Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
Vicky let out a tense breath, willing herself to open up. “Look, Dyls, we both know—”
“Vicky.” Garrett appeared in the doorway. “Need you onstage.”
Vicky nodded. “Just a sec.”
“One sec.” Garrett disappeared.
“I have to go.” Vicky tried to brush past Dylan.
“Tonight,” Dylan said, touching her arm. “Have dinner with me, at home? Lola’s staying at Annie’s and Jazz said she’s staying late here. We’ll have time to talk.”
The words sent icy chills down Vicky’s spine. Vicky couldn’t handle what was sure to be a painful conversation, not right before the show. But she couldn’t keep avoiding Dylan.
“Tonight,” she said, edging close to Dylan, looking up at them.
“But I don’t want to talk.” She hooked one hand around the back of their neck, trying not to die at the feeling of their body so close.
Their rich, dark, intoxicating smell. “This has been amazing, really. So let’s go out with a bang.
” She pressed her mouth hard to Dylan’s for a kiss so quick, Dylan barely had time to respond.
Then she backed up, wordlessly hurrying in the direction of the stage.
· · ·
After rehearsal wrapped, Vicky went for a drive by herself, wending aimlessly through the tree-lined back roads, giving herself the gift of exploration.
Her nickname at law school had been the Arrow, because she always got quickly, often brutally, to the point.
While that skill was effective in her profession, one of the things she’d gained a newfound appreciation of this summer was journey as destination.
A lingering, laugh-filled dinner with old friends.
A movie marathon of throwback comfort watches.
Doing a community theater play, not for money or career advancement or ego, but for connection and community and fun.
Take the long way home was the idea that kept coming back to her.
So she did, arriving back at Jazz’s well after dark. Light glowed from the dining room. The only sound was the soft, almost bittersweet sound of classical music. “Rogers?” she called, heading down the hall. “I’m home. Sorry I’m…”
The dining room was lit up with what seemed like a thousand little white lights, strung from the ceiling. The dazzling, magical sight stopped her in her tracks.
“Late,” she finished.
The table was set for two, with elaborate place settings, champagne chilling in an ice bucket.
And everywhere, in a dozen different vases: red paper daisies.
It was all so achingly beautiful, Vicky felt tears prick her eyes. Her heart throbbed in her chest, spelling out Dylan’s name with every beat.
She was going to miss them more than she could bear.
Dylan appeared from the kitchen. “Honey, you’re home.” Far from sounding irritated at her lateness, they sounded relieved. Happy to see her. “Hope you’re hungry. I sort of went overboard on the food.”
Vicky swallowed. This was going to be harder than she thought. Crossing the room, she wrapped her hands around the back of Dylan’s neck, surprising them with a deep, lingering kiss. “Thank you,” she whispered, pulling back to look up at them. “For doing all this.”
“Of course,” Dylan said, gazing at her with so much devotion, Vicky almost couldn’t stand it. “Anything for you, Vee.”
“This has been the best summer ever,” Vicky said. “You’ve changed my life. Again. I’m going to miss you so much.” She let herself feel a crush of pain before continuing. “Let’s end things cleanly. For both our sakes.”
All the color drained from Dylan’s face. They looked flabbergasted. “What—now? It’s Wednesday—I’m not leaving till after the talkback on Sunday!”
Vicky summoned the courage to look Dylan right in the eye. “Why did you do that whole mock trial thing with me in the kitchen? All that play-acting,” she prompted, “about me having feelings for you? Why did you tell Annie and Lola that I was in love with you?”
Dylan looked briefly shocked. Thoughts zoomed behind their eyes. Each word was a struggle. “I—was—flirting.”
“Flirting,” Vicky repeated softly, hiding her disappointment.
This really was a summer fling.
“Then I can’t keep drawing this out,” Vicky said, trying to be firm even as she felt herself unravel. She didn’t want dinner. She didn’t want to keep breaking up. “I want you to take me to bed.”
Dylan looked uncertain. “You sure? Look, this doesn’t have to be goodbye. We’ll always be friends, Vee.”
But that wasn’t what she wanted. And yet, it was all that was possible.
Over the past few weeks, Dylan had given Vicky so much pleasure. But this night together was different. From the moment they began undressing in Vicky’s bedroom, things weren’t frantic or frenzied. They were reverent. They were sacred.
Harness on, Dylan positioned themself above a bare-naked Vicky, arms braced by her head. They met her gaze with unflinching eyes. “Sure you want to do this?” they asked softly.
Vicky nodded, flooded with so much emotion she could barely speak. She tugged Dylan close for a kiss, every point of contact buzzing under her skin. “Yes,” she whispered. “I want to.”
When Dylan rolled their hips to push their strap-on into Vicky—slowly, carefully—it didn’t feel like they were just fucking.
It felt like they were making love. As Dylan filled her completely, Vicky’s skin shivered.
Not just from the feeling of being stretched.
From the feeling of locking eyes with Dylan as it happened and seeing this new, private part of them.
They didn’t break eye contact as they both found a rhythm, each thrust getting deeper, then deeper still.
When Vicky approached the peak, she didn’t look away until her vision began to starburst and she lost all control.
There, in the moment between words and worlds, in the place of pure sensation and endless summer heat, was the place she would always love Dylan Rogers. Even if she couldn’t say it, even if she’d never say it, she felt it as certain as her own heartbeat.
Afterward, Dylan drifted off to sleep while spooned around her, their breath slow and steady. Vicky closed her eyes and quietly started to cry. Salty tears leaked from under her lids, sliding down her temples to the pillow, her heart a million shining pieces on the floor.