind has been kicked out of me. Or like somebody found the biggest bruise on my body and punched it as hard as they could. Using their knuckle.
Or like I broke my foot all over again, and my world is crashing down on my head once more. I dared to dream, to reach for something that seemed impossible, and Fate noticed and slapped me down again.
Craig watches me with impatience. “Dylan…”
Turning away, I head for the house like I’m walking through a bad dream. My mouth is dry, and I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think about all the people seeing that story.
The house is dark, but I don’t turn on the lights. I put my phone on the kitchen counter and go to the living room. A small, portable wet bar is behind the couch. We don’t use it often, so the bottles of whiskey, gin, and vodka are pretty full.
I grab an unopened bottle of tequila and carry it to the guest room where I’ve been sleeping. Then I shut the door, twist off the top, and collapse to the floor.
23
Logan
My fingers ache by the time we approach the small airport east of Newhope. I’ve spent the entire five-hour flight gripping the arms of my chair. The flight attendant offered me a drink to help me relax, but I just said no.
I don’t want a drink. I want Dylan.
Then I want to beat the shit out of Callum Cross.
It took longer to get out of New York than I’d hoped. We weren’t in the air until after seven. I tried FaceTimeing her, but it rang several times before going to voicemail.
It’s Thursday, which is always a busy night. It’s possible she doesn’t have her phone with her. It’s possible she’s having fun at the restaurant, and I’ll get to her before that fucking article does.
Is it possible she hasn’t seen it? Then I remember how much she knew when she was with me in New York. She knew all about Natalia’s book. She knew about the Met Gala…
At the same time, she didn’t know about me until I walked into her restaurant. It’s possible…
Staring out the window into the darkness, I can’t imagine what she’s thinking. Rubbing my fingers over my forehead, I add that asshole Davis Kent to my to-do list.
She knows he’s an entitled asshole, but Natalia, Lainey? Tightening my fist, I worry their words hurt her.