Long Ball(51)

And even if she were wrong, I’d still be going home with this guy. My body buzzes with anticipation. I have no idea what being with someone like him would be like, whether I could even begin to keep up, but I’m desperate to try. “It’s powerful. Undeniable.”

“It’s orgasmic,” he says.

I swallow hard, not moving away from him, not even wanting to. In fact, I want him a whole lot closer than he is right now. I’ve never felt so connected to someone before who understands music yet has such varied taste from mine. I’ve also never been so turned on by a guy so completely opposite from me.

Hell, I’ve never been this turned on period. This connection is as primal as my reaction to Bach’s prelude if it was played by a thunderstorm. While I don’t understand this thrum of electricity between us, I want to. I want to know it as well as I know the placement of my fingers on a G chord. And I think Dylan could be the one to show me.

“Hey, Rachel?” He feels this too, and he’s going to ask me to go home with him.

And when he does, my answer is going to be yes. I peer up at him in response..

He leans back and traces my jaw with his thumb. “Wanna get out of here?”





3





“Yes.” The word comes out breathy, and my skin flushes with shyness and anticipation.

Those gorgeous lips that are going to be on mine soon pull into a smile. “God, your sexy when you pink up like that. I can’t wait to see if that blush extends to all your skin.”

My breath catches. This is the dirtiest anyone’s ever talked to me, and I have a feeling it’s only the beginning. Heat runs through my veins, and I’m sure that I’m both not ready for this and more ready than I’ve ever been.

Dylan leans in to kiss the lobe of my ear and I shiver. “Let me take care of my tab. Don’t move.”

It’s that tone of his—the one that makes me want to obey. But even though I’m about to do the craziest thing in my life, I’m still responsible.

“I should probably say goodbye to my friend while you’re doing that.”

He nods and heads to the bar.

My phone buzzes in my purse as I slide out of the booth. I’ll look at it after I talk to Alex… who’s already looking at me, holding her phone up and motioning for me to stop, so I pull my phone out and read her text.

Alex: You have my blessing, go forth and f*ck!

Rachel. You’re terrible. And possibly psychic.

Alex: And you’re getting laid! Don’t worry, no one will ever know you have a fetish for tattooed badasses.

I shake my head. Rachel: Love you. I’ll call you.

Alex: Turn on your GPS and send me the address, wherever you end up. Safety first. And then I’m going to need DETAILS about this guy! Length, girth, time. And “the sex was adequate” is not going to cut—

“Ready?”

God, that was quick. I guiltily jerk and turn my phone off before reading the rest of Alex’s inappropriate message. I feel myself blushing. Again. Even though

Dylan seems like he couldn’t care less about who talked about him, and I somehow doubt anything about him can be summed up by a mere ‘adequate.’

I nod, unable to squeak a word out as his hand splays across my lower back and gently but firmly guides me to the door and outside into the cool, night air. What the hell am I doing? Can I handle a night with a guy like Dylan?

I’m scared of the answer. Not because it might be no but because it might be yes. And if I can handle him, what happens after that?

“Did you drive?” he asks.

“No.” I never had a car while going to school here—didn’t need one. “Is your car parked nearby?”

“I cabbed it. Do you live close?”

“Too far to comfortably walk there.”

A few people stare at us on their way into the bar. Do we look that ill-matched? They do say that opposites attract; I’m more conservative and he’s got that bad boy thing going on, but superficially, we’re both reasonably attractive.

Well. I’m reasonably attractive. Dylan’s smoking hot.

He steps forward and hails a cab, opening the door for me as soon as it stops. “After you.”

I duck in as fast as possible, hoping my ass looks good if he’s looking at it. “Where are we going?”

He slides in beside me, leg brushing against mine in a delicious way that makes me wish we were alone right now. Though, on the other hand, I’m grateful for this time not alone. To prepare. As if I can possibly prepare for wherever we’re headed.

“Where are we going?” the cabbie asks.

I turn to Dylan. “What’s your address?”

He plucks at the seam of my jeans on the inside of my knee. “How about your place? It’s probably closer.”

My bed’s pretty much the only thing that hasn’t been packed up yet. “It’s a disaster right now with the move.”

“That’s okay.”

If my place is closer than his that’s definitely an incentive to go there. “If you’re sure you don’t mind boxes stacked everywhere.” At least that would put me in a safe place and not in some random stranger’s house. Not that I don’t trust Dylan. That’s the problem, actually. We just met, and I’m ready to trust him completely.