those few, fateful seconds when she’d heard Dylan Anderson singing in the boys’ locker room. If she hadn’t snuck into spy on him. If she hadn’t seen the look on his face. If she hadn’t been so determined to help him…
Sadie wrapped her arms around her chest, then frowned as she felt the insistent press of her erect nipples against the soft skin of her inner arm. That was the most pathetic, infuriating part, she decided—not that this ancient dream she’d thought she’d banished had returned to haunt her, but the fact that the memory of Dylan Anderson naked in the shower still had the power to turn her on.
She hated him. At the very least, she had nothing but contempt for him. Unfortunately, her body still remembered how much it had yearned for him, how many times she’d cried his name into her pillow when she touched herself all those years ago.
Pathetic. For one thing, she was damned sure Dylan wasn’t pacing the floor somewhere in L.A., thinking about her naked body right now.
It was the wake-up call she needed. Her spine stiffened and the tingling feeling in her limbs subsided as her adrenaline levels dropped.
After a day of reeling in reaction, she suddenly had clarity. The past didn’t matter. What she used to feel didn’t mean squat. This was her turf. She was the boss. This time, things would be different.
She’d show Dylan Anderson that Sadie Post wasn’t a pushover anymore.
If it killed her.
Jaw set, she climbed back into bed. She couldn’t wait till the morning, she told herself. She was actually looking forward to it. He wasn’t going to know what hit him.
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