Fall Into You (Morally Gray, #2)(39)

We flip through the menus the hostess left with us when we were seated and decide on two entrées we’ll share because we always eat off each other’s plate. Chelsea flags down the waitress, and we order.

Then, like a recurring rash, Dylan comes back. He holds out a fresh margarita to me with a flourish, as if it’s a Christmas present he spent all winter making.

“Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome.”

He takes his chair and watches me as I’m taking a sip. His grin is gone now, and his energy is different. More intense.

“You’re really hot. But you already know that. I can tell by the way you strut around the office with your nose in the air.”

Chelsea snorts. “Slow down, tiger. You can’t pour on the charm all at once, she’ll faint.”

I set the drink on the table and turn to him with my brows lifted and a challenge in my voice. “Excuse me?”

Proving himself the charmless dirtbag he is, he doesn’t back down or try to pretend he was joking. He only shrugs, as if I’m lucky to be the recipient of his attention, and doubles down.

“It was a compliment.”

“Sure didn’t sound like one.”

“I like confident women.”

“Seems like what you like is to tear them down.”

He looks straight into my eyes and smiles. “Or tear off their clothes.”

Warmth blooms over my chest. I’d say it was anger, but I’m also slightly dizzy, and my stomach has turned sour. I look away from Dylan and focus on Chelsea.

She has a strange, fuzzy halo around her head.

She frowns at me. “You okay?”

“I think I need to go to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

I stand, surprised to find I need to hold onto the table for support as I rise. My legs are shaky, and my heart’s beating too fast. Making my way slowly across the restaurant, I try to remember what I had for breakfast and lunch. I must’ve eaten something bad.

I make it to the ladies room, turn on the spigot at the sink, and splash cold water on my face. My reflection in the mirror looks dazed. My color is awful. Even though I’m roasting hot, my complexion is gray.

I shut off the water and lean against the sink. Closing my eyes, I inhale a few deep breaths. It doesn’t help. The pulsing ranchera music piped through the ceiling speakers is making my dizziness worse.

Drying my face with a paper towel, I fight to stay steady. On my way out the door, I stumble and wind up banging into the wall.

I stand there for a few moments in the dim corridor by an old, inoperable pay phone, sweating and hyperventilating, wondering what the hell is happening to me. I feel as if I’ve had ten shots of tequila.

Closing my eyes again, I swallow down the hot bile rising in the back of my throat.

“There you are. You all right, Shay? Here, let me help you.”

The voice is Dylan’s. Smooth and low, it comes to me as if from very far away. A strong hand curls around my upper arm and squeezes.

“I’m okay, really. I just need…I need…” I don’t know what I need. I can’t think. My brain isn’t working right.

“You should probably go home and get to bed. You look really sick.”

When I open my eyes, my vision is blurry. I try to push off the wall, but don’t have the strength.

My lack of strength soon doesn’t matter because Dylan peels me off the wall and starts to lead me in the opposite direction down the corridor from where I came, toward an exit door at the end.

“Wait. Hold on. Dylan, get Chelsea. I need Chelsea.”

He winds his arm around my shoulders and propels me forward, shushing me when I make a small cry of distress. I stumble again, losing my balance, but he catches me, grabbing me roughly and pulling me against his chest.

“Only a few more steps,” he coos into my ear. “We’ll get you home safe and sound, Shay. My car is right outside. I’ll take you there.”

Why can’t I feel my legs?

It’s the last thought I have before my vision goes black, and I fall forward into nothingness.





Cole





Staring at the video feed of Chelsea sitting alone at the table in the dining room, I check my watch again.

“What’s taking so long?”

Emiliano shrugs. “Women take forever to piss.”

“Only when they go to the bathroom together. Why don’t you have a fucking security camera in the back hallway?”

“I do. It’s out.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“What, you think I’m made of dough, ese? That shit don’t grow on trees.”

“You sound like my father. I’m buying you a new security system next week.”

He chuckles. “Could use a new truck while you’re at it.”

I mutter, “Why don’t you throw in a boat?”

“You can get me that for my birthday. I’ll send you the link to the one I want. It’s got purple lights underneath that make it glow in the water. Esta bien chido.”

Aggravated that Shay hasn’t reappeared on camera, I check my watch again. “What other angles do you have? Can we see from the other direction?”

He clicks around a few times, bringing up different views of the main dining room, the bar, and the entrance.