Chapter 29
29
DYLAN
The miles blur by in a shimmer of asphalt and sun haze as I coast along the highway toward the Hamptons, the summer heat radiating from the pavement. I shift gear, my fitted jacket pulling at my shoulders. Since I won’t be staying at the resort tonight, I’m already dressed for the party.
Next to me, Hunter looks more comfortable. With a room booked for later, she’s still in casual attire and will get changed at the hotel. Not that simple clothes make her any less appealing. My eyes dart briefly to her legs. To the pair of light-wash, ripped jean shorty-shorts that show too much skin to be good for my sanity, paired with a plain white V-neck T-shirt tucked loosely at the front.
No matter how resolutely I vow to keep my eyes on the road, at every stop, my gaze drifts toward her. To those mile-long legs that are lightly tanned, the denim frayed right to show off flawless, sun-kissed skin that catches the light, making me grip the steering wheel tighter. Her dark hair, now dry, tumbles down her shoulders, wild and un-styled—how I prefer it.
She kicks her shoes off, tucking her feet underneath her thighs on the seat.
“What is with this traffic? Aren’t all the rich people supposed to go to the Hamptons in their private helicopters?”
“Adrian could have arranged helicopter rides for all the guests. Would you have preferred that?”
I peek sideways, and our eyes lock. Hunter looks away first.
“Nah, then we’d miss the thrill of being stuck behind this minivan going ten under the speed limit.”
She says it with such a straight face, I laugh.
Hunter pulls her hair up into a messy bun, twisting it absently as she stares out the window. Now her long, lean neck is exposed, the stretch of smooth skin daring me to take a bite.
The motion also sends a faint citrusy smell my way that mingles with the scent of the car’s cool leather. I breathe in her perfume, reminded of last night. Drunk Hunter was a perfect, chaotic whirlwind. Beautiful even while unsteady on her feet, slurring words, and rambling about how I was the “nicest guy” as I helped her into bed.
As I concentrate on the road ahead, I wonder if “nice” is what women want. Nice guys finish last, right? It’s the bad boys who always get the girl. Suddenly, the title of “nice guy” is less a badge of honor and more a consolation prize. Kinda makes me the biggest loser.
But then Hunter’s bedtime story request from last night drifts back to me: The one where he ditches the perfect princess and marries the nerd instead. It sounded like a joke, something she threw out without much thought, especially after a few cocktails. But the more I replay it in my head, the more it feels like there was a hidden message buried under the alcohol haze.
Was it just another one of her offbeat comments, or was she trying to tell me something? And why the hell does it keep looping in my brain?
When she said the prince should ditch the princess. She didn’t mean me and Olivia… did she? I shake my head, gripping the steering wheel tighter as the minivan in front of me slows down even more.
There’s no way Hunter sees herself as the nerd of the story. She’s about as far from nerdy as you can get. She’s magnetic, sharp, and a hell of a lot sexier than she realizes. But if she did mean herself… then what does that make me? The prince stuck with the wrong girl? The nice guy fumbling around, trying to figure out who he’s supposed to end up with?
Needing a distraction from the idea I might be the clueless prince in her narrative, or worse, not be her type, I suggest, “Hey, how about we play a game of ‘would you rather’ to pass the time?”
“Oh, fun.” Hunter’s eyes light up. “Okay, I’ll go first. Would you rather have to sing everything you say or dance everywhere you go?”
Without missing a beat, I break into a falsetto, my voice playfully off-key. “I’d rather siiing my words than dance.”
Hunter’s bubbly laugh fills the car as she admits, “I’d choose to dance everywhere. At least I could keep it subtle.”
“I’d love to see that.” I grin, enjoying the lightness between us. “Alright, my turn. Would you rather be able to read minds but only hear negative thoughts, or teleport but only to places you don’t want to go?”
She purses her lips, considering. “Hmm, I’d pick reading minds. Sure, negative thoughts might sting, but at least I’d know who to avoid.”
“Good point,” I agree, nodding. “Imagine you blink and you’re in an airport security line on a holiday weekend. Or worse, you end up at the DMV during lunch hour.”
“Aww. That’s sadistic of you, Thompson.” Hunter shifts to face me more fully, her seatbelt tugging across her chest. “Okay, next question. Would you rather live without coffee or never eat pizza again?”
I glance at her in mock horror. “Give up pizza? No way. Coffee keeps me functioning, but pizza… pizza is life. It keeps me happy.”
“Guess you could convert to tea or drink a lot of sodas.”
“Pizza makes you thirsty so that’d be perfect. Alright.” I click my tongue. “Would you rather be stuck in traffic for two hours every day or have slow internet?”
Hunter’s head falls back against the headrest as she thinks hard. “Ugh, traffic, I guess. I could listen to music or podcasts while I’m stuck. Slow internet would make me lose my mind.”
We riff off each other, laughter filling the car as we toss around one ridiculous answer after another, until Hunter’s tone shifts, her voice taking on a thoughtful edge as she asks, “Would you rather be happy or make someone else happy?”
Her gaze on the side of my face is a lick of flame.
The question hits a bit too close to home with my current situation with Olivia. “Oh, you know me, always the people pleaser. It’s a terrible flaw.”
My thoughts tangle like vines. Putting Olivia’s temporary happiness before mine is what I’ve done so far. Choosing her well-being while she recovers from her grief. But now with Olivia, the relationship, the missed break-ups—I’m caught in a maze with no way out. Suffocating, like a shirt that’s two sizes too small.
“But I guess you can’t make someone else happy unless they’re already happy themselves, you know?”
“Are you—are you happy?” Hunter asks, not looking at me.
How do I even answer that? I am happy now, yes, because even if I’m stuck in traffic wearing uncomfortable clothes with a million degrees outside, I’m with you playing a silly game and suddenly, all my problems are miles away.
“Miss Brolin, I’m afraid that inquiry violates the game’s rules, and it’s my turn, anyway.” If she’s wondering why I’m side-stepping the topic, she says nothing, and before she asks, I blurt out the first silly question that pops into my head. “Would you rather have Cheeto dust permanently on your fingers or cheese breath for the rest of your life?”
Hunter scrunches her nose, considering. “Cheeto dust.”
“But you could cure the cheese breath with mints,” I argue, grinning.
She gasps in mock outrage. “And you talk about rules. Terrible would-you-rather conditions are incurable, Dylan. In-cur-a-ble.”
We share another two seconds of solid eye contact and then both burst out laughing.
As our laughter fades, a contemplative silence settles between us. I glance over, catching the way Hunter’s gaze lingers on the passing scenery, her thoughts still tangled in something deeper.
She sighs, the sound barely audible over the honking of a nearby car whose driver must’ve had enough of the weekend jam. “Maybe relationships are like Cheetos. Messy, addictive, and they stain everything.”
A quiet heaviness weaves into her words, a thread of something real and raw. It catches me off guard. A strange, tight pressure builds in my chest, and my ribs are suddenly too small for my lungs.
I want to tell her, to beg her to please stain everything I own with her light. But the words stick in my throat, trapped by the unfinished situation with Olivia.
I keep quiet, gaze ahead, and promise myself that I’ll sort things out today. Because Hunter deserves more than my silence. And so do I.
* * *
The resort comes into view, a sprawling cluster of white buildings nestled against a backdrop of lush green and sand dunes. I pull up to the drop-off area, and the crunch of gravel beneath the tires echoes the sudden tightness in my chest.
Hunter gathers her things, shooting me a smile that’s equal parts soft and uncertain as she opens the passenger door. “Thanks for the ride, Dylan. I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah, definitely.” I nod, attempting a reassuring grin even as my stomach turns hot and uneasy.
She steps out, the late-afternoon sun framing her figure, the breeze teasing strands of her dark hair across her face. She tucks them behind her ear and gives me a small, almost shy wave before heading inside.
I watch her go, the ache in my chest swelling, something painfully close to homesickness. This is it. No more excuses, no more delays. It’s time to end things with Olivia, cleanly and honestly.
Resolved, I slide back into the driver’s seat, ready to make a U-turn. But before I put the car into gear, my phone rings, Olivia’s name flashing across the screen.
I frown, a sense of unease prickling along my spine as I accept the call through the car’s Bluetooth. “Hey, Olivia. I was about to call you?—”
“Where are you?”
“In Southampton. I was just dropping off my roommate at the resort and I’m driving to you next?—”
“No, don’t come back here,” she cuts me off breezily. “The girls are giving me a lift. I’ll be there in ten minutes tops.”
“You’re… on your way?” I try to keep the rising panic out of my voice.
“Yep. You can wait for me at the hotel.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up.”
“No, I’m on the road already. See you soon.”
The line goes dead, the echo of her abrupt goodbye ringing in my ears. I stare at the dashboard, my plans crumbling around me again like a sandcastle against the tide.
With a sigh of resignation, I pull into a parking spot, killing the engine as I glance at the clock. If I move fast, I can still solve things. Break up with Olivia before the party starts, drop her back at her friends’ place, and return before anyone notices I’m gone.
I’ll be cutting it close, but it could work. And even if I’m a few minutes late, no one will care.
I climb out of the car, leaning against the sun-warmed metal as I wait. I’ve never smoked in my life, not even pot—bad for athletics. But if I ever saw myself lighting up a cigarette, this would be the time.
The rumble of an approaching engine pulls me from my thoughts as an open-top Jeep filled with chattering women swerves into the lot. Olivia and her friends.
My stomach sinks as they pull over, their laughter and excited chatter filling the air. This is it. The moment of truth.
I square my shoulders as Olivia spills out of the Jeep in a pastel sky-blue silk dress that floats around her legs. Her hair, sleek and glossy, catches the warm glow of the afternoon sun. She’s a vision, her skin luminous under a shimmer of makeup, every inch the perfect, polished girlfriend.
She’s objectively stunning. Dressed to impress. Any guy would be lucky to have her. Yet my heart doesn’t so much as thump. Instead, a hollow disconnect settles inside me, an emptiness where excitement should be. It’s a stark contrast to the way thinking about Hunter in her simple jeans and white tee sets a jackhammer loose in my chest.
Olivia waves to her friends, a bright smile lighting up her face as she hurries toward me. She leans in for a kiss, her lips landing against my cheek as I turn at the last second.
If she’s offput by the gesture, she doesn’t show it. She smiles brightly instead.
“I’ve been looking forward to this party all week,” she gushes, eyes sparkling. “I spent all of today getting ready. Hair, nails, makeup, the works. I can’t wait for a fun, silly night to get my mind off everything…”
She doesn’t mention Theo by name, but her pretty mouth turns down at the corners, her lower lip wobbling. My stomach twists with guilt, but I need to break up with her. Only my tongue refuses to collaborate and becomes as heavy as lead. I try to imagine how I’d feel if the roles were reversed, spending all day primping for a date to get dumped on arrival. It’d be awful. Cruel, even.
But stringing her along to break it off after the party? That’d be worse.
I should do it now.
Come on, Dylan. Ignore her sadness. Tell her it’s over. Do it. Just do it. You don’t care if she’s spent the day getting dolled up for you. Or if she’s looking forward to tonight. And that she thinks you’re ready to take the next step. Hand her a box of break-up socks with “ You Deserve Someone Better” written on the side and you’ll be good.
“Olivia, I’ve wanted to talk to you all week, and this is probably the worst moment, but can we take a moment before going in?”
“Oh, Dylan, you’re so sweet. But don’t worry.” She cups my cheek. “You don’t have to apologize.”
I frown. Apologize for fucking what?
Before I even ask, she tells me. “I know you feel bad about not spending the night. That after everything I’ve been through, you wanted to give me a special weekend.”
I so did not.
“But there’ll be another chance.” She grabs both my hands now as she stares into my eyes adoringly. Then she quickly stamps a kiss on my lips and pulls back. “But please let’s go inside now because I only had a quick brunch before the spa appointment and I’m starving. I hope the hors d’oeuvres are already out.”
Without leaving me room to reply, she turns on her heel and heads toward the resort.
I watch her go, wiping the sticky lip gloss from my mouth with the back of my hand and wondering if being the butt of every cosmic joke comes with a pair of socks that says, On My Last Toe .