Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I had to drive away—go anywhere other than home. I needed to think and figure out how to approach Dylan about this.
He’d lied to me. He was with my sister, fucking her, I was sure, when he said he wouldn’t get involved with her.
That fucking sleazebag.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I waited an entire week before confronting Dylan. I needed proof. Pictures. So I followed him every night when he left, parked in the lot as he did at Miley’s complex, and took photos of him with my phone.
Photos of him climbing out of the car. Walking up the stairs. Knocking on her door. I even had a photo of him standing on the balcony with her as she smoked an e-cigarette, both of them laughing like they were the best of fucking friends.
It was a little overboard, but I needed all the proof I could get, not just for myself, but for Roland too. I wanted Roland to kick Dylan out after this because if he could break my only rule, imagine what else he could do.
I waited until Roland went to his golfing facility before going up to the attic. I wanted to give Dylan the chance to explain himself, at least. I felt that was reasonable enough. After all, maybe I had the wrong impression. Maybe he was meeting her just to hang out because he felt bad for her. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping with her at all.
Ugh. Who the fuck was I kidding? He was definitely sleeping with her. There was no way Miley was inviting him into that apartment without sinking her claws into him.
I knocked on his door and drew in a breath, my cell phone with the photos clutched in hand. He answered the door, wearing only a white towel around his waist. His brown skin was still damp, his abs defined. I quickly swung my gaze back up to his face, ignoring the fact that he was half naked in front of me.
“Mel,” he said, smiling. “What’s up?”
“Don’t call me Mel. I need to talk to you.”
“Okay? What about?” He leaned against the door and I breathed in slowly, taking in the scent of his pine soap, before exhaling.
“You made me a promise and you broke it, Dylan.”
His face changed after that statement. His smile disappeared and he pulled his hand down, standing straight. “What are you talking about?”
“I know you’re fucking my sister.”
His face warped, and his eyes flashed with something I couldn’t quite read, then he stepped back and said, “Let me get dressed.”
He closed the door in my face and I grimaced, listening to him shuffle around in the room. Several minutes later, he had basketball shorts and a T-shirt on. “Wanna come in?”
I stepped into his room, which I hadn’t done since he’d moved in. It looked completely different. A single bed against the wall. A solo window next to it. The floors made of hardwood, a TV and an entertainment system across from the bed. There was a dresser and a clothing rack where his jeans and button-downs hung. I wondered immediately how he afforded any of it. Had Roland paid for it? It had to have been Roland.
“How did you find out? She tell you?” Dylan asked. I turned to look at him and he’d shut the door behind him.
“No. I saw you at her apartment.”
“You saw me? You mean you followed me?”
“Yes, I followed you. She wasn’t texting me back and you were leaving every night and I saw you touch her hand on Christmas night. You took her home, remember? Is that when it all started?”
Dylan fought a smile and shook his head. “Look, Mel, it’s not even like that. We’re just fucking and I told her that. She knows not to take what we have going on too seriously. I told her that out of respect for you.”
“What? Do you hear yourself? You completely disrespected me by sleeping with her, Dylan! I specifically asked you not to get involved with her—to deny her!”
“Why are you getting so upset? Last I checked, Miley is a grown-ass woman who can make her own choices. She doesn’t need you speaking for her.”
“I told you about her! She has an addictive personality! You can’t just fuck her and think that’s all she’ll want.”
“So, she’s like you,” he said, looking me up and down, brows furrowing.
I stepped back. “What are you talking about?”
“She’s like you. You have an addictive personality too. You’re addicted to shutting your sister down.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped again.
“Miley told me about you, Mel. She told me about your mom and how she used to have a bunch of boyfriends who always hit on you when they were around. She told me you even slept with some of them, and your mom used to get real mad about it. But she especially got mad about this one man—Calvin or something.”