14. Dylan
— ? —
Dylan
The office is quiet except for the soft clicking of Selene’s keyboard and the occasional rustle of papers.
I’ve been here since three this afternoon, settling into what I’ve started thinking of as “my spot” on her office sofa.
She protested the first few times, pointing out that a grown man shouldn’t be camping out in someone else’s workspace, a particularly devoted golden retriever in human form.
I told her golden retrievers were loyal, loving, and extremely handsome, so I’d take it as a compliment.
She threw a pen at my head.
But she didn’t kick me out, which I’m counting as a win.
The clock on the wall reads 11:47 p.m., and Selene is still hunched over her computer, her brow furrowed in concentration.
She’s been working on distribution contracts all day, combing through legal documents with a focus that borders on obsessive.
I brought her dinner three hours ago, homemade lasagna that I spent all morning perfecting.
She ate it without looking up from her screen, which I’ve learned to interpret as a good sign.
When Selene is truly annoyed with me, she makes a point of not eating my cooking. The fact that she inhaled the lasagna while muttering about contract clauses means I’m at least at “tolerable nuisance” status today.
Progress.
I stretch out on the sofa, flipping through a production journal I brought to keep myself occupied.
The irony isn’t lost on me. A year ago, I would have been the one buried in work while Selene waited at home, alone and forgotten.
Now I’m the one waiting, and I’m discovering that it’s actually not so bad.
As long as I can see her, I don’t mind the waiting.
“You should go home.” Selene’s voice cuts through the silence, though she doesn’t look away from her screen. “It’s almost midnight.”
“I’m comfortable.”
“You’ve been sitting on that couch for eight hours.”
“It’s a very nice couch.” I pat the cushion beside me affectionately. “We’ve bonded. I’m thinking of naming it.”
“You’re not naming my office furniture.”
“Gerald. His name is Gerald.”
Selene finally looks up, and I catch the slight twitch of her lips that she’s trying to suppress. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet, here you are, allowing me to be ridiculous in your presence. What does that say about you?”
“That I have poor judgment and even worse taste in men.”
“Had,” I correct her. “Had poor taste. I like to think I’ve improved significantly since the last time you judged me.”
She shakes her head and turns back to her computer, but I see the hint of a smile she’s trying to hide. These small moments have become my oxygen over the past few weeks. The tiny cracks in her armor where I catch glimpses of the warmth she’s trying so hard to keep from me.
I settle back against Gerald and let my eyes drift closed, lulled by the rhythmic sound of her typing.
I don’t remember falling asleep.
One moment I’m listening to Selene mutter about liability clauses, and the next I’m drifting in that hazy space between consciousness and dreams, vaguely aware that time has passed but not sure how much.
“Hey.”
Her soft voice pulls me close toward the surface. I feel her presence beside the couch. The cushion dips as she perches on the edge near my hip.
“I’m leaving now.” Her hand touches my shoulder, gentle. “Would you prefer to stay here for the night? I can leave the door unlocked.”
I don’t open my eyes. Instead, I let my arm slide around her waist, pulling her slightly closer in a move that’s entirely instinctive.
She’s been so careful about maintaining distance these past weeks, and I’ve been careful about respecting those boundaries, but right now, in this liminal space between sleeping and waking, the rules feel blurry.
“You done, baby?” I mumble against the fabric of her blouse.
She doesn’t pull away.
I take that as permission to continue, my hand caressing the curve of her waist through the thin material. She’s so warm, so solid, so real under my palm. I’ve been dreaming about touching her for a year, and now that she’s here, now that she’s letting me, I want to memorize every detail.
My head dips to reach her forearm, and I press my lips to the delicate skin there, trailing kisses from her wrist toward her elbow. She shivers. Goosebumps rise beneath my mouth, and the reaction sends a pulse of heat through my chest.
“Dylan…” Her voice is barely a whisper, caught somewhere between protest and permission.
“Mmm?” I don’t stop kissing, moving slowly up her arm, savoring the salt of her skin.
“We should… I need to rest.”
I open my eyes finally, looking up at her through the dim light. She’s staring down at me with an expression I can’t quite read. Guarded, yes, but a barely hidden longing lurks underneath.
“Yeah.” I release her reluctantly and push myself upright. “C’mon. Let me walk you to your car.”
The parking structure is deserted at this hour, our footsteps echoing against concrete walls as we make our way to the third level where Selene parks.
She’s quiet beside me, and I can practically hear her thinking, probably analyzing everything that just happened on the couch and constructing elaborate justifications for why she let me touch her.
I don’t push. I’ve learned that pushing Selene only makes her retreat further.
We round the corner to her parking spot, and she stops so abruptly that I almost walk into her.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I follow her gaze and immediately see the problem. Her car is listing dramatically to one side, two of its wheels completely flat. Not just low on air. Completely flat, the rubber pooling against the concrete.
“Son of a-” Selene cuts herself off, pressing her fingers to her temples. “How does this even happen?”
I crouch down to examine the tires, running my fingers along the rubber. “Could be a slow leak that finally gave out.”
Selene lets out a breath that’s half groan, half laugh. “Of course. Of course this happens at two in the morning when all I want is to go home and collapse.”
I watch her for a moment. The exhaustion etched into her features, the slump of her shoulders, the way she’s looking at her disabled car as if it personally betrayed her. A protective instinct surges through my chest.
“May I drive you home?”
She hesitates, and I can see the war playing out behind her eyes. Accept help from Dylan, or stubbornly insist on managing alone?
“It’s late,” I press gently. “And I really don’t want to entrust you to a booked ride at 2:00 a.m. with God knows what kind of driver. Just let me take you home. Please.”
I step closer as I speak, my hands finding their natural place on her hips. It’s a liberty I probably shouldn’t be taking, but I can’t help myself. She’s frustrated and I want to fix it. I want to fix everything for her, even though I know that’s not my job anymore.
Maybe especially because it’s not my job anymore.
Selene’s eyes flutter closed for just a second. Her body sways toward me almost imperceptibly. She catches herself before she actually leans into my chest, but the near-surrender speaks volumes.
“Fine.” The word comes out on an exhale. “But only because I’m too tired to argue.”
“I’ll take it.”
My car is parked on the first level, and I keep my hand on the small of Selene’s back as I guide her toward it. She doesn’t comment on the touch, which I’m choosing to interpret as tacit acceptance rather than exhausted resignation.
I open the passenger door for her and wait while she settles into the leather seat. The familiar scent of her perfume mingles with the car’s interior, warm jasmine and amber filling the enclosed space, and I have to take a moment to just breathe it in.
She’s here. She’s in my car. She’s letting me drive her home.
It’s such a small thing, but after a year of empty mansions and unanswered calls, it feels like a miracle.
I slide into the driver’s seat and immediately adjust the climate controls, directing the air conditioning vents toward my side of the car.
Selene has always gotten cold easily. She used to complain that I kept the house like a refrigerator, and I’d argue that she just needed to wear more layers.
But I learned, eventually. I learned that she’d rather be warm than cold, that she hates the feeling of cold air on her skin, that she’ll shiver silently rather than ask someone to adjust the temperature.
I learned all these things too late to matter, but I remember them now.
I remember everything now.
“Here.” I shrug off my blazer and reach across the console to drape it over her exposed thighs.
The dress she’s wearing hits mid-thigh, and the bare skin visible in the ambient light makes my throat tight.
My fingers brush against her leg as I smooth the fabric into place, and I feel her tense at the contact.
“You don’t have to…”
“I know.” I reach for her seatbelt next, pulling it across her body and clicking it into place with probably unnecessary care. “Comfortable, baby?”
Selene’s breath catches slightly at the endearment, and I watch her face cycle through several expressions before settling on careful neutrality.
“Yeah.” Her voice is rough. “Thank you.”
She closes her thighs together, trapping my blazer between them, and tugs at the fabric, pulling it higher on her lap. The gesture is self-protective and strangely intimate all at once.
I let myself look at her for a few seconds longer - the sweep of her lashes against her cheeks, the way the streetlights paint shadows across her face, the tension in her jaw that tells me she’s not as unaffected by my proximity as she wants me to believe.
Then I put the car in gear and pull out of the parking structure.
The city is quiet at this hour, the streets mostly empty, traffic lights cycling through their colors for no one.