Love Emerged (26 page)

“How . . . no, but thanks for believing what everyone else does.”

My arms fall, releasing the hold, and she slides out from being wedged between me and the car.

“I don’t believe the assholes!” I yell.

She turns around. “Let’s just save us some trouble here, Dylan. You’re the nice guy who should be with some virgin chick. Move to the suburbs with your two-point-five kids and a dog. I’ll be the office slut who everyone talks about behind her back.”

Her heels click as she walks backward, and I spot her car a few down from mine.

“Let’s not do stereotypes.”

I follow her, and when she sees me approaching, her footsteps increase in pace.

“Why not? Obviously you believe rumors,” she says.

“You won’t let me fucking talk. You won’t even believe me about Ava. I’m not the bad guy in this scenario.”

I finally catch her just as she opens her car door. I slam it shut, blocking her again with my body.

“Talk to me.” I’m exhausted from this fight.

She stares up at me and then focuses on her shoes, shifting back and forth in her heels.

I take my forefinger under her chin and urge her head up. Tears fill her eyes, and even though it breaks my heart, I’m at ease that she’s finally relenting on her angry rant.

“Talk to me,” I beg again, the palm of my hand cradling her cheek.

She presses into my warm affection. “I’m jealous, okay? I’ve never been jealous.
Ever
.” She emphasizes the last word.

I can’t help the smile that’s sneaking on my face from her admission. Because, somewhere in the last few weeks, I’ve fallen for this girl, and now, I know she has fallen for me, too.

“Come on.” I grab her hand and tug her toward my car.

“Dylan, I just want to be alone tonight.”

“I’m not accepting that request tonight.” I continue dragging her. I open the door and lightly push her into my car. “Sit tight because we are actually talking about some of these issues now.”

“Oh. My. God I cannot talk anymore,” she whines.

Bea

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, WE’RE PARKED
outside my apartment. Dylan turns off the ignition, climbs out of his car, and moves toward my side. Beating him to being the nice guy, I open my own door and make my way up the sidewalk.

“I’ll need my car,” I tell him with my back to him.

“I’ll drive you back tomorrow,” he says on my heels.

“Presumptuous that you’re spending the night.”

I insert my key into my apartment, and his hand rests on the small of my back. It’s my single most favorite touch of his. I love the feeling of him claiming me.

“Let’s not pretend that you don’t want me to.”

I exaggerate an eye roll and open the door.

Dylan moves to the cabinet—my liquor cabinet, to be specific. He pulls out a bottle of raspberry vodka and takes two shot glasses from the upper shelf. He undoes the top buttons of his shirt, tosses his suit jacket on the back of my chair, and sits down, extending his legs onto the coffee table.

“Go ahead and act like you live here.”

He chuckles, only annoying me more. “We need to work on your alcohol supply.” He sits up and pours two shots.

“Um, I’m a girl.”

“That’s no reason not to have something semi-normal. We can start with non-flavored vodka.”

He hands me the glass, and I take it, sitting in the armchair. I lean back, and the smell of his cologne from his jacket lingers around me. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to smell it without getting aroused.

“Again, my apartment, my booze.”

“I plan on being here often, so don’t you want to make your man happy?”

His lips twitch, and it’s obvious he’s holding in a laugh. So, I don’t argue his point.

“I’m not in the mood to play a stupid game.”

“Down your shot, Bea.” He tips his head back and swallows the whole shot, making a disgusting face afterward. “Crap, that tastes like shit.”

He refills his glass as he looks at me with impatient eyes.

My whole body contorts in some kind of fit of annoyance, but I down the shot, holding on to my shot glass.

“Put it down. We’re having another one.”

“You said it tasted like shit.”

“Don’t fight me.”

This authoritative Dylan is hot. His dictations are making me wet. Damn, he’s harder to figure out than a chameleon’s color.

We down another shot, and then he sits there, saying nothing for five whole minutes.

When I’m about to grab a magazine, he claps his hands in the air. “Tell me five embarrassing fears. Things you don’t really want me to know.” His eyes bore into mine, waiting.

“Um, no. That’s stupid, and I’m not going to do it.” I pull my legs up to my chest.

“Yes, you are. We’re getting all this shit on the table now because I like you, Bea, but I can’t date a toddler who’s going to throw a fit every time someone tries to play with her toy.”

I gasp. “You’re fucking kidding me. I’m not a damn toddler.”

“You acted like one today.”

“Go to hell.” I turn my head away from him, resting my cheek on my knees.

He can go fuck himself.

“Fine, I’ll go first.”

“Suit yourself. Just so you know, you’ll be the only one going.”

“I got my first tattoo to impress Ava.”

“You didn’t want one?”

“Bea, I was in the damn math club as a kid. I wasn’t the guy who thought of cool ink to put on his body. Hell, I almost backed out twice before my friend Cameron pushed me in the chair.

“Your turn.” He waits, but I don’t say anything.

Then, he waits about two more minutes, but I’m not humoring him in this game. It’s stupid.

“Fine. My second one was the fact that I was in the math club. And the chess club. Other than martial arts, every extracurricular activity I did was academic.”

“Hmm . . . I figured.”

“Figured what? That I was a dork? I was. It’s a part of me I don’t share with people, like it still holds some kind of stigma on me.”

I turn my head and see him pouring another shot and downing it. He catches me and holds my own glass up in the air.

How can I seriously sit here and not share with him?
I want us to move forward, and I am embarrassed of how I reacted, but all these feelings are so new to me.

I take the glass from him and swig it down. “Fine. I once woke up in a guy’s room that I didn’t know. I had slept with some guy in his dorm, but then I woke up in someone else’s room. These two guys were just sitting around, staring at me.”

Dylan’s eyes bore into mine. Anger is brewing in his green eyes. “Were you dressed?”

I nod. “I was, but it was scary. After that, I didn’t drink for a few months.”

“Good. Where the hell were your friends?”

“I left them.”

“You could have ended up anywhere.”

“Yeah.” I’m thankful I didn’t go missing and wasn’t on
Dateline
after that.

We sit in silence for a few minutes.

“You want to go again or want me to?” Dylan asks.

“You.”

Although Dylan didn’t give me any judgmental eyes, this whole sharing thing isn’t exactly warm and fuzzy.

“My third.” He raises his hand with three fingers. “I’ve always wanted a family. Even when I was younger. I got into relationships for a future, not just a fuck.”

“Why is that embarrassing?”

He starts pouring another shot. “Because guys are the ones who aren’t supposed to be emotionally invested. I never truly saw a problem with it until Ava said something. Even now, I’m holding back from you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not like I’m some clinger who attaches himself to women, but when I start to feel something is right or become more intrigued, I’m invested. I can imagine my wedding, my future with a wife and kids. It’s something I’ve always thought of.”

“I think that’s endearing. You’re telling me you are hesitant around me?”

He shrugs, throwing back the shot again. I lean forward and take the bottle and the glasses, not wanting some drunken slur of the truth at some point. If we’re seriously going to sit here and lay our dirty laundry out to the other, we might as well be sober.

“Bea, you have one foot in and one foot out of this relationship.”

“I do not.” Even as I say those three words, I know he’s right. I’m still terrified of being hurt. Used or . . . you name it. I’ve never been someone’s future, and it scares the crap out of me.

“Okay, I’m going to share something. My second.” I hold up my hand with two fingers, and he nods. “I peed my pants once at a party.”

“You what?”

“Hey, no judging.”

He holds his hands up in the air and shakes his head.

“My friend had dropped me off, and this kid who I kind of had a crush on stopped to talk to me. I had to go to the bathroom, but he kept talking. I was crossing my legs and fidgeting, anything to hold it in, but eventually, the alcohol won.”

He covers up his mouth from laughing. “What did the guy do?”

“That’s the thing. He never said a word. Never commented, and he had to have noticed. We ignored the whole thing, like it never happened. He was a nice guy. And, see? I screwed it up.”

“I open my heart out to you, and you tell me you peed your pants? For that, you need to catch up.”

This is sort of liberating, and I’m enjoying it, so I don’t mind going again.

“And I want something meaningful now. Something you’d never tell another person,” Dylan chimes in.

And my whole story about my bikini falling off is out the window.

“I thought this was supposed to be fun?” I ask.

“It’s supposed to bring us closer. I want you to trust me, Bea.”

“I do,” I lie. I can’t see Dylan cheating, but you never know.
Isn’t it always the ones you least expect?

“You don’t. So, give me something to work with. Something that I can help you with.”

I blow out a long stream of air. “I don’t come from a sharing family.”

“Neither do I.”

“Ugh, you’re so damn annoying.” I grit my teeth.

He chuckles. “It wouldn’t be annoying if you’d just tell me some of your fears. I just want to dig into your head and figure out how I entice your other foot to step into this relationship.”

I stand up, unable to do this. Relationships are hard, or so I hear. Shouldn’t this be the fun time with us? The one where we fuck and eat and fuck again? When we can’t keep our hands off each other? What is this bullshit therapy session he’s putting me through?

“What do you want from me?”

He’s standing, walking toward me in the kitchen. “Bea.” His plea is so damn heartbreaking.

“What? I’m terrified I’m so screwed up that I can’t be someone’s wife. I’m terrified no one can see me in his future. I’m terrified I’m stuck in this casted slut role.” My nose tingles, and my eyes fill with water, but I push back the threat of tears because I can’t lose my composure. It’ll only prove that I’m impotent.

His arms wrap around me, and he buries his head in the nook of my neck. “I see you as my wife,” he whispers.

And my heart soars as fast as a fighter jet.

Weeks go by, and the warm weather disappears completely with the eruption of winter fast approaching. Although Nike didn’t give us the entire ad campaign, they threw us a bone for the women’s line. Dylan says it had everything to do with what I brought. I think he might have been slightly depressed that his own ideas didn’t grab Nike, but he never showed it.

I walk into the office, and it’s practically bare. A huge muscled guy squeezes by the door and me with a printer.

“What—”

“Rumor is, we’re going to Chicago. Well, not me. Most aren’t.” Samantha puts her picture frames into a small box.

Yasmin is the one who can answer these questions.

Dylan’s desk is still neat and tidy with no signs that he’s come in yet.

“Yas, what’s the word?”

She swivels around in her chair, tears falling from her eyes.

“The company is moving to Chicago. I guess, with the new Nike ad, they’re making it work.” She wipes her eyes with a Kleenex. “Traci from accounting said they wouldn’t pay for people to move, so unless you can pay to move yourself, you’re out of a job.”

I move Dylan’s chair out and take a seat next to her.