Love Her Wilde

Good For a Good Time: Dylan

Of course, he was gorgeous. Why, just once, couldn't a guy look like his personality? If you're ugly on the inside, you should at least have to be moderately unattractive on the outside. Like a warning signal. It would make mine and about a billion other women's lives easier, that's for damn sure.

And he was not just walking down the street "Oh, that man is pretty," either. Asher Wilde looked like some sort of Greek god: jaw chiseled out of stone, blue eyes that you could swim in, and even under his black, I could only assume cashmere sweater, it was pretty evident that he kept at least one gym in business.

He's an asshole, Dylan. You don't need any more assholes.

My brain was absolutely correct on that front. My vagina with her stupid tingles and even more stupid butterflies she got just from looking at him, was going to have to shut up, because another asshole was the very last thing any part of me needed. Any part. Not even my left fucking earlobe. We were swearing off assholes. For good.

But he couldn't be all asshole, could he? If he was a real asshole, he never would've jumped in to save me from Brock. He would've just gone about his night and not thought twice about a man and a woman duking it out on a public street. He would've left it alone. He wouldn't have swooped in like some White Knight Prince Charming. It didn't make sense. Asher Wilde was apparently gorgeous and confusing. Really confusing.

"Spill," Lita commanded with a sigh, sinking into the stool beside me. She tipped a pint glass to her lips, staring at me the while. "Why are you looking at him like that?"

"I'm not looking at anyone," I responded indignantly, sipping on the gin and tonic I'd gotten the second I walked through the front door. I tipped my chin so that my eye line was lower, but all that did was bring his sculpted ass in dark-wash jeans into view. Fucking. Perfect.

"Bullshit. I know you better than that," Lita continued, obviously not buying my flimsy dismissal. "You know that's Asher, right?"

"I'm fully fucking aware, thank you," I practically snarled.

"What happened?"

"Nothing!"

"Dyl, stop. I saw Ryder and Mason go running out of here," Lita informed me. "Did he show up again?"

I took another swallow of my drink and nodded. "Yes," I answered sheepishly.

"Are you fucking him again?"

"NO!" I shouted, my eyes ripping from Asher and going wide as they landed on my best friend. "I told you I was done with him!"

"You've told me that seventeen times, Dylan."

"I mean it this time!" I insisted. "I'm done with Brock, Lita. He just... won't leave me alone."

"Have you actually told him to?"

"Yes!" I cried. "Jesus. Thanks for all the faith in me, bestie. Really appreciate it."

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Lita sighed. "You've just... For the last four years, Brock has had this hold on you. No matter what he does, you let him back in and... he does the same bullshit all over again. He's not good for you, Dylan."

"I know that. I know," I stated. "But I really mean it this time. I don't want anything to do with him. I don't even talk to him, I blocked his number. But... he shows up at my house, he shows up at work, HERE..."

"Do you think you need to get a restraining order?"

I shook my head. "He's never... hurt me, Lita. Not like that."

"Doesn't mean he won't."

I scoffed at the thought. "Brock cries when he gets a hangnail. I don't think violence of any sort is in his repertoire."