25. Dylan
25
DYLAN
E ver since my mom left, all I can do is replay her advice in my head. I know that she’s right. I’ve been lying to myself about my feelings for Parker, and if there was a time to run into it full force, it would be now. Especially now that I know he feels the same. Yet I can’t bring myself to say the three words back to him. In fact, I’ve done an excellent job of avoiding him.
Until today.
We leave for the book tour tomorrow, and I know we need to have a conversation before we go, so I invited him over. Which is why I am now pacing through my apartment like a mad woman. I’ve already had to change my shirt and reapply deodorant three times.
I ended up in an oversized vintage band tee that I’ve had for years and leggings. The clothes are casual, but that didn’t stop me from doing my hair and putting on a full face of makeup. I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard, but I also didn’t want to look like a bum. Girlhood at its finest.
Amelia is out grabbing a drink with the man of the week, so I have the apartment to myself, thank god. The last thing I need is her adding to my stress. I know I’d never hear the end of it if she saw just how nervous I am right now. She’s been asking me about Parker at least twice a week, and I can only distract her for so long.
I glance around the apartment, making sure nothing is out of place. I may or may not have spent the last three hours deep cleaning every inch. Candles are burning, quiet background music is playing, and I saged the place earlier. I’m not taking any chances–I need all the good energy I can get.
I pace up and down the living room, feeling jittery. I know some (okay, most) of it has to do with seeing Parker, but that third cup of coffee I had this morning definitely isn’t helping either. I close my eyes, take a deep inhale, and try to talk myself off a ledge.
You’ve been working with him for months. This is no different.
There’s a knock at the door, and my heart lurches in my chest at the sound. I give myself a couple of gentle slaps on the face to pull it together. It’s not like we have the entire apartment to ourselves. Oh, that’s right. We do. And we clearly have some unfinished business. The thought of the elevator makes the room feel like a sauna, and I curse myself for not opening a window to get better airflow in here.
I plaster a smile on my face, open the door, and have to clutch it tightly when I see Parker looking undeniably delectable on the other side. He’s dressed casually in a black sweatshirt and matching black sweatpants, socks, and Birkenstock clogs. That’s not what makes my breath catch, though.
It’s the distressed baseball hat he’s finished the outfit off with. His hair, which is the longest I’ve seen it, is peeking out at the bottom. The length has brought out his natural curls, and my fingers twitch with the urge to run a hand through them.
“Hi,” I whisper when I stop drooling.
“Hi,” He replies in a hushed tone, a grin pulling on his lips.
“Come on in. ”
I move out of the doorway and gesture inside. As soon as he walks past, I mouth a quick “oh my god” to myself before I make my way into the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Tea? Coffee? I also have snacks if you’re hungry. I just went grocery shopping yesterday, so I’ve got a little bit of everything…” my voice falters. I nibble on the inside of my cheek to quiet my nervous rambling.
His lips tremble with the urge to laugh, clearly entertained by my prattling. “Coffee would be great if you don’t mind.”
He sits down at one of our bar stools, watching me intently.
“Black with a splash of creamer?”
Yes, I still remember his order. I know a person can change, but if I had to take a stab in the dark, he’s still drinking the same thing he always did. Parker’s a man who appreciates a routine. Whenever we went out to eat, I knew his order before he did. He’d contemplate switching it up but never would, no matter how much time he spent studying the menu. He liked what he liked, and I couldn’t fault him for it. I found it endearing.
“Am I that predictable?”
He lets out a rugged chuckle, and it’s like a shot of espresso straight to the heart. The sound energizes me far more than the coffee I consumed earlier, and all I can think about is how I want to do everything I can to keep him laughing.
“Some things just never change.”
I load the ground coffee beans into my machine and grab the creamer from my fridge while it brews. Meanwhile, I can feel his eyes burning holes into my back the entire time. I fight the need to turn around and make eye contact with him. The more natural I act, the less weird this will be, I remind myself.
I know that we’re going to have to talk about the release party, but bringing attention to it makes it real, and that terrifies me. But I know that not mentioning it will only make things more difficult between us–especially now that we’re about to be on the road together for a couple of weeks.
I add a splash of creamer to the coffee and slide the mug in his direction.
“Look-”
“We should probably-” I start.
We both speak over one another, and there’s something about it that unfurls the ball of anxiety at my chest. He may have a tough exterior, but there’s a good chance he’s feeling the same way I am, and that brings me a sense of comfort.
“You go ahead,” I push on as I start making a coffee for myself. I need something to do with my hands before I spontaneously combust. We’re just going to pretend that the other cups that I had this morning don’t count and pray that I don’t go into cardiac arrest–from both the caffeine and this conversation.
“We should talk about it,” he encourages gently, his hands cupped around his mug. It’s the beginning of May, and although I’d do anything to wear my sundresses and soak up afternoons strolling in the park, today is gloomy. The cold rain that’s been on and off all morning matches the chill currently running down my spine.
I let the warmth of my coffee heat up my insides as I try to keep my hands steady. I lean back against the kitchen counter and watch Parker as he runs a finger up and down the handle of the cup. The movement is slight, yet I can’t tear my eyes away from his hands while he does it. I dream about being on the receiving end of those soft touches. How would he touch me if I were to take him to the bedroom right now?
“If we have to,” I joke, trying to keep the mood light. I need a distraction, or I’m going to pounce on him in about five seconds.
He doesn’t take the bait.
“How are you feeling? ”
“Confused. Scared. Unsure,” I answer honestly.
“If it makes you feel any better, I feel the same way.” He pushes out of his chair and saunters over to me. “Can I hold you, Dyl?” His voice is barely detectable, and I forget about my now hardly-touched mug sitting on the counter. I answer with a small tuck of my chin.
In an instant, his arms are around me, pulling me into his chest. Just like the day of the photoshoot, his closeness feels like stepping back into a dream I never want to wake up from. I close my eyes and take a deep inhale. The combination of coffee and musk from his cologne mixes together, and I get carried away by the intoxicating smell.
“I never got the chance to apologize. I’m sorry that I lied, I’m sorry that I listened to Blake, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you how I was feeling sooner. I wanted to give you space, but I knew that if I didn’t tell you soon, I would lose my mind.” He begins to trace small circles on my lower back under my shirt. “Drunk off tequila wasn’t exactly how I envisioned that conversation going.” He whispers into my hair, and my skin breaks out into gooseflesh.
It takes all of my willpower to pull away enough to look up at him. His typical calm gaze has been replaced with a wariness that tugs at my heartstrings. These past couple of weeks have left me more confused than ever, but I know his intentions were pure, and seeing him unsure of how to react around me makes me nauseous.
We’ve gone from being the loves of one another’s lives to strangers to a place of the unknown, tip-toeing around each other.
Before I can respond to his apology, his eyes fall down to my shirt. “Did you wear that on purpose?” The lump of his Adam’s apple is visible, and his voice is strained.
I look down at my worn, ratty Neil Young shirt, and it hits me like a ton of bricks. Shit . How could I have possibly forgotten? I didn’t even think about it when I got dressed this morning. It would explain why it was shoved into the back corner of my closet shelf. I just figured it had gotten wadded up back there over the past few months.
It used to be his.
He gave it to me after declaring that Harvest Moon was our song. I know it sounds cliche, but that memory is one that I’ll always cherish… or it was. In all of the chaos that has been going on lately, I had completely forgotten about that night.
We had been dating for eight months, and we had spent all of our summer nights sitting on the dock on the lake. The dock was a short ten-minute walk from my backyard, and we’d sneak away there every night to get some alone time and stargaze. It became our unofficial make-out spot. On one or two occasions, there may have also been more than making out, but I don’t need to go down that road of thought right now.
We had just finished making s’mores over a bonfire when we walked to the dock to watch a meteor shower that was supposed to be visible that night. We lied facing the sky, with my phone playing music quietly as the stars danced in the sky.
Parker grabbed my phone unbeknownst to me, put on Neil Young, and grabbed my hand, pulling me up against him. Under the country moon, which stained the night a shade of crimson, we swayed wordlessly to the music. It was something out of a romance movie, and I’ll never forget the butterflies that fluttered in my gut.
We didn’t want the moment to end, so we put the song on repeat and stayed out there for over an hour, the meteor shower completely forgotten. Around midnight, when we finally pulled ourselves away from one another, he took his shirt–the very one I’m currently wearing–off and handed it to me. Something to always remember him by, he told me.
I haven’t listened to the song since. Whenever it came on the radio, my instinct was to change it or run the risk of crying. I’ve even run out of a store a time or two shortly after the breakup because it was playing, and I couldn’t escape it.
I yank myself out of the memory and his arms and clear my throat. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize it. I found it in my closet and realized I hadn’t worn it in a while. I just wanted to be comfortable.”
He lifts my chin with his thumb, his touch pensive as he outlines the shape of my jaw. “Still love the way that it looks on you.”
I step back and beeline it to the couch, forcing myself to put some distance between us. We need to finish the conversation we started, and if I let him keep his hands on me, there’s no telling what I’d do.
He lingers in the kitchen, stunned for a beat. I fuss with the fringe of a throw blanket, waiting to see what his next move is. Though I keep my eyes locked on the frayed fabric, I feel his presence sit down on the chair situated parallel to the couch.
“I love you, Parker. I don’t think I ever stopped.” I shift my gaze out the living room window, knowing damn well that I’ll fall apart if I look at him as I say the words that I’ve been too scared to admit to myself all of these years out loud. “And I don’t know what that means for us, but I do know one thing.”
I finally gather enough courage to look at him, and he’s hiding a smile behind a closed fist. No matter how hard he tries to look serious, I can see the corners of his lips lifting, and he looks brighter than I’ve seen him look in the months we’ve been back in each other’s lives. I feel that same weight off my shoulders now that everything is on the table.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize this job. We leave tomorrow for the tour, and we’ve got three more weeks until this project is over. As much as I would love to explore what the future holds for us, I need us to stay professional until it’s over.”
“I completely understand and respect your decision. I don’t want us to rush into anything. This is a lot to process for both of us,” he agrees.
“It is.” I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs. This is going far better than I was expecting.
“I will stay as professional as you need on two conditions.”
His demand captures my attention, and my curiosity sends a thrill through my bloodstream. “Yes?”
“The first condition is that you have to go out on a date with me as soon as the book tour is over. We’ll have some loose ends to tie up when we’re back, but that’s a technicality. Your time on Evelyn’s campaign will be up. If Katherine tries to assign you any more busy work, you’ll let me know immediately, and I will get you taken off it. I’ve been waiting months to take you out, and I will not be waiting any longer than I have to.”
It’s my turn to hide my mouth behind my arm, trying not to let him see the goofy grin threatening to take over my face. When I feel like I can control my emotions enough, I put my hands back down on my lap and nod, keeping my lips pursed as if deep in thought. Little does he know this is one of the easiest yeses of my life.
“Deal. What’s the second condition?”
“Take off your shirt.” He leans forward in the chair and rests his elbows on his knees. The power in his command makes me clench my thighs together, yet the request throws me off kilter.
“Excuse me?” I sputter.
“If you’re going to make me wait, I’d like my shirt back,” he prods.
“Oh,” I stumble over my words, wholly puzzled by where this is coming from. I’m taken aback by the abruptness, but a bigger part of me is dying to undress for him. I can see the longing in his stare, and I thirst to find out what he would do if I let him have his way with me.
“I can go change into something if you’ll give me a second.” I point to my bedroom door behind him. He doesn’t break his focus on me.
“No, I’d like it right now.”
My cheeks heat, and a pool of desire builds in my core. I know what game he’s trying to get at–we have always loved games. And I’m not going to let him win this one. He thinks I don’t have the balls to change in front of him, but I’ll take any opportunity I can get to see him come undone. And I know that stripping down will do just that.
Without saying another word, I grab the bottom of my–or should I say his–shirt and lift it over my head, very grateful that I wore one of my cute bras today. I’m left standing in my lace black bra that makes the girls look great, if I say so myself, as I toss it over to him. It lands on his lap, and he quickly looks down to where it landed before his eyes whip back over to me.
His gaze skims down my body, and despite being across the room, the intensity of his look feels as if he were up against me, roaming his hands over my bare torso. I put on a strong face and place a hand on my hip.
“Happy?”
“Very.” He smirks and stands, throwing the t-shirt over his shoulder. His eyes remain trained on my body, but I don’t allow myself to shy away.
I find myself being pulled toward him like a magnet, and I have to remind myself to keep my feet planted firmly right where I am before I do something about the sexual tension that’s making the hair on my arms stand up.
“Glad that we had this conversation. Now that I know where you stand, I need to pack. We have an early flight tomorrow.”
“You’re such an ass sometimes.”
“An ass that you love.” He winks and strides toward the front door. “I’ll see you at the airport!”
And with that, he’s gone, leaving me topless and fuming in my living room.