2. Dylan
2
DYLAN
B y the time I get to my apartment, I’m absolutely exhausted. Despite having napped on the plane, I’m not quite sure if I’ve ever felt more emotionally drained. An unexpected run-in with your college boyfriend really takes a toll on a person. Who would’ve thought?
Even though my limbs feel heavy, and I just want to curl up into a ball, my chest lightens as I walk through my front door. This is officially my home.
“Dylan?” I hear a shriek from the bathroom.
“Honey, I’m home!” I call back, bouncing from foot to foot.
Amelia, my new roommate, comes barreling out of her bedroom and tackles me into a tight hug, squeezing so hard I practically suffocate. For such a tiny person, she has an absolute death grip. I give her a quick hug back and gently push her off of me before I run out of oxygen. I gulp down a breath and rub my chest, easing the pain.
“I can’t believe you’re finally here! How was your flight? Did you have a hard time catching a cab? Tell me Richard, the neighborhood creep, didn’t catcall you on the way in. How are you feeling? Do you feel like a local New Yorker yet?” she rambles.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down.” I place my singular piece of luggage down, my shoulder screaming in pain. Most twenty-nine-year-olds have a lot more personal possessions, but I knew the minute I got the job in the city, I was going to treat it like a clean slate. It’s not like my thrifted bedding and furniture were worth taking in the first place.
“I can’t even begin to explain to you what happened on the way here.”
She yanks me further into the apartment and pulls my arm down so I’m sitting on a bar stool near the kitchen.
“Tell me all about it. Did you meet your future husband? Was he the hottest thing in the world?”
If there’s one thing that I’ve come to learn about Amelia, it’s that she’s long-winded, to put it nicely. I met her on social media a year ago when I began my apartment search, and we instantly clicked. She’s quirky, over-enthusiastic, and the life of the party. As someone who’s pretty much the exact opposite, it’s nice to have someone pull me out of my comfort zone.
Of course, I FaceTimed her as soon as we exchanged numbers. I had to make sure that I wasn’t about to get catfished. Or murdered. Or both. The call lasted over an hour. From there, we began talking on the phone every single day. She became my best friend before I even realized it.
She didn’t have much competition, though. Most of my friends in Woodland Heights had either moved away or settled down and had kids, making them virtually impossible to reach. I was the last single one out of my friends, and once Parker and I broke up, I became a hermit.
There’s something to be said about spending your free time at home rather than out at the bars. As an introvert, staying in proved to me how much I enjoy the peace and quiet of being home .
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Ooh, so you did meet someone. Spill.” She pulls up the other bar stool next to me and rests her elbows on the kitchen counter, her head resting in her hands as she stares at me with her big doe eyes.
“You’ll never guess who I just had to sit next to for the last two hours.”
“Ryan Gosling?”
I scoff. “I wish. No. Parker.”
Her impossibly large eyes grow bigger, and her jaw falls to the floor. “Like the Parker?”
I solemnly nod. “That’s the one.”
“How is that even possible? I thought he lived in California.”
“I thought so, too. Turns out he was visiting family before moving to New York.”
“Shut up. That’s the most cosmic shit I’ve ever heard. Do you think that’s the universe’s way of giving you a sign?” she questions.
I roll my eyes and immediately shut her down with a curt head shake.
“Absolutely not. And you’re really not helping right now.”
She gets up from her chair and wraps me in a bear hug, again holding me just a little too tightly. We’re going to have to work on this whole physical touch thing, but now isn’t the right time to bring it up.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. How did that go?”
I blow out a sigh. “Alright. We talked for about five minutes before I threw in my headphones to avoid speaking to him for hours. It was the longest five minutes of my life. He looked so damn good, too.”
I run a palm down my face, immediately feeling ashamed for admitting it out loud. Thinking it is one thing, but admitting it out loud to my best friend is another .
“They always get hotter after the breakup, don’t they? On the plus side, you did, too. How could he not fall in love with you all over again? Just look at yourself.”
I give a half-hearted laugh. “Thanks. But I don’t know what to do now. I was so excited to get a fresh start and move away from the past. Now, all I’m going to be thinking about is running into him on the subway.”
Without batting an eye, she drags me up from my chair and into her small bedroom with her. Soundlessly, she begins rifling through her packed-to-the-brim closet. Aside from being spunky, Amelia is also one of the most fashionable people I’ve ever met. She could wear a paper bag and make it look couture. I hate and love her for it.
I stand in the middle of her beautifully decorated room gracelessly, unsure of what to do with myself.
My gaze falls back onto the tiny closet. Though the apartment is incredible and offers panoramic views of Brooklyn, it’s going to be hard to adjust to the lack of space here, that’s for sure.
“There are over a million people in Manhattan alone. That’s not going to happen. Now sit,” she finally demands, pointing to her bed without looking away from her racks of colorful clothes.
I do as I’m told and sit, legs crossed on her bed draped in the softest sage green comforter I’ve ever felt. I find myself stroking the fabric mindlessly as I ask, “What are you doing?”
“I’m finding you something to wear.”
I glance down at my airport attire. I opted for comfort rather than style with an old pair of black leggings, a grey oversized hoodie, and a beat-up pair of black sneakers. To say that I’ve looked better is an understatement–and it just gives me another reason to curse at the universe for the bump in on the plane .
“For what? I’m just going to unpack, hop in the shower, and go to bed.”
“I love you, but no, you’re not. It’s only 7 o’clock.” She spins around with a very see-through black mesh mini dress with a sewn-in matching black bra and underwear set.
“Um, what is that? There’s no way in hell I’m going out. Especially in that.”
She shoves the ensemble into my hands and rushes back to the closet to find a pair of shoes to match. Her small stature allows her to buzz around quickly, giving me little time to argue.
“Yes, you are. It’s your first night in New York. This is how we do it here. I’m not about to let you sit around and mope about Parker. You know what they say. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone. Now, what size shoe do you wear?”
I throw the dress–if you can even classify the skimpy number an article of clothing–on the bed with a snort.
“I will be getting under absolutely no one. I just want to climb into bed, read my book, and forget the entire thing happened.”
It’s not that I haven’t tried moving on. I dated around a couple of years after we broke up. I had a handful of drunken nights out with the girls that resulted in making out with total strangers. But nothing ever compared to what I had with Parker.
That’s why, a year ago, I decided to call it quits and stay single for the rest of my life. It couldn’t be that hard, right? Besides, every romantically unattached person I knew only complained about how hard the dating scene was. So, I was really just saving myself the headache.
“Dyl, you’re brand new to the city. There are so many hot, eligible bachelors out there. Don’t you want to meet them? It will help take your mind off it more than any book could.” She places a pair of silver platform heels at the foot of the bed.
I let out a long, low groan. I know she’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. How am I supposed to mingle only hours after my life was completely shaken up?
“Please don’t make me. I can go meet guys tomorrow.”
“Nope, sorry, babe. I know you’re just saying that to get me off your back, and it won’t work tonight. We’re going out.”
She disappears into her bathroom with what looks like a pile of clothes and shoes in her arms. I fall back onto her bed, resting my hands over my face. My invisible trick didn’t work earlier, but maybe if I pretend to fall asleep, she’ll leave me alone. I can blame it on the jet lag.
I stay as still as humanly possible as I hear her shuffling around.
A couple of minutes later, she emerges in a black lace corset that hugs her curves in all the right places and a pair of tight burgundy leather pants. Her platinum blonde hair is pulled back into a tight, slicked-back bun, and she’s donning a smokey eye that makes her blue eyes pop even more than usual.
She looks stunning, which only makes my desire to go out dwindle further. There’s no way I should be expected to stand next to her all night. The guys are going to be flocking instantly, and I’m certainly not in the mood to be second best while everyone drools all over her.
I continue to feign sleep, but she’s not falling for it.
“I know you’re faking it. Get up and get changed. We’re grabbing a drink whether you like it or not. On me. Consider it your welcome gift.”
I sigh, reluctantly pulling myself up out of bed. I guess one drink wouldn’t hurt. But I’m sticking my ground on meeting men. If a man even tries to look in my direction, I’m running the opposite way, whether she likes it or not.
I grab the barely-there outfit Amelia picked out for me and head to my bedroom to get changed. Not only is her wardrobe incredible, but she’s also a damn good interior designer.
My new space is already decked to the nines. The queen-sized mattress rests against an original exposed brick wall, placed on top of a modern, metal bed frame that surely came from West Elm. The cream duvet is minimalistic yet classic, making it the perfect complement for the dusty blue decorative pillows atop it.
Adjacent to the bed is a large window offering views of the Dumbo skyline. I take a second to look out and see the city twinkling beneath the night sky. I sit down on the bed, feeling breathless as I try to wrap my brain around the fact that this is my life now.
If Amelia’s dad weren’t the rich CEO of a tech company and wasn’t trying to pay her off so he wouldn’t have to parent her, she wouldn’t have been able to afford this apartment. And I definitely would not be living somewhere this nice. I’m very fortunate I didn’t end up in a windowless cell that many realtors call “apartments” here in the city.
I give myself a quick pinch to bring myself back to reality before undressing and sliding into Amelia’s mesh mini-dress. After glancing at myself in the oversize mirror sitting against the bedroom wall, I had to admit that I looked pretty damn good–if you ignore the hair and dark bags around my eyes.
“I’m coming in!” Amelia announces with a quick tap on the door. “Oh my god, that dress is to die for on you. The men are going to lose their minds when they see you. Now go to my bathroom so I can do your makeup.”
Before I can debate with her, she gives me a shove. It didn’t take long to see that when Amelia wants something, she gets her way, so I don’t bother fighting it anymore.
I sit on the closed toilet, and she works her magic with her makeup bag strewn across the bathroom counter. She has every product under the sun, and I’m nervous that I’m going to come out of this looking like a clown. I tend to prefer to keep things very understated. It doesn’t help that I’ve never been great at makeup in the first place.
She rolls her eyes, sensing my hesitancy. “Relax. I know you like the natural look. I won’t go too crazy.”
What feels like a century later, she pulls back and admires her work.
“God, I’m good,” she gloats with a smirk.
I stand up to look at my face in the mirror. My high cheekbones are accentuated with a subtle contour, making me look like I just returned from a tropical vacation. The apples of my cheeks glow with highlighter, and the wing eyeliner she perfected looks like it would have taken me hours. I look less like a zombie and more like a functioning human being.
“You really are. I don’t know how you do it. Is there anything you’re bad at?”
She purses her lips, squinting her eyes as she contemplates the thought. “I don’t think so, come to think of it.”
I stifle a laugh and throw my frizzy brunette hair into a loose, low, messy ponytail, letting my curtain bangs fall delicately around my face.
Amelia, chipper as can be, jumps up and down while clapping. “We look so hot! Watch out, boys. It’s time to eat your heart out,” she calls out to no one in particular. “There’s just one more finishing touch we need.”
She vanishes back into her bedroom before coming back with a pair of oversized silver hoops. “Here, put these on.”
The minute I put them on and take one more look at my reflection in the mirror, I’m bursting with confidence. I haven’t felt this hot in years. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this hot in my entire life. She’s a fucking wizard. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.
“Now, into the kitchen to take a tequila shot, and then we’re off! ”
My stomach churns at the thought, and the confidence I was just basking in disintegrates. I’m definitely not ready for this.
When we walk into Elsewhere, I can barely see. It’s dimly lit, with ever-changing colored lights setting the ambiance, and jam-packed. I hold tightly onto Amelia’s hand to squeeze past the sea of sweaty bodies.
I know I’m new to the city, but I’ve researched enough to know that this is arguably one of Brooklyn’s hottest nightclubs. And one of the most underground. I shouldn’t be surprised that Amelia got us in with no problem, yet I am.
We shove our way to the bar, and within seconds, a hot, tattooed, and bearded bartender comes up to take our order. I can feel countless impatient eyes fall on us. We easily just made the shit list of at least twenty clubbers–there’s nothing quite like the restlessness of a drunken crowd trying to order their next round.
“What can I get you ladies?”
Amelia leans against the bar and bats her eyelashes at him. “Two tequila sodas, please.”
He flashes us a grin that makes me weak in the knees. “Coming right up.” If the men in this city are this hot, then maybe I stand a chance of not dying alone after all.
She turns to me with a smile plastered on her face. “You ready to have some fun?” she yells over the music. Amelia seems completely oblivious to the attractiveness of the bartender, and I’m in awe.
Although I had zero interest in coming tonight, I can’t deny that this is amazing. Being surrounded by hundreds of New Yorkers, everyone dancing and singing along to the music, is electric—so electric that I don’t even mind the feeling of sticky bodies rubbing against me.
“Yeah, actually, I am.”
She grabs our drinks and hands the bartender her credit card. When he returns to give it back to her, she jots down her phone number on the receipt.
“Call me,” she says with a wink.
“I definitely will,” he replies, grabbing the tab and tucking it into his shirt pocket for safekeeping.
Looks like I was mistaken. She definitely noticed how beautiful he was, and she definitely just earned herself a date. Or a great night in bed, at the very least. God, she has game. If I ever want to find another boyfriend, she’s going to have to teach me a thing or two.
She passes me my drink and pulls me out to the dance floor. Despite there being very little room to breathe, we manage to find a spot in the center. I take a large sip of my drink and instantly hide my pucker. Holy shit, this stuff is strong.
While I do drink occasionally, it’s not something I do often. I grew up seeing how much it can destroy families, so I need to be careful tonight. I never built up a tolerance, which means if I’m not cautious, I’m going to find myself on my ass.
I don’t mind being a lightweight. It used to bother me when I spent most of my free time at bars with friends, but I’ve come to realize just how much money it saves me, which I always consider a win.
I begin to sway with Amelia, the music pulsing through my veins. It’s euphoric. This is what I’ve been dreaming about ever since I was a little girl. Okay, so technically, I didn’t dream of dancing in a club. But being another one of the millions of NYC residents is a high unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
As I get lost in the music, I work up a thirst, which I happily quench with my tequila soda. Before I know it, the drink is gone, and I feel my head growing lighter. Fuzzier.
I tried to make it last as long as possible, but it was almost impossible when every song the DJ played was a hit. I could dance all night long, but the last thing I needed to do was blackout and embarrass myself on my first night here. My hangovers also last days now that I’m in my late twenties, and I refuse to spend my first day of work in the bathroom, hurling my guts up.
I open my eyes and see Amelia chatting with yet another good-looking man. This one’s got a blonde, surfer look to him. Very different from the brooding brunette who served us our drinks. Amelia’s got a little taste for everything, and I can’t fault her for it.
I know I got swept up dancing for a second, but it could not have been that long. I can’t help but wonder how she finds these men so quickly. Then again, her beauty is so hypnotizing that it draws all walks of life in.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to being best friends with someone as naturally gorgeous as her. Or the attention that she receives everywhere she goes.
She sees me looking in her direction and shoos the man away. He looks defeated but walks off to find another beautiful woman to flirt with. Typical. She prances up to me and points to my empty cup.
“Time for another?” She lifts her empty cup to show she’s finished hers.
I shake my head. “I hate to be a buzzkill, but I’m already feeling this one. I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Plus, I’m exhausted.”
She juts out her bottom lip in a pout but nods. “I understand. We can get going. Thank you for at least humoring me tonight.”
She links my arm with hers, and we fight our way to the exit. As we’re approaching the door, I catch a glimpse of a vaguely familiar figure standing to the left of the door. I whip my head around and see a man identical to Parker standing amidst a small group of people. He’s even wearing the same black t-shirt that hugs his delicious arms.
Before I can stop to see if it’s him, Amelia pulls me out into the dark night.
Not a chance.
What are the odds I see him twice in one day? In a city this big? It couldn’t possibly be him.
I debate pulling Amelia back into the club to get one last look, but I know deep down that it’s best to leave it alone, even if every part of me says otherwise.
If I’m going to constantly have to be on the lookout for him, my time in New York is going to be a lot less enjoyable than I thought.