The three-dozen blowjob roses Aleck just told another man to order me come to mind. Comparatively, Dylan is looking pretty good right now.

“Shit. Is this creepy? In my mind it played out super romantically, but now that I’m here, I’m feeling a little stalkerish.”

I laugh and honestly, I’m glad he said that, because I was feeling a bit stalked. But I told him to find me if he wanted a chance to date me, and he did. Effort is a lost art to most and Dylan has put in a lot of it with no guarantee on his investment.

There’s nothing sexier than effort.

“No, not at all. I think people are put off by romantic gestures because they’re unfamiliar with them. I don’t think you’re creepy at all. Well, depending on how you found me.”

Dylan laughs, showcasing those deep dimples. My lord.

He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt over board shorts, Vans with no socks—take that, Aleck!—and his hair is deliciously messy on top. He places his hand on the doorframe and leans into it, bringing attention to his chiseled arms that are so tanned the white of his shirt glows, and a tattoo that travels the length of the inside of his bicep that reads: Be your own god.

You can be mine, buddy.

“I started with Googling your name and Port Blue, where you said you lived. Winter Sommers at Black Ink Publishing came up right away. They wouldn’t tell me anything over the phone, so I went there and spoke with Camille Franko…”

Camille! Of course. She’s almost as bad as Sondra. She probably took one look at Dylan and tattooed my exact coordinates on his chest like one of those romantic latitude and longitude pictures.

“She told me you were out of town for two weeks and said you were staying here.”

“And you thought you’d drive two hours to bring me flowers instead of just waiting for me to come home?” I ask with a smirk.

“Well, yeah. Two hours is nothing. Sometimes I drive farther at four in the morning to chase the best break. Also…” He leans his hip against the doorframe, looks down boyishly, then back up, dimples on full display. “Hot women like you get picked up at weddings, I wanted to intercept.”

A laugh escapes me. “Intercept, huh?”

“Yeah, I wanted to ask you out before some asshole swoops in.”

Dylan and I share a look when the door to my suite swings open and a shirtless Aleck steps next to me with a villainous smirk I’m not convinced won’t reach out and punch Dylan in the throat.

“Hey…” he says with a nod.

Dylan straightens his spine, dropping his smile. “Hey, man…” he says, returning the nod. “I’m Dylan.”

Aleck’s smirk becomes a grin. “Some Asshole, nice to meet you.”

You son of a bitch. Aleck Fox just pissed on my leg!

Dylan’s eyes snap to me, then back to Aleck. “Oh, I’m sorry, man.” He looks back at me. “I’m sorry, Winter, I thought you were alone—”