Page 67 of Personal Foul
With a shrug, I text Dylan back to let him know I should be home by five, then put my phone away and get back to the tea party. Hopefully Grace will forget all about having Dylan over by the time I leave.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Dylan
Anticipation races through me as I pull up in front of Charity’s apartment building. I double check the apartment number on the text she sent me before climbing out and knocking on her door.
Her friend Isabelle answers, and I give her a smile. “Hey. I’m here to pick up Charity.”
She looks me up and down, disdain stamping her features. “Did you hear?”
My eyebrows raise. “Did I hear what?”
Sighing, she leans against the door, making no move to invite me inside. “That your friend Andrew dumped me.”
“Oh, he did?” Good. He wasn’t really into Isabelle. It was time for him to cut her loose. Hell, that time passed weeks ago. I’m glad he finally took my advice.
“That’s all you have to say?”
“Uh.” I scratch my chin. “Sorry? He’s not much of one for relationships, to be honest.”
She sighs. “Yeah. That’s what he said.”
“Better to find out now before you waste more time on him.”
“Is that what you’re going to do to Charity? Go out with her until you get your fill and then dump her?”
“Uhh, no?”
Charity’s voice comes from deeper inside the apartment. “Isabelle, oh my god. What are you doing?”
Isabelle leans closer, her eyes narrowing. “Just know that I’ve got her back. You hurt her or do anything to her, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“I won’t.” At least, I hope not. My goal is to make up to her for all the things I’ve done to her already. Maybe it’s a good thing Isabelle doesn’t know about all of Charity’s secrets. For a lot of reasons, because the look on her face makes me want to cup a hand over my balls protectively. If she knew what I’ve put Charity through already …
“You don’t need to threaten to cut Dylan’s balls off, Iz,” Charity says, appearing next to her and giving me an apologetic glance. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I can take care of myself.”
Guess I was right to be afraid for my balls, though.
“Hey, Spitfire. You ready?”
Ducking her head, Charity blushes at my use of her nickname. Then mischief takes over. “Sure thing, Cookie.”
Isabelle’s eyes widen, and she mouths, “Cookie?” but Charity just gives her a quick hug. “I’ll be home later.”
“Uh-huh,” Isabelle says, doubt lacing her words. “Sure you will. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Laughing, Charity steps through the door. “That encompasses a lot.”
“Exactly!” Isabelle calls, closing the door on us.
I’m grateful for the barrier, flimsy as it may be, and turn my attention to Charity. “Hey,” I say again, more quietly, placing my hand on her rib cage and pulling her close enough so I can drop a kiss on her lips.
She rolls her lips between her teeth for a second, a reluctant smile tugging at them. “Hey.”
“Shall we?”
Hitching her backpack higher on her shoulder, she nods. “Let’s go.”
