She knew she should let it go at that, but spoke before she could stop herself. “Such as…”
He grinned. “You ever want me to show you what it’s like to have a man in your bed, you know where to find me.”
Taken aback, Cheyenne blinked. She’d never spoken directly to Dylan Amos before, not more than a hello when they passed at school over a decade ago—or maybe a nod of acknowledgment when they bumped into each other on the street. She resented him and his family for adding to the problems of her already confused sister and did whatever she could to avoid them. So this was essentially their first conversation. Had he really just propositioned her out of nowhere? “You don’t actually think—”
“That you’d give me a chance?” Smoke curled from his nostrils. “Why not? Joe certainly isn’t stepping up.”
Cheyenne felt her jaw drop. How did he know she cared for Gail’s brother? “What makes you think I want anything from Joe?” She’d quickly masked her surprise in an effort to keep up the charade, but he wasn’t buying her act.
He squinted through the smoke drifting lazily up from his cigarette. “It’s hard to miss, for anyone who’s really looking.”
Why was he looking? “I don’t understand.”
Suddenly, the intensity on his face disappeared behind a mask of indifference—his usual expression. “Forget I said anything.”
Tossing his cigarette on the cold, icy grass, he stubbed it out with his boot and strode away. But she couldn’t let what he’d said go at that. She jogged after him, catching him before he could reach the parking lot. “Wait! How did you know? Did Presley tell you about Joe? Has she guessed?”
When he turned, those cruel eyes swept over her—except, up close, they weren’t all that cruel. They actually held enough blatant appreciation to send a tingle down her spine, and for the first time she understood why Dylan Amos appealed to so many women. It wasn’t necessarily his looks; it was his raw sexuality, excess energy and fierce pride, combined with a certain amount of unpredictability.
“Well?” she said.
“I would guess she doesn’t, since she’s never mentioned it,” he said. “Does that make you feel less exposed?”
He turned to go again and she grabbed his arm to stop him. Then she realized she was touching him and released her hand. “So how is it that you, of all people…”
She never finished the question. She didn’t need to.
“Maybe I’ve been watching you a little closer than anyone else.” With that he crossed to his motorcycle, which, she wasn’t surprised to see, he’d parked illegally.
“Why would you bother?” she called out.
“Why do you think?” he replied. Then he pulled on his helmet and started his bike, leaving her staring after him as he turned around and opened the throttle.
10
“What do you know about Dylan Amos?” Cheyenne asked. She and her sister had been watching TV for the past hour. Presley planned to go out later, but it was only ten o’clock—early by her standards. The parties she attended didn’t get started until eleven. Normally she’d be hard-pressed to find one on a Sunday. Even the Amoses had to work during the week. They ran their own collision repair shop just outside town. But it was getting so close to Christmas there was a party almost every night.
“He’s beyond sexy,” Presley responded. “Why?”
Chey pretended to be absorbed in studying her hands. “You have a thing for him?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“Maybe he isn’t popular with your crowd. But all the women I know want him.”
Chey refused to speculate on just what type of woman that would be. She preferred not to acknowledge that her sister was one of them. “You’ve slept with him?”
Presley screwed up her mouth, apparently puzzling it out. “I don’t think so.”
Chey felt her eyes widen. “You don’t know?”
“How would I? I don’t always pay attention to everything that’s going on.”
Sometimes Presley was far too honest.... “That really scares me, Pres.”
“Letting go feels good. You should try it sometime.”
Cheyenne wasn’t that self-destructive. She’d just decided to drop the subject—her encounter with Dylan was odd and nothing she needed to spend time thinking about—when her sister spoke again.
“What makes you ask about Dylan? You hate the Amoses.”
“I don’t hate them,” she said. “I don’t even know them.”
“You never want me to go over there.”
“Because their parties are notorious for sex, drugs and alcohol, any one of which could land you in deep trouble. In short, the Amos brothers are thugs.”
“They’re fun. And I can take care of myself.”
That remained to be seen. She hadn’t done such a brilliant job so far. Her inability to make wise decisions kept Cheyenne playing the heavy. “So…which of them have you slept with?” she asked.
Presley grabbed the remote and paused the program. “Why the sudden interest?”
“I ran into Dylan earlier, at the park.”
“And?”
“Nothing, really. He surprised me by saying hello. I didn’t think he even knew my name.”
“He definitely knows your name. He asks about you all the time.”
Cheyenne tucked her hair behind one ear, trying not to stare at Presley. “Why would he do that?”
“You intrigue him.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Every other woman he knows would spread her legs for him in a heartbeat. But you’re hard to get, aloof. You treat him like he’s not good enough.”
“That’s how I come off?”
“To the Amoses you do. They don’t understand that you’re just trying to get out of this shit hole, change your life. Anyway, I’ve already told him he doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting in your pants. You’d think he’d forget about it.”
Cheyenne scowled at her. “That’s a crude way of telling him I wouldn’t be interested.”
Presley rolled her eyes. “You should’ve been born in a different era. Or to a Quaker family. Sometimes I wonder where the hell you came from.”
Her sister had said similar things in the past. Cheyenne had never taken them literally. But the fear that suddenly flickered in Presley’s eyes, as if she’d just said something she wished she could retract, made Cheyenne feel that maybe this wasn’t a throwaway statement.