Wild Thing

5. Five

Five

DYLAN

T aylor arrived five minutes ago, and already she had attacked the mini bar, popping the mini bottle of champagne and pouring us both a glass.

“Cheers Dyl!” she hollered, as she enthusiastically clinked her glass with mine. “So happy to see you girl!”

“Same, Tay.”

Taylor is probably the only girlfriend that knew the real me; the warmth beneath the icy cold exterior. We'd met in London. She was on a working visa, just as I was, and we both arrived heartbroken and full of rage.

And misery loves company.

We interned at the same architecture firm, bonding over our shared dislike of our manager. Nothing cements friendships more than a common enemy.

In the name of "healing", we tore through Europe the best way we knew how—by partying our asses off. Sightseeing in Paris, eating our body weight in pasta in Rome, micro-dosing mushrooms in Amsterdam... we did it all. It had been a special, crazy time helping each other heal while learning who we were without the fuckboys who had broken our hearts into pieces.

Taylor adjusted her shoulder length white blonde hair, pulling it back into a slick pony. “This weather is seriously fucking with my hair.”

She had worn a gray transparent tee with a black bralette underneath, a black leather jacket and boyfriend jeans. She had an edgy style and was beautiful in a rock and roll way.

We decided the weather was too ferocious to head out in, so planned to eat at one of the hotel restaurants. While I refreshed my hair and make-up for the second time that day, Taylor filled me in on the happenings at Newmans, the company she was an interior designer for. Much like me, she was proving herself one project at a time.

Riding the elevator ride down to the lobby, Taylor side-eyed me suspiciously. I knew this look well. It was the look she gives when she knows information is being withheld from her.

“What?”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Have you got something to tell me?”

A playful smirk crossed my face. “Wait until I tell you who I ran into earlier.”

Puzzled, Taylor scrunched up her nose. “Who?”

“Nope. You’ll need to be sitting down for this.”

***

Taylor and I were seated in the lounge area of the hotel bar. Upon arriving, I'd scanned the room to see if Brax had come back down, but he hadn't.

I swore his scent lingered, though. The memory of it did something to my insides.

Taylor ordered us tapas and a bottle of red to share. Her jaw hit the floor as I told her of the surprise encounter with Brax. Taylor had never met Brax but knew a lot about him. She was the one who put the pieces of my heart back together all those years ago, so she knew what a big deal running into him was.

“How’d he look?”

A slow smile crept across my face. “Like a god.”

“Need specifics.”

“He looks…” I searched for the right word. I didn't think such a word existed for how fucking hot he was. “Like he has been looking after himself.”

“Are you serious? What are you talking to your fucking mother? Give me something else.”

“Okay, okay," I laughed. I took a beat before responding. "He looks hot as hell. Sexy as fuck.”

Taylor threw her head back and snickered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s better!”

Both of us giggled as we sipped our wine.

Taylor's eyes shifted slightly as she swallowed. I knew what was coming. This was another look I knew all too well. It was the look she reserved for when she knew there was more to a story.

“Dylan. Spill.”

“What do you mean?” I replied, scooping burrata onto a slice of pita bread and popping it into my mouth.

“You and Brax haven’t seen each other in years. You’re both in the same city for work, staying at the same hotel. Sounds like the beginning of a rom-com. Or a porno.”

I rolled my eyes at Taylor’s comment, trying to play the whole situation down. Deep down though, I was feeling excited at the prospect of hanging out with Brax. And it did kinda sound like a porno.

I shook my head in disbelief at the serendipitous timing.

"He said he tried to find me online after we'd broken up. Obviously he never found me because I'd blocked him."

“Unblock him Dyl, Jesus, you’re going to have dinner with him tomorrow night. The polite thing to do is unblock his ass.”

She had made a good point.

I rummaged in my handbag for my phone and opened Instagram. I searched through my blocked list and saw his name. I unblocked him and then pressed “Follow.”

His account was private, as was mine, so we would each have to accept each other’s request before we could doom scroll each other’s pictures. I was low-key looking forward to that.

“Okay, he’s unblocked," I announced, placing my phone back into my bag.

“What else did you talk about?”

“Mostly our careers. He’s here for work too. Get this: He owns Patch and Sons, which is a really big deal. They are the biggest players in luxury builds back in Grey’s," I combed my hair with my fingers. "He also wanted me to tell him about Europe.”

“Did you tell him about your hot fling with that Spanish guy?”

We giggled. Leo and I mightn’t been able to speak each other’s language, but we certainly had no trouble communicating in other ways.

“I conveniently left that story out.”

Taylor continued to stare at me, before she asked the question I’d been dreading, but knew was coming.

“But you didn’t conveniently leave out the fact that you’re in a relationship now, though. Right?”

Avoiding eye contact, I popped another piece of pita bread in my mouth and said while chewing, “It didn’t come up.”

“Dylan!”

“What? It’s not like I could just randomly say, ‘Oh by the way, I’m seeing someone.’”

“Uh, yeah. Yes you do. That’s what us normal folk do.”

An awkward silence ensued as I contemplated if I should have indeed fessed up and told Brax about Zack. The truth was, admitting that I was in a relationship was something I didn’t want to do. I wasn't sure what that said about my morals, but I knew what it said about how I felt about Zack. Indifferent.

“How are things with Zack anyway? Any better?”

“No. Things aren’t great.”

“Like…?”

My mind briefly flashed back to that kind stranger on the plane. Don’t settle for a love that doesn’t engulf you.

“We’re on two different pages. He's offended that I don’t want to move in with him. We’ve been having the same argument on repeat because he seems to think if he continues to push me, I’ll give in eventually.”

Taylor took a sip of her wine. “God, he doesn’t know you very well then.”

“Exactly. The more he pushes, the further away I move.”

“So where are you guys at?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m using this work trip to really consider what I want. Like, do I actually want to be with him, settle down and begin the descent into death.”

“Fuck, you make happy endings sound bleak.”

“Well, it’s not my happy ending. It’s Zack’s.”

“You’re mentally ill. You’re the only chick I know who has a nice, hot guy, who is pretty much desperate to marry her, but just… doesn’t want it. If he’s not the one, don’t settle. But don’t drag the poor guy on either.”

“Hence my big girl decision. And to be honest, he’s not the nicest, most supportive guy. He can be a real asshole," I admitted to Taylor. "But, asshole tendencies aside, I know I'm fussy. I even Googled ' how do I love what’s in front of me '.”

“You used Google as a substitute for a therapist?”

"You don't?" I raised my eyebrows at Taylor, making her feel like she was the crazy one. “The articles all suggested I should practice the art of gratitude by journaling daily.”

Taylor scoffed. “Does anyone actually do that? Journal daily?”

“Apparently. Honestly, I think that if you have to convince yourself of your happiness, then are you even happy?”

“Preach bitch.”

Yet, beneath my skepticism and pessimistic outlook, I also knew that even if I did fill journal after journal of gratitude, it wouldn’t matter. I’d still feel this nothingness towards Zack.

“So, what, dinner tomorrow night with Brax and then…” Taylor’s voice trailed off, eyebrows raised, urging me to finish the sentence as our topic swings back to my ex.

“I don’t know. Nothing I guess. Just catching up.”

Taylor looked at me like I’m an idiot.

“Uh huh,” she deadpanned.

“What?!”

“I know you Dylan. You’re driven by desire and bad choices. I say this with love—but you're an impulsive ho. And if this man looks like the god you say he does, you’ll be slipping off your chair straight onto his dick.”

I shot Taylor a look of disgust, even though that sounded delicious. She’s right. I was completely spellbound when it came to this man.

“I guess there are some unresolved feelings that would be good to, you know, resolve.”

My mind kept tracking back to Brax saying he tried to track me down. What if he had? What if Brax had ended up finding me and begged me to come home?

That was all I ever wanted. To be important enough to him that he would move the fucking earth to find me.

But I had to remind myself—he didn’t.

He didn’t chase me. He didn’t do anything except try to look for me on social media. If he really wanted to—like really, really wanted to—he would have called.

But he didn’t.

It still hurts .

It still hurts that he didn’t fight for us… or for me.

I didn’t fight for us either, though. Maybe I had some unresolved feelings about that, too.

Taylor pulled her hair out from her ponytail and shook her shoulder length hair out. “Can I be brutally honest for a second?”

“You’re always brutally honest, Taylor. Just talk.”

“You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“Just say it.”

A beat passed.

“You’re making a dangerous choice by going Dylan.”

My favorite kind.

Taylor sighed, shifting in her chair, before lowering her voice. “Are you sure you should go?

“Yeah, of course. It’s just dinner with an old friend.”

Taylor’s hazel eyes were pinned on me. She knew it was more than that. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

A slow smirk crept across my face.

I never did, and that was the plan.