100 Proof Stud (The Darcy Walker Series) (56 page)

Alriiiiiggggghttty then…

“Yeah,” I giggled, “I feel like I just ran a marathon.”

My voice hiccupped all over the place.

The dimples made an appearance while Dylan ran his finger down my jaw. “That’s love, sweetheart,” he winked. “It’s going to ignite your insides every time I touch you. It’s not going to be boring, or habitual, or predictable—”

“Or safe,” I whispered.

“No,” he quickly murmured. “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s always going to be safe with me. I’m one of the good guys. I’d never hurt you.”

I blurted out, “Kissing is an upgrade I underestimated. Can you at least tell me if I was any good?”

I ran both hands through my hookerfied hair, feeling like an absolute idiot. But my God, I was all ears. Wondering if he’d let me in on a trade secret that’d bring him to his knees.

I heard Dylan chuckle. No wonder…just cut out my tongue already.

“Trust me, sweetheart. I’ve never been so attracted to someone in my life. So yeah, it was good.”

My fingers lingered on my lower lip, fighting back a smile. My mind couldn’t unravel what’d happened let alone try to interpret Dylan was genuinely attracted to me.

Tunneling his fingers through my hair, he pulled me forward and gently placed a thumb in the dimple of my chin. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

My heart caught in my throat. “You ain’t too shabby yourself,” I whispered.

“Listen, I feel like I need to shoot straight here. I
just
…” he paused and inhaled deeply, “I just…
love you
,” he exhaled.

“Always,” I added quickly. “Always, always, always.”

He slowly shook his head from left to right. “Not like that, sweetheart. It’s not our best friend love. I’m
in love
with you. I’ve loved you for years, but over the past year things changed for me. And in all honesty, I can’t remember
not
having been in love with you.”

I stop…take it all in…I’m stuck on shocked.

File that under
My Best Friend’s On Drugs.

Dylan grinned at my open-mouthed expression.

How in God’s holy name were you supposed to respond to that? I know I should return the L-word phrase—because God knew I worshiped the ground he walked on—but the emotions struck me like a Kansas tornado. Dylan hugged a part of my soul that’d never been touched. That touch reminded me I’d loved and lost before too.

Dylan saw the panic, and I swear, he knew the source. “One thing at a time,” he whispered. “I get you. I understand you. And I love you more than anything in my life.”

Dylan’s dimples had a way of making my discomfort vanish. While I slowly came to grips with his words, I couldn’t fight the smile that enveloped my face. Darcy Winston Walker had a boyfriend. Dylan Michael Taylor held the title.

Eat that, all you haters!

The silence hung in the air like a question neither of us would ask…where did we go from here?

I’m not sure of the chain of events, but we lay on the couch, Dylan nothing but smiles; me wondering why in the heck I’d just stripped myself of my single status—willingly. Somewhere between making it to the couch, the tree had been righted, the gingerbread ornaments rehung, popcorn had been popped, and both of us nursed a steaming hot cup of cocoa. “I have a couple of rules,” he murmured, kissing the top of my head.

My popcorn took on the texture of wet potting soil. I started to cough. I don’t know; maybe I was crying. When Dylan pounded on my back, the noises dissolved into nervous giggles. Of course, Mr. Bossy Pants would have rules. I decided to look on this in a positive light. Everything had rules. Baseball had rules. Boxing had rules. War had rules. Relationships, I suppose, did too.

Pushing up on an elbow, I leaned in and braced my hand on his chest. Dylan kissed me once. Twice. Two more times. When I pulled back, he tunneled his fingers through the hair at my nape, deepening the connection once more. I moaned. Somebody help me, but I moaned like a darn mountain lion. “About those rules?” I grinned into his lips.

I could feel his smile against my mouth.

Tucked up under his arm, Dylan buried the fingers of his other hand in my hair. That felt so good I was pretty sure you could set my hair on fire, and I wouldn’t even care. “If this thing ever goes south,” he murmured, “then you don’t run. We stay up all night and duke it out until we’re on the same page. It’s a physical hurt when we don’t get along, Darc, and I don’t want any repeats. Please…” The hurt in his voice was palpable—I honest to God had no idea I could hurt him as much as he could hurt me. “When I lie down at night, I want to know that we’re good.”

“Kosher,” I nodded.

“Kosher,” he agreed. “And I want you to quit thinking of me with other girls. There aren’t any. There are no other relationships or hints of relationships. I’ll be honest with you, and you be honest with me. But I can’t explain what I don’t know is bothering you. You’ve been tortured by things you’ve been hearing, and yet you’ve kept the bulk of those feelings to yourself. So you have to talk, sweetheart. That’s a must.”

The one thing I did mention to Dylan was that Collin admitted to making up stories about him and Brynn. Collin should count himself lucky he was in lockdown. Dylan tapped into his bloodlust when he heard and punched a wall. Thankfully, when Dylan asked for a “why,” he accepted my reasoning that Collin was just a d-bag who wanted everyone to be unhappy. And thank God for that. The real “why” would show him a Darcy I wasn’t ready for him to know.

Oh, he knew a little bit about my capabilities…but not this latest evolution of crazy.

“Pinky swear it to me,” he grinned.

I giggled, waiting for him to run out of gas.
He
knew, and
I
knew I’d screw this up before the weekend was out. I pinky swore anyway, knowing insecurity would always plague me. Think about it. Dylan had curves and muscles in all the right places; I imagined half of mine and relied on the lords of voodoo to take care of the rest.

He tucked a stray hair behind my ear, slowly smiling. “So you’re mine,” he said.

“Yours.”

“I can call tomorrow, and when I say ‘I love you,’ you know it means something more.”

“Yeah.”

“No more science experiments.”

“Temporary insanity.”

“We’re exclusive.”

“Facebook and Twitter official tonight,” I grinned.

“Saturday nights are booked through eternity.”

They’d always been his, but I said, “Deal” anyway. I then added what I knew could be a huge obstacle if Dylan didn’t appear to play things on the up-and-up. “And you’re down with dealing with Murphy on a daily basis?” I giggled.

Dylan was as sober as a judge. “I’m not a cheat, Darcy. And I never will be. Murphy and I will be fine.”

“Well, no one has ever explained to him that stoning isn’t PC anymore. He’s stuck in the Dark Ages.”

“Don’t talk yourself out of this,” he murmured.

Both of us breathed for a beat, wondering how this would invariably change things. Dylan broke the silence first. “How are you doing?” he murmured.

“I’m freaking out,” I giggled…then paused, turning the tables. “How are
you
doing?”

He threaded his fingers behind his neck and mischievously grinned. “I’m freaking awesome.” I threw my head back and laughed. Typical. As usually blinding as his smile was, he had the look of the cat that swallowed the canary. Poor bird. It probably enjoyed being in his mouth. “I’m going to be selfish tonight and dwell on how this makes me feel, Darc. Tomorrow, I’ll worry about you getting there.”

“Considerate.”

“I always am,” he winked. Dylan placed both his hands at the small of my back, pulling me tighter. “Now crawl on up here, and let me taste your mouth.”

I’d never had a more appealing proposition…as in, EV-UH. Right then, my iPhone grumbled with the pop-pop-pop of gunshots, and as Dylan lazily nibbled away at my neck, I snagged it from the floor and read three texts I’d missed (imagine that).

The “Call me” was from Ben Ryan. He’d phoned, beside himself around noon, when he read the morning paper. Answering it seemed dumber than the relationship I’d just committed to. The following text included a picture of Vinnie’s hand holding a black velvet engagement ring box with the caption, “She said yes.” Um, God help us…he’d still better be single. The third number registered as local, with an “I need to see you, babe” message. Jaws. That one I’d answer tonight, regardless. As I held three other options in my left hand, I glanced back to Dylan’s half-mast, drowsy eyes, and did what any red-blooded, American girl would do…I threw my phone across the floor and pounced on him like a hungry cat.

Note from the Author

Thank you, thank you, Darcyville! Darcy and I would be no place without your love and support! I sure hope you enjoyed that our girl finally got some lovin’, because she and Dylan definitely deserve the chance to explore their feelings. I mean, really. It was killing me as much as it probably killed you. I did leave a partial cliffy (I know, I know), but isn’t that Darcy’s life in a nutshell? Standing on the edge of a cliff and debating whether to jump into the unknown or back up and play it safe? Many questions about her past were answered in this book, and all (with the exception of one; I mean, duh, I can’t give you everything *evil grins*) will be answered in the next book
DEFCON Darcy
. Plus we’ll finally have a face-to-face with Pixie. Remember, if you would like to receive emails of upcoming releases and promotions, please sign up for my distribution list by visiting my homepage at http://www.ajlape.com. Also, if you read the Darcy Walker Series and enjoyed it, tell you friends or even lend them the book. And I’d be honored if you’d consider leaving a review at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Goodreads. God bless and big love to each of you!!

Darcyspeak

Dylantopia:
Dylan’s particular POV.

Fastard:
a fastard, in Darcyspeak, are boys that move fast—they meet you one time, tell you they love you, then set up your next date only for you to find out the fastard has a steady on the sly. Substitute a “b” if you’re the cursing type and that should clear up everything.

Habaneros
: a girl’s chest region.

Happies
: a boy’s southern region.

I-Don’t-Care Look:
consists of a wet ponytail, little or no cosmetics, and glasses.

Iniquity Engineer
: those that lead you down the path to destruction. Unfortunately, if you open an encyclopedia on sin, my picture might be in the footnotes.

IRMS Episode:
insurance-related mood swing.

NCIP
: no crap in particular. The way I refer to my day when nothing exciting happens. Hey, it happens to the best of us.

Shama lama, ding-dong
: for all those naughty words I don’t know the meaning of, in the words of Otis Day, I assigned the term shama lama, ding-dong.

Vinnietown:
Vinnie’s particular POV.

Voodoo cream
: Puerto Rican cream I apply by the light of the Crescent Moon hoping to give me an ample bosom. Side effects are hot flashes and the occasional chest hair.

About the Author

A. J. lives in Cincinnati with her husband, two feministic daughters, an ADD dog, a spoiled hamster, and an unapologetic and unrepentant addiction to Coca-Cola. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, watching too much cable TV, or cheering like a banshee at hometown sporting events.

If you would like to receive emails of upcoming releases, please sign up for her distribution list by visiting her homepage at
http://www.ajlape.com
.

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