Chapter 7 Dylan
Dylan
Cecily slips away, leaving me with Marina. The girl is standing there, gawking as I shut off the treadmill.
“So, you and Cecily?” she nods as I step off.
“There’s no me and Cecily,” I say. “She’s training me.”
“Oh,” Marina says. “Yeah, she offered that to me, too. She’s very––”
“Did you take her up on it?”
She shakes her head. “No, maybe I should have.”
“Talk to her. She could probably fit you in with her schedule.”
I turn to walk away, and Marina mumbles, “Nice talking with you.”
I awkwardly keep walking. The front desk guy throws a handout, and I hit with mine.
“See you later, bro,” he says like a question.
“You know it.”
When I walk to my truck, I notice Cecily is only getting into her car now.
She has her phone wedged between her shoulder and ear.
I can barely hear what she’s saying, but she looks flustered as she starts her car.
Now that her beauty doesn’t shock me anymore, I can see her more clearly.
Her mannerisms. Her eyes are easy to read.
She starts the engine and pulls out just as I reach the back of her car. I slam the trunk of her car because she just got that close. My heart’s racing a million miles per second. She almost fucking hit me. I see her panic as she pulls the car forward.
“Shit!” She parks the car and steps out. “Holy shit!” She runs to me and throws her hands around me. “Are you okay?” Tears prick her eyes. “Did I hit you?”
She holds me away from her body to assess me.
“No, no. I’m okay.” I hold her back to keep my balance.
“Did I hit you at all, Dylan? Shit, I’m so sorry.”
“No,” I reassure her. “I’m okay. I swear.”
“Shit,” she pulls away. “Fuck. I didn’t see you. One second you weren’t there, and then you were. Are you okay?”
I hold her shoulders. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”
She allows herself to cry, and then she hides her face in my chest. “I’m sorry. I was on the phone.” She takes a step back. “That could’ve been so bad.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, if you hit me with your car? Shit, that would be so bad.”
She punches my shoulder, and I’m surprised when I see her laughing through the tears.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Who were you talking to?”
She huffs. “My best friend, Alix.”
“Ah, you do have friends?”
She closes her eyes. “I can’t believe I almost just hit you. I need a moment.”
“Wanna sit in my truck, so we don’t freeze to death?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not that cold.”
I glance down at her attire. “You’re not dressed for the cold.”
I walk to my truck and open the passenger door for her. “Welcome to my crib.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Like a baby crib?”
“Sure, yeah. This is my baby crib.”
It’s great she’s no longer crying, but she looks depressed. I quickly get into the driver’s seat and check my phone out of habit.
Scott’s calling me.
“Shit, give me a second,” I mutter to her.
I answer the phone, and his voice blares over the speakers. It would be awkward to take him off, so I melt into my seat and let Scott talk.
“Dildo, where the fuck are you? You’ve been M.I.A. today and yesterday.”
“Told you, man, I’m at the gym.”
“Why the fuck are you at the gym when we go to the gym after practice?” he snaps.
Cecily looks over at me with judgmental eyes, and I sigh, breaking eye contact.
“I’m going to be ripped in a few weeks, and then you’re going to ask me who my trainer is. Watch.”
Cecily smiles.
“You’re so fucking weird,” Scott says. “I don’t believe anything you say. You don’t need a fucking trainer, Dylan. Seriously, where the fuck are you? Are you fucking Layla again because I swear to God, brother, I will ring your fucking neck like a chicken slaughterhouse.”
I tried cutting him off at “Are you”, but he just kept going. “No, no. Scott, will you fucking cut it out, man? I’m not fucking anybody. Remember, I told you that I’m taking a break from all that shit right now.”
“What?” Scott says. “No way you said that to me.”
“Right,” I remember. “You were as blind as a fucking rock when I told you. Well, I’ll tell you again. I’m working to get my shit together. No more hook-ups, dude. You had me all freaked out the other morning about Viv at thirty years old, remember?”
Scott starts laughing. “Shit, I was blind like a rock that morning.”
“Why’re you calling me?” I ask, needing to get him the hell off the phone, so I can make sure Cecily is okay. I notice she pulls out her phone and starts texting someone.
Scott says, “Because we’re having a team dinner tonight. Wanna pregame?”
I huff out of frustration. “No, man. I’m not getting shit faced so that Evans can bite my head off.”
“Suit yourself,” he says. “And I need your fucking history binder. Where is it? I looked all over your room.”
“You fuck,” I shake my head. “It’s in my backseat. I’ll give it to you once I get home.”
“Okay.”
He ends the call without saying bye, and the truck is filled with silence.
“You okay?” I ask Cecily, turning to her.
She bites her bottom lip. “Yeah, your friend is funny. Your nickname is dildo?”
I attempt to speak, but only a hum comes out. I close my eyes and shake my head. “Dyl. Dill. Dil-do. Yeah. Scott is something else. He’s my roommate. He goes through my shit, eats all the food, and as you can tell, he’s obnoxious as hell.”
She smiles. “Dish his shit right back to him.”
I look forward. “Don’t ever take anything he says seriously. That’s the key.”
She leans her head on the headrest and whispers, “I almost killed you.”
I nod in agreement. “You could have, but you didn’t. I’m still here.”
“I would go to jail.” Then her phone starts vibrating, and she laughs. “I need to answer this.”
She answers, putting her friend on speaker phone.
“Ce, what the hell! You hung up on me in the middle of me trying to tell you something important, and then you ignored my call five times.”
“Sorry. I almost hit this guy in the parking lot. I reversed and heard a loud bang, so yeah, I hung up on you.”
“Oh, shit!” Her friend shouts. “Did you hit him?”
She inhales. “No. He’s okay. I’m just a little shaken up.” She looks at me and smiles. “Luckily, he’s okay.”
Her friend dismisses the whole thing and jumps into gossip about people I know nothing about.
“So, yeah, I told that bitch to get the hell out of here, or I would blast her dirty laundry all over Instagram. You would do that, right?”
Cecily chuckles. “No, I’m not blasting your brother’s one-night stand on my socials.”
“Yeah, but you have like two hundred thousand followers, Ce!”
I glance at Cecily, but she shrugs it off like it’s nothing. And then my brain tries to put this puzzle together. She has that many followers and complains she has no friends? Shit, is she famous?
Her friend rambles on and on while I sit here, rethinking everything I know about Cecily.
For one, she’s outgoing and adventurous.
This girl knows how to look good. Her clothes.
Her hair. She doesn’t look like she’s wearing makeup, but she probably has her secrets. Damn, am I being played right now?
Cecily rushes her off the phone. I get the hint that the girl would talk for the next two hours if Cecily didn’t do that.
When the truck falls silent again, I can’t help but ask, “You have two hundred thousand followers?”
She huffs. “You heard that?”
“That’s fucking crazy. So when you said you’re focusing on your career, you mean you already have one?”
She nods. “Yeah.” Then she goes completely still and quiet. She looks extremely uncomfortable, and I catch myself hating it. I don’t like to see her like this.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, worried I did something or said something that offended her.
She exhales. “I didn’t want you to know that about me.
It felt nice to have someone who wasn’t impressed by status, or I don’t know.
When I meet people, and they think I’m a somebody, it changes how they act around me, and…
” She continues talking, but all I can think about is how this girl wants friends.
It’s clear as day now. She has friends, but she wants genuine friends that aren’t friendly just for clout.
I stop her. “I’m not that impressed,” I blurt.
Her wide eyes stare into mine. “Really?”
I shrug. “Well, it’s kind of cool, but…”
“Oh my god.” She pushes my shoulder. “You are so impressed.”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m pretty fucking impressed, and right now my wrist is twitching. I want to scroll through your shit.”
She rolls her eyes and hands me her phone. “Scroll away.”
I take it like it’s a present. “Really?”
She nods, pursing her lips. “Just don’t come after me.
I meant what I said about friendship. I don’t need another person idolizing me.
” She hits my shoulder as I look down at her profile.
“I will cut you off if this changes anything between us. I like being personal trainer Cecily, not influencer Cecily to you.”
I take my focus off her profile and look at her. “You’re just Cecily to me.”
She doesn’t blush as I watch a smile play on her lips. “I have a lot of work to do, so hurry.”
Great, she’s rushing me. I look at her profile and confirm she has more than two hundred thousand followers. She actually has two hundred thirty-three thousand followers. And she’s a model. Holy hell. I click on her search bar, find myself, and hit follow.
“You can stalk me now. I officially have eight-hundred-fifty-two followers.”
She takes her phone back and says, “You barely post.”
“Yeah, because I’m a guy,” I chuckle.
“I know many guys who would post their face if they had yours.”
“Thank you,” I say, confused about whether that’s a compliment or not.
She opens the truck door and says, “I’m sorry again about earlier. It won’t ever happen again.”
I nod, watching as she steps out.
She turns around and says, “I’ll see you on Monday at four. Have fun at the party this weekend. Good luck at your game.”
She shuts the door before I can say anything.
At the team dinner that night, I receive a notification from Instagram.
I ignore the guys to click on it. Cecily secretly tagged me in her Story.
She’s taking a mirror selfie in the gym.
My back is in the image, and I don’t see my name tagged anywhere, so she must have hidden it off-screen. I hit reply.
Dylan: Sneaking pictures of me?
Cecily: Yeah, figured it would be less awkward if I tagged you rather than not.
I smile.
Dylan: Are you using me for clout?
Cecily: Definitely.
I close the app and tend back to my chicken and green beans.
The guys are going on and on about playing against Oregon this weekend, specifically about their center and defense, Maddox and Hunter.
We talk our shit, eat our food, roust each other, and then sooner than I know it, I’m in bed, anticipating the game this weekend and the party after.