Page 11

CHAPTER 11

DYLAN

H e stops right in front of me, standing just close enough to invade my space but not quite touching. The air between us is thick, charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.

I should ignore him. I should turn away and let him wonder. But something in his posture, the deliberate way he closed the distance between us, makes that impossible.

I tilt my head, unimpressed—or at least, trying to be. “So, you ditched your fan club.” I take a slow sip of my drink, letting the ice clink against the glass. “What, did they run out of compliments?”

He grins, slow and lazy. “They weren’t saying anything interesting.” His voice is smooth, but his eyes? Sharp. Amused. Calculating.

A test.

I feel it immediately. A silent question lingering between us.

What are you going to do about me?

Something tightens in my stomach, but I don’t let it show. I just shrug, feigning boredom. “That’s a shame.” I tilt my glass slightly. “Maybe if you had more to offer, they’d have found something worth talking about.”

His grin widens, entertainment flickering in his gaze. “Maybe.” He tilts his head slightly, like he’s already mentally dissecting me. “Or maybe you just set the bar higher.” His voice is low, smooth, dangerously confident.

I give him a mock-sympathetic look. “Poor thing. And here I was thinking you were used to being the center of attention.”

He leans in slightly, close enough that his breath warms my skin. “I don’t mind sharing—if you’re looking to make me work for it.”

I scoff, arching a brow. “You think I’m trying to get your attention?”

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t hesitate. “I think you already have it.”

My pulse kicks up, but I keep my face unreadable. “What a tragedy.” I sigh dramatically, swirling the drink in my glass. “And here I was just trying to enjoy my drink, until you strolled on over here and inserted yourself into my evening.”

He glances at my drink, then back at me, smirking. “You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who drinks something weak.”

I shrug, unfazed. “I don’t strike you as anything. You don’t know me.”

He steps closer, voice dropping into something darker, smoother. “Not yet.”

The air between us changes. The music, the crowd, the entire club fades into the background. It’s just me and him. Locked in. Neither of us looking away.

I tilt my head slightly, pretending to consider something. “Is this your thing?” My voice is light, teasing, but deliberate. “Lock eyes with a girl, make her think she’s special, and hope she melts before you even have to try?”

He chuckles, shaking his head slowly. “You tell me—are you melting?”

I hate that my skin is warm. That I feel off-balance. But I refuse to let him see it. “Not even close.”

His smirk deepens, gaze flicking over me like he already knows the truth. “Shame.” He exhales, amusement curling in his voice. “I was just starting to enjoy myself.”

Fine. Let’s see how he handles it.

I step forward this time, stepping into his space. Looking up at him, I let my voice drop just slightly. “Let me guess—you’re used to women falling all over you, huh?”

He plays along, nodding once, slowly. “Most of them do.”

“Hmm,” I say, circling him slightly, dragging one finger along the edge of his sleeve. “And that works? A few smooth lines, some pretty eyes, and they just…” I snap my fingers. “Crack?”

He watches me, his expression darkening. Something flickers behind his eyes. Something that makes my stomach tighten. “Not all of them. There’s the odd one immune to my charms.” He leans in just a fraction. “But I can always tell the ones who will.”

I smirk, looking up at him through my lashes. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

His jaw ticks. His eyes burn into mine. “Trouble.”

I grin, sipping my drink slowly. “Good. I’d hate to be predictable.”