Distraction (Club Destiny #8)(2)
“And what are you thinking about?”
This was the part Sarah hated. Talking about Paul. Remembering her life with Paul. Even three years later, she still wondered why her husband had … killed himself. Why he’d left her.
“I feel guilty,” Sarah admitted.
“Because your friend called?”
“No.” Not exactly.
Elaine jotted something on her notepad, then looked up at Sarah. “And did Dylan come over?”
Sarah nodded. And that was the reason for her guilt. She remembered waiting for him to arrive. Every minute that passed had felt like an eternity.
“Was that what you wanted?”
“Yes.” That was the simplest answer. Even looking back on all that had happened, Sarah knew in her heart that she’d wanted Dylan to come over.
“And what happened when he got there?”
Sarah relaxed as best she could and closed her eyes, reliving the night before all over again. She couldn’t give Elaine all the details, but that didn’t stop the memory from overtaking her.
A sudden knock had Sarah’s breath lodging in her chest as her gaze slammed into the wooden barrier of her front door. She studied it momentarily, as though she could somehow see through the varnished wood to what lay beyond. No matter how much she wished she had x-ray vision, Supergirl she was not.
Knowing it would be rude to leave Dylan standing outside in the cold and drizzle that’d descended upon them unexpectedly, dropping the temperatures of the late November evening, Sarah willed her heart to slow and leisurely made her way across the room, wiping her sweaty palms on her leggings and exhaling sharply. Her cold fingers fumbled with the deadbolt, but she managed to turn it, her hands trembling as she reached for the knob. Another deep breath and Sarah slowly pulled it open.
And there on her front porch, just beyond the glass storm door, was the incredibly attractive man she’d been expecting, looking just as sexy as the last time she’d seen him a little more than a week ago at the surprise birthday party Dylan’s family had thrown for him.
Sarah sucked in a shaky breath. With his angular jaw sporting days’ worth of beard growth and his narrow nose, his bronzed skin and dark hair glistening from the rain … Dylan Thomas was breathtaking. Even when there was a desolate sadness in his gaze, making him look out of sorts, he was still too handsome for words.
His molten chocolate eyes lifted to meet hers. The same sorrow Sarah had witnessed on multiple occasions was glowing brilliantly, and she instantly knew this was a mistake. What would happen when he crossed over the threshold into her house was anyone’s guess, but Sarah had a feeling she already knew what the outcome would be. Part of her welcomed it, but the wiser part was attempting to warn her.
She ignored that part.
“Can I come in?” he asked, the deep thunder of his voice like rough velvet against her nerve endings. Dylan cast a quick glance behind him toward the street, as though there might be someone watching, but she doubted her elderly neighbors were still awake.
With a jerky nod, Sarah pushed open the glass door and took a step back, motioning for him to follow. When he stepped inside, his sheer size instantly overwhelmed the room, making her modest house feel small. While she stood there staring at him, he closed the door behind him and Sarah took another deep breath.
All common decency fled her mind, leaving her unable to greet him properly. She didn’t even respond when he mumbled a brittle, “Hey.” Instead, she stood there, bare feet rooted to the floor as she unabashedly ogled him, steadily drawing air into her lungs while they stood less than a foot apart.
Every one of her senses was inundated by his presence. He filled her line of sight, and she admired his perfectly imperfect face. All the hard angles, the narrow slash of his nose, his sexy mouth, the beard growth that shadowed his jaw. She could smell the fresh scent of laundry detergent mixed with a subtle spice from his cologne. The only sounds she heard were the rapid thump of her own heartbeat and the labored breaths that filled her lungs. Her mouth felt as though she’d been gargling sand, so dry she struggled to swallow while her palms were still sweating. Simply put, she was a hot mess.
On top of that, she couldn’t stop staring. His broad chest, covered in the soft, black cotton of his T-shirt stretched snuggly across his impressive pectorals, drew her gaze and held it.
He stole her breath.
For half a second, Sarah mentally considered what she must look like. It was late and she’d been getting ready for bed when he’d called, so she’d had only enough time to brush her teeth, pile her unruly blond curls on top of her head in a clip, and pull on the first thing she’d found in her closet. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and she knew that without it she looked all of fifteen years old.
Then again, she felt like a teenager, too. Young, na?ve, aching for something she didn’t understand.
Remembering that Dylan was standing directly in front of her, Sarah forced her eyes away from his massive chest. She had to look up to meet his gaze. He was so much taller than she was, so much bigger, broader. It made her think of high school and how he’d been larger than life, such a great, overwhelming presence in her world.
Now, nearly twenty years later, though still just as handsome, Dylan was nothing more than a shell of the man he’d once been, and she knew that was because he’d lost his wife all those years ago. Sarah also knew that that sort of overwhelming, gut-tightening, heart-shredding grief lingered for years, far longer than she thought herself capable to handle. Her wounds were more recent—three years to his eight—but no more or less significant.