33. Allie #2
When he finally releases her, she turns back to me and Stacey, and I launch right back into all my ideas for bridesmaid dresses and party ideas.
In my peripheral vision, Nate and Dylan exchange one of those manly handshake-slash-hugs that almost makes me roll my eyes. Seriously, just put your arms around one another and hug it out. No one is keeping score.
I mean, the judges are keeping score for the whole pageant thing. But besides that.
Oh, the final score?
Nate, of course, won every fucking vote with his little proposal. Is it cheating? Obviously. But he’s my bestie’s future husband, so he deserves the title.
Anyway, it’s not like Joe’s poetry reading or Lionel’s magic tricks would have won.
The auditorium has nearly emptied out by the time we emerge from the backstage area. Martha is supervising the volunteers as they walk down the empty rows, picking up trash and discarded items.
She gives us a wave as we traipse across the stage and down the stairs.
“Congratulations!” she calls.
Nate waves back with a smile.
I grab my sweater from the row of seats just in time to save it from the cleaning crew, who are shoving forgotten items into large trash bags that are almost certainly bound for the thrift shop one town over if they’re not claimed within a day or two.
I tuck the thin black cardigan under my arm with a sigh of relief. This thing is from TJ Maxx. It’s irreplaceable.
We pause again at the main entrance.
The evening’s events are over, but there’s buzzing excitement from the engagement running through me, and as I look over the rest of the group—Stacey, Mandy, Mr. Kelley, Dylan—I realize they must all be feeling it, too.
It feels anticlimactic to just go home and go to bed on the tails of something like this.
Dylan clears his throat and looks down at me. “Are you ready to head home?”
I cross my arms over my chest, glowering. I’d rather head to High Times or even Church Bar. Somewhere we can do shots to celebrate Rory finally getting her head screwed on straight and agreeing to marry Nate.
Stacey yawns. “I’m beat. We’ll celebrate your engagement one of these nights, Rory.”
Rory yawns, too, giving in to the psychological phenomenon that induces a yawn in response to someone else’s. “Me too. Soon, ladies.”
I’m wide awake and refuse to be susceptible to nonsense like this. “I’m up for whatever. But if you all want to celebrate another night, that works.”
I do my best to hide my disappointment. Not that the engagement celebration has to wait until another night, but that if no one else wants to hit one of the two bars in town, there’s not much else for me to do other than head back…home.
I use the term home loosely, of course. Anyone who’s been forced into living with Dylan Kelley would, too.
The house isn’t bad. It’s gorgeous, actually, and I’d love the space if it weren’t for the fucking psychotic cat, who I swear is planning the demise of every human he encounters.
It’s more the fact that Dylan Kelley lives there, too, and things between us are…complicated, I guess. That’s about the nicest way I can put it.
I am a grown-ass woman, so I can handle a tense living situation, of course. Even if it involves Dylan, who decidedly does not see me as an adult.
Rory and I are a lot younger than he is. I get it. And I appreciate the way he looked out for us when we were kids, but that was a long time ago.
Like I said, I’m a grown-ass woman. I don’t need a chaperone or a supervisor or a big brother or anyone looking out for me.
“Ready?” he asks again, likely because I neglected to acknowledge the question the first time he asked.
“Jesus. I heard you the first time.” I hate the note of irritability that creeps into my voice.
Why does Dylan bring out the absolute bitch in me?
“So? Are you ready to head home?” he asks again.
Fuck. FUCK. The absolute calmness in his tone is infuriating.
Just once, I’d like him to engage. To prove that there’s actually a human behind that perfect exterior. Anything other than the calm, rational Dylan that he shows everyone else.
“Ugh. Fine,” I say.
Rory throws her arms around me in another embrace. She seems to be oblivious to the tension between her brother and me.
“Love you, Allie! So glad you were here tonight. I can’t wait to plan all the things with you.”
“Love you, girl!” I give her a squeeze, then turn back to Dylan with a scowl, wishing I’d insisted on driving my own car to tonight’s event. Who cares about putting miles on a rental? That’s why I rented the stupid car in the first place.
“Ready to go?” he asks, apparently undeterred by my expression.
I roll my eyes in response and follow him across the parking lot to his Jeep Wrangler, reminding myself that if I wasn’t staying at Dylan’s house, I’d have to listen to Rory and Nate having just-got-engaged sex all night.
I’m not offended or anything, obviously. It’s just that it would be a stark reminder that I haven’t had sex in two months.
Fine, six. And a half.
I climb into the passenger seat and slam the door a little too hard.
Dylan doesn’t say anything, but he raises an eyebrow, which I ignore. This is none of his business.
“What are you waiting for?” I snap when he doesn’t shift into drive immediately.
“Seat belt.”
We are going to drive approximately three-quarters of a mile at the rip-roaring speed of twenty miles an hour, tops, but sure. I’ll put on my seat belt.
I huff a breath out my nose as I click it into place. “Happy now?”
“Very.” He shifts the Jeep into drive and pulls out of the parking spot.
At least he doesn’t talk during our short drive home, which lets me wallow in a mix of happiness and excitement for Rory, along with irritation, annoyance, and outright rage at everything else in my life. Oh, and sexual frustration, which helps absolutely nothing.
When we pull into the driveway, I don’t even wait for Dylan to shut off the engine before I jump out and head for the front door. I need some alone time: just me and my vibrator.
I wonder how the rest of Rory’s night will be. It has to be better than mine.