Chapter Nine #2
The same waitress with the micro bangs was back, notepad in hand.
“Want anything?” Dylan prompted.
Vicky tried not to look at the soft yet assertive shape of Dylan’s mouth. She wanted a beer but knew she should be cutting back on alcohol. “Uh…the…Groovy Grilled Veggie Wrap.”
Dylan looked bemused. “Still no Big Bopper Bacon Burger?”
Vicky hesitated. “I’m on a…health kick.”
Dylan narrowed their eyes.
Vicky didn’t want to lie, but she also felt too ashamed about what’d happened last month to explain further. So she just stared back, not giving an inch.
Dylan gave up, addressing the waitress with a lazy smile. “I’ll do another beer and some curly fries.”
“Excellent choice.” The waitress twirled a lock of hair. “The fries are amazing.”
“Oh, you like them?” Dylan leaned forward, chin resting on one hand, voice low and sexy.
“I do,” their waitress simpered, and Vicky was surprised she didn’t just pour herself into Dylan’s lap.
Vicky decided to step in before someone, who wasn’t her, ended up wrist deep. “Fries, beer, veggie wrap,” she snapped. “Thank you!”
The waitress gave Vicky a bitchy smile and left.
Vicky huffed, giving Dylan a look of derision. “Save your fuck-boy antics for some other time, Rogers.”
Dylan blinked, looking surprised. Then almost flattered. “You think I’m a fuck boy?”
Vicky was no fool. “I know you’re a fuck boy. Everything about you screams I’ll text back two days later with a winky face.”
Dylan didn’t seem offended. They seemed pleased. “Okay.”
Well, that confirmed it. Rogers was a player. A certified panty dropper. A licensed hardbody. Vicky’s jaw tensed. “Where the hell’s my veggie wrap?”
“You only just ordered it.” Dylan regarded Vicky as if she was a particularly tricky Wordle. “I remember you as the unhealthiest person I’d ever met. Twizzlers was one of your five food groups. Your idea of an apéritif was a hoagie.”
“People change.”
“Do they?” Far from it being rhetorical, Dylan sounded genuinely curious.
“Yes.” Vicky jutted her chin.
She could smell Dylan. Incense and leather and very ripe plums. Not quite feminine, not quite masculine. Alluring. Intoxicating. Annoying! Vicky tried to ignore it.
“So. When did all this happen?” She indicated Dylan’s overall existence. “The gay glow-up.”
Dylan chuckled. “In stages, I guess. Started in college, when I came out.”
“College.” Vicky narrowed her eyes. “Somewhere progressive. Probably the West Coast, to get away from your mom.”
Dylan’s eyebrow ticked up. They nodded. “Berkeley.”
“Berkeley,” Vicky repeated. “You joined the poetry club to meet girls, fell in love with your straight roommate, discovered hallucinogens, wore a lot of…plaid?”
Dylan blinked, looking taken aback. “Maybe a bit?”
“How much is a bit?”
“You’re four for four, freak.” Dylan’s ocean eyes did not leave Vicky’s, their gaze intrigued.
Vicky grinned, now fully engaged. “Okay. You went to your first Pride parade and stayed up late talking about Judith Butler with the drummer in an all-girl punk band, who you were too scared to make a move on, but luckily she kissed you and you came with your pants still on. You got a lip piercing sophomore year, but it got annoying so you took it out. Tried veganism until you couldn’t live without eggs.
Skipped Twilight, read Harry Potter, lied about loving Breaking Bad, but were actually obsessed with Glee.
Door-knocked for Obama. Cried when he won.
” Vicky cocked her head. “Or something?”
Dylan’s mouth was ajar. The waitress dropped off the fries and beer, and Dylan all but lunged for the glass, downing a third of it. Finally, they spoke. “It was a tongue piercing.”
Vicky cackled. It was a reliable party trick, thanks to her professional skill set and the fact that she’d spent a lot of time around a lot of queers.
But Dylan didn’t laugh. They just kept watching her. Something opened up behind those pale green eyes. “How did you know all that?” they asked, softer, curious. The teasing edge was gone.
Vicky smiled, a tiny bit charmed at Dylan’s lack of pretense. “Guess I just know you.” It was and wasn’t the truth. “What about coming out as nonbinary?”
“You don’t want to take another disturbingly accurate guess?”
“I’d prefer not getting canceled today, thanks.”
Dylan winced. “I know what you mean, but I kind of hate how awkward everyone gets about it. Like, I can tell when people get so afraid of messing up my pronouns that they can’t relax around me. I can see them getting in their heads, like, panicked.”
“Well, they don’t want to misgender you,” Vicky said. “They don’t want to offend you.”
“I know. I appreciate that. It’s just hard.
” Dylan ran both hands through their dark brown hair, messing it up, then smoothing it back down.
“Long story short, I just never felt like a girl. It was a shoe that didn’t fit, but I couldn’t figure out why.
Then, about five years ago, I went on this group trip to Joshua Tree, and there was this nonbinary person with us, Kai.
We all did shrooms and Kai and I talked for hours and suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. ”
“Of course you had your big gender mic drop moment high as fuck in the desert,” Vicky snickered. “That’s perfect.”
“Shut up.” Dylan grinned, tossing a fry at her, which Vicky ducked with a giggle.
“I’m happy for you, Dyls,” Vicky said, meaning it. “Really.”
“Thanks.” Dylan reached for some fries, their expression curious. “What about you? How was Harvard?”
Vicky explained how she threw herself into undergrad, majoring in political science with a minor in sociology.
“I was always at the library or in debate club meetings. Prelaw track, so tons of law-related courses and internships. I’d study until ten, party until two, get up at seven for a spin class, and be back in a lecture by nine.
Went straight to Harvard Law School after that, graduated with honors, and the rest is herstory. ”
Dylan whistled, cheekbones popping. “Impressive.”
“I know.” Vicky couldn’t help tossing her hair back and grinning.
Dylan stretched, the hem of their threadbare muscle tee riding up. “Family law—that’s like divorce and custody battles, right?”
Vicky nodded. “Exactly. And I run a free legal clinic through the firm.”
“Fair Fight Legal Aid,” Dylan said.
Vicky felt a sweet tickle of surprise at the knowledge that Dylan had done some digging of their own.
Ensuring the wives of shady billionaires got a fair deal was satisfying, and lucrative, but it was worlds more meaningful to work pro bono for disadvantaged people who couldn’t afford a good lawyer.
“But it’s not easy balancing both,” she admitted.
“Sabbatical’s the first time I’ve stepped back in… god. Ever, I think.”
Every time her body screamed at her to take a break, another heartbreaking case would land on her desk.
She ignored all the signs of burnout and fatigue and stress until it was too late.
Which, in a way, was why she was back here in Rhodes.
Her sabbatical was, quite literally, what the doctor ordered.
“Jesus, Vee.” Dylan’s gaze stayed curious. “So, not much time for relationships then?”
The question plunged into Vicky’s chest like an arrow hitting a bull’s-eye. All her exes had the same complaint. She loved work more than she loved them. Well, duh. Hard work was what she knew.
“Nope,” Vicky replied. “Too busy fixing the fallout of failed marriages.”
“New Slang” by the Shins started on the jukebox, melancholic and wistful.
“How did you end up in family law?” Dylan asked.
Vicky squirmed. “Personal, um, reasons.”
“Meaning?”
Micro Bangs dropped off Vicky’s veggie wrap, lingering in an attempt to make eye contact with Dylan. But Dylan was looking only at Vicky.
“Honestly it was because of my parents’ divorce,” Vicky began slowly. “How it all went down. My dad really screwed my mom over. Financially, legally—everything.”
“I remember them fighting.” Dylan leaned forward, their expression empathetic. “What happened?”
Vicky rarely opened up about those years.
But with Dylan, things felt different. Safe, somehow.
“You know my dad made bank in the import-export business, right?” she began.
“My mom made a lot of that possible. She spoke fluent Mandarin; Dad didn’t.
Mom never had a clue about the legal side of anything—she trusted my dad.
And in Chinese culture, women are expected to be modest and not question their husbands.
But when they decided to divorce, my dad hired lawyers—good ones. Like, scarily good.”
She paused, feeling the old anger and frustration bubbling up. “I found out later that he hid assets, created fake debts, underreported his income. My mom ended up with a fraction of what she was entitled to. He kept the house while she struggled to pay the rent. It was so freaking unfair.”
Dylan nodded, putting it all together. “So that’s why you became a divorce lawyer.”
“Pretty much,” Vicky said. “I didn’t want other people going through what my mom did.
I wanted to make sure they understood their rights and got a fair deal.
” She picked up a curly fry, twisting it between her fingers.
“I remember, that summer, sitting in court and watching Mom sob. Dad’s lawyers made her seem like a gold digger.
I decided to be just as cutthroat—but for the right reasons. ”
“That’s so admirable, Vee.” Dylan reached across the table to squeeze Vicky’s forearm. It echoed throughout her body like a wind chime in a storm: a sudden jangle of heat. Inside her bra, her nipples pinched into tight points.
Oh, that’s right. She had a body. A body that liked to be touched. It’d been a minute since anyone had reminded her of that.
“Thanks.” It came out a little breathier than she intended. Vicky prayed she wasn’t blushing. “It’s just…it’s what I had to do. For my mom.”
Dylan nodded soberly, not looking away.
They’d had deep conversations as teenagers—that was part of what made their friendship feel so important—but it felt different discussing things like this as adults. More serious. More exposing. More meaningful.
Dylan frowned. “You said ‘that summer.’ The summer we did the play?”
Vicky nodded. “Whenever I said I had a family meeting? That was court.”
“You never said anything about that.” Dylan looked confused, shaking their head. “I knew they were getting divorced but I didn’t know you were, like, watching it happen.” Dylan sat back, looking devastated. “Shit, Vicky. You were just a kid.”
“Why do you think I was such a bitch all the time?” Vicky joked weakly. “I liked you guys so much. What we had saved me that summer. I didn’t want to make it all about me.”
“So, then…that means…” And for a second, Vicky was terrified that Dylan was going to bring up closing night, but thankfully Dylan just finished it with, “Huh.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” Vicky said quickly. “The cast. Is every teenager these days a bisexual vegan with ADHD or what?”
Dylan let out a laugh and the conversation moved on.
But all Vicky could think about was what she was keeping secret and what Dylan wasn’t saying. And how, for the first time in forever, she wasn’t thinking about work.
Just Dylan.
And the side of their leg pressing against hers under the table. Their bodies were touching, but neither of them was acknowledging it, or pulling away.