31. Dee
Chapter thirty-one
Dee
“Isn’t it crazy they met so long ago and are finally getting their happily ever after?” Carissa asks from her seat next to me.
Bec and Aiden opted for a sweetheart table at the reception, so the bridesmaids and groomsmen are seated at a table together, watching as Bec and Aiden share their first dance.
“Extra-strength crazy when you think about how Aiden saw Bec covered in shit and didn’t run as far away as possible,” I say.
“Yeah.” Dom winces. “I’m afraid Ellie and I are still paying for that.”
“Damn, still?” Jake asks.
“Bec added interest to the debt,” Ellie adds, amusement ringing through her voice.
“Can you blame her?” Chris sips his champagne. “I’ve been Luca’s uncle for more than two years and I’ve never had to deal with a blowout that bad.”
Ellie peeks over her shoulder at her parents, seated a few tables away with Luca between them. They agreed to babysit so Luca could still be present for the wedding ceremony as the ring bearer, but Ellie and Dom could also relax at the reception.
“Honestly, I don’t think anyone got hit as bad as she did. Luca might play matchmaker as well as Hopper does.”
“To the bride,” Ashton cheers, glass raised in the air. “For wadding through the shit of life to find her match.”
We laugh and chat throughout the night, coming and going from the table between dancing, drinking, and visiting with friends and family all gathered to celebrate.
Two hours later, I drop into my seat, rubbing my ankles, weighing the pros and cons of losing my heels this early in the night, when Dylan sits next to me.
“Having fun?” he asks above the roar of the music.
“I’ll be having more fun as soon as I get these off,” I say, kicking my feet out from underneath my chair to wiggle my toes between us.
He pulls one of my feet into his lap unexpectantly, and all I can do is stare as he starts to rub soft circles around my ankle.
“Shit, that’s incredible,” I all but moan, rolling my head to the side. He expertly kneads the joints for several minutes before resting his warm palm on top of my ankle.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, pulling my foot back, returning it to the floor between us.
“You see yourself in their shoes one day?” he asks me, refocusing his attention on Bec and Aiden as they dance.
“Wedding, marriage, the whole thing?” I clarify.
“Yeah.”
I shrug. “I think so, but I don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“Please, Dylan,” I huff a laugh. “I’ve never even gotten close to that level of commitment in a relationship.”
“But you would if you found the right person.”
My nerves are wired, my knee bouncing underneath the tablecloth as I skirt around the question again. I don’t know why I don’t want to answer him. It feels like he wants to know more than he’s asking.
“Maybe I’m not the one people end up with. I’m the smart-ass, too-much-to-handle mess who refuses to bend.” I spin my glass in circles on the table. “Not exactly the easiest to build a relationship with, but I’m okay with that.”
“Are you serious?” I lift my gaze to find his blazing hot. It takes me a minute to place it.
Holy shit, he’s pissed.
“Why are you mad?” I ask, shocked.
“Why do you always do that? Act like you’re this huge burden? Like being yourself is some kind of inconvenience and no one would dare to dream of tolerating you to stick around?”
I press a palm over my heart, feeling like he just stripped me bare.
“I don’t do that.”
“You just did.”
“I’m just being honest. I can be a lot. I’m single. I’ve been laid off and fired in the last six months. I can’t even get an employer to commit to me,” I say, playing off his accusation.
He’s seething, and I honest to God can’t figure out why.
“So, it’s all a joke? Jobs? Relationships? Because it seems to me like you write them all off before they have a chance of going anywhere.”
Okay, now he’s starting to piss me off.
“Excuse me? It wasn’t my choice to be laid off from the job I’ve worked my ass off for. It wasn’t my choice to get fired for sucking at something new. It wasn’t my choice to have my last date flop. If you don’t recall, that was your doing, not mine.”
“Jesus, Dee. Not everyone is trying to stifle you. Not everyone is an obstacle. Do you think the worst of me? Of yourself?”
“At least I’m honest. What you see is what you get. I have no filter; there are no surprises. I’m not hiding my mess. But you? You just bury it all inside and act like everything is fine. How about you try being honest with yourself and the people around you for once?”
Maybe that was a low blow, but he’s gotten under my skin and now I’m pissed.
“I am fucking honest. You act like you have to do things the hard way every time. It’s not a bad thing to just go with the flow. Not everything has to be a battle.”
“Yeah, well, going with the flow is about to result in you letting your dream slip away. How about you tell your boss what you want—what you deserve—and fight for it.”
“That’s different.” His face is on fire. “You know what I think?” he asks, jaw clenching.
“Oh please,” I say with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Enlighten me. I’d love to hear your astute impression of my fucking problems.”
“I think you’re too scared to let anyone get close. To let anyone hurt you. So you hide behind humor, sharp barbs, and sarcasm. Attacking first before anyone can attack you. You keep people on the defensive so you never have to be.”
“So, you think I’m funny?”
“Christ. Deanna, way to prove my point.” He runs his fingers through his long hair. “You are something fucking else. You know that?
“If it bothers you so much, then why be friends with me? We can just be roommates. And when you find your own place, you can go back to being the equally sarcastic, charismatic asshat who also uses humor to deal with the shit you’re wrangling around inside your brain.
You’re a hypocrite. We’re no different, and that is what’s pissing you off right now.
Listen, I’m sorry your boss is fucking up your dreams right now, but don’t take your shit out on me. ”
There’s a long pause between us and I can see the wheels turning in his mind. “So you think I’m charming?”
“This is pointless. We cannot possibly have a serious conversation about anything.”
“I might use humor to deflect, but it’s not the same,” he says defensively.
“Then tell me how it’s different.”
“I-I don’t…”
“Uh-huh. Exactly my fucking point.”
Enough. I’m fucking out of here. I need to cool off, shake off every dumb thing Dylan just said, and get back to the dance floor before the girls catch wind of this.
Just as I’m about to storm off, Dylan beats me to it, rising from the table and taking large, hurried steps toward the glowing Exit sign over a hallway at the back of the reception hall. My ankles continue to scream at me with every step as I follow after him.