8. Brad
8
brAD
“ B ongiorno, bitches,” Shane said with a grin, coming out to greet us in the lavish hotel lobby. He was always noticeable, even if he wasn’t so loud. There was something about his height and how clothes always just seemed to fit him. He wore just simple black jeans and a deep red button-down shirt, but it looked like a highly polished effort.
Then again, the hotel was also very polished. Columns with marble accents stood around. Maybe everything looked more expensive here. Alex stood there in jeans that were a little too baggy and a simple grey hoodie, and he looked like the rest of us.
We all smiled and walked over to greet them.
“There must be something in this Italian air. I think I’ve even missed you,” Theo teased as he hugged Shane.
Shane rolled his eyes, but hugged him back. “Of course you did, I’m fun . Anyway, I know you all just had a miserable flight, but how about we go to a bar tonight, hm? I’ll buy the first round at least.”
Typical. Shane didn’t know how to go anywhere and not party. I shrugged. “Sure, cool.” Then again, that was sort of the whole point of our friendship.
Dylan looked still like he could fall asleep standing up, even though he fell back asleep on the plane ride. It was afternoon here, but I don’t think any of our bodies knew that. At least Shane was being merciful enough to give us a little time to adjust. He wasn’t asking us to go right then and there.
“Piece of advice, though, don’t sleep yet,” Alex said with a smile, like he could read my mind. “It’s way easier to stay awake and sleep at night here. Your body will adjust better.”
Dylan groaned. “I’m fucked already.”
I laughed, and we all grabbed our room keys and headed for the elevator. All the furniture was gold and cream, and I kept wondering what happened if someone spilled all over the pretty white fabric. Did they re-upholster? Did they have a reserve of chairs, just in case?
Shane went all out, but if that’s what he wanted to spend all of his money on, who was I to argue? I’d chipped in, but I didn’t know how much anyone else offered. Hopefully, Jason offered a pretty sum. His parents were loaded.
It was only mentioned briefly that Dylan and I would be sharing a room. The others were left to do their couple things elsewhere. That suited me fine, but it reinforced that this was a couple’s trip with two tagalongs. When we got into the room, Dylan made a sound of surprise.
I followed him. The first thing I noticed was that it was ornately decorated, with gilded mirrors around the walls, and a giant four-poster bed in the middle of the room. Who needed that many mirrors in a room? Why was there so much gold in this damn hotel?
As my gaze drifted back to that bed, with its intricate marble posters, I realized what made Dylan make that sound. There was only one bed in this room.
Oh.
Dylan’s reverie broke faster than mine, and he moved to toss his bags down in one corner of the room. “I know Alex’s advice is good, but…I kind of still want to nap.”
Apparently, he wasn’t going to mention it.
Dylan always looked like ready to sleep. Maybe part of that was that he was , or possibly stoned, but maybe it was more than that. Maybe he just couldn’t sleep because of things at home.
“You can nap. Should I…uh, ask them for a cot? I don’t mind.” I scratched the back of my neck. If he wasn’t going to mention it, I was.
He hummed like he was considering it, then shrugged. “I don’t mind sharing a bed with you. It’s got to be more comfortable than a cot. No big deal.” Almost before I could even bother to insist, Dylan toed off his shoes and drew back the blankets to crawl in.
Maybe it wasn’t.
At least not to him.
I didn’t know how I was supposed to handle being that close to him, though, how I was supposed to be within arm’s distance and not reach out to pull him close to me. He seemed so small sometimes, curled in on himself, that I wanted to just take hold of him and remind him I was there. I wouldn’t let something hurt him, whatever it was. Even if it might have been his dad or his own thoughts. “Yeah, okay…cool.” Was all I came up with. Not reassuring, not interesting.
“Will you wake me up when Shane comes knocking?” his voice was already in that raspy stage between sleep and wakefulness, like he was swept up in a dream.
“Sure thing, I’m gonna check out the shower.” I doubted it made much of a difference what I even said at this point. Dylan was falling asleep fast.
This was already proving to be an interesting experience. One thing was for sure: if Shane did this on purpose, I was going to kill him.
The bar was sleek and filled with people who looked like they were a lot classier than we were. I felt out of place just looking at everyone in their nicely tailored — mostly black — clothes and this weird air of sophistication. I was used to frat parties and dingy clubs that no one wanted to be in for very long.
“Whoa, this is a…vibe.” Was all I could say, but no one else seemed to be so surprised. They just followed Shane and Alex — who I noticed had changed, likely on Shane’s insistence — to the bar.
Even though we were out, though, I wasn’t in the mood to drink. I was still jet-lagged and too wired, so all I got was soda. Thankfully, no one seemed to care or notice. Dylan snorted and followed suit, and we all toasted to a good trip. My gaze drifted to his tight jeans with some rips in them and the black t-shirt he wore. He looked like he always did, but even that was enough to make my palms get sweaty and stare at him for a little too long. Even if it wasn’t perfectly tailored clothes like everyone else in the club, I liked it better. He had a cute little ass that I tried my best not to look at for too long.
Everyone started talking at once, talking about where we should go and what we should do. Asking Alex about the internship, if he felt like it was a worthwhile experience, if it was worth all the drama of Shane last year. He just laughed, but he seemed happy enough.
I tuned them all out, though I kept smiling and nodding appropriately so they wouldn’t think I was being rude. Dylan wandered off, curious about something in the distance.
My gaze drifted toward him, watching what he was doing. There didn’t seem to be any aim, and he only paused when a guy approached him with a wide smile. What did he want? He looked like he was up to no good.
Dylan looked up at him like he was only half registering what he was talking about. Maybe the guy was talking in Italian.
When the guy put his hand on Dylan’s arm, a flare of jealousy settled low in my belly. Oh . Hitting on him.
Would Dylan go for it? Did I need to step in? Against my better judgement, I walked closer to where they were talking. I wanted to know what they were saying. I wanted to know Dylan’s reaction.
“Come on, let me just buy you a drink.” The man’s smile never wavered. There was a faint accent, but I couldn’t tell what it was. Probably Italian.
Dylan just stared at him for another moment. “I’ve got one right here, dude, but thanks. I’m gonna go dance.” He just slithered around him, unfazed.
Even if the guy seemed like a scumbag, he was handsome. I frowned, watching Dylan walk away. He didn’t even go dance, just kept walking until he found a wall to lean against. Probably to get away from the dude.
Realizing I didn’t need to chase after him like a puppy, I went back to the bar. No one seemed to notice either of us stepped away, except maybe a quick glance from Charlie. He was probably trying to assess how easily he could run away himself, though.
In the years I’d known Dylan, I still couldn’t figure out what made him hook up with someone or not. If anyone knew, it seemed like I should have, but he didn’t hook up all that often. He dated once in a while, but it seemed like I hardly knew anything about them. They seemed to happen before I’d caught up. Or maybe it made that jealous monster rage inside me. I distanced myself whenever it happened.
So what made him decide on someone?
His past exes didn’t seem to have much in common, from the glimpses I could summon to mind. There was an art student with blond hair and a willowy frame, there was the guitarist with a chip on his shoulder, there was the baseball player with a crooked smile. Maybe he didn’t know his own type.
It wasn’t worth trying to work out because I knew the answer I was looking for. I wanted his type to be me — I wanted to be what he was looking for. I knew that couldn’t be the case, so I’d just have to sit back and try to map the wondrous ways of Dylan.
That was a task no one was up to.