Waiting for You (28 page)

“No.” His brow
scrunched as he hovered over the bed, smiling now. “Why would it?”

“Because
it’s a girl thing.
Some guys are embarrassed by it. Eric was.”

“Please,” he sighed
kissing my forehead and then my nose and my freckles. “It’s a natural thing. I’ll
be back later, okay?”

When he got to the
door, I confessed my other request.
“Uh, Dylan?”

“Yeah?”
He
turned,
the door half opened, his hand on the knob.
“Chocolate too?”

“And here I was
going to try to surprise you with it.”

I wanted to shout the
words I love you after him but didn’t. He was too good to be true. The last
thing I wanted to do today was go buy tampons. I also didn’t want to ride in a
car. I wanted to
lay
in this bed all day, eat
chocolate and moan occasionally while complaining about my gender.

Dylan wasn’t gone
long and came back with more than I expected.

Pizza
and chocolate.

After handing over
the box of tampons first, and then the chocolate, he sat at the table next to
the door and took a slice of pizza from the box looking over a flyer in his
hand.

“What’s that?”
Placing a pillow over my lap and a blanket around my shoulders, I took a large
scoop of ice cream. He even got me the right kind, Rocky Road.

Dylan flipped the
flyer over and set it across from him on the table before grabbing another
slice of pizza and then handing me one.

“There’s an open
mic
night tonight,” he said looking to me for approval.
“Think I should do it?”

I wasn’t exactly in
the mood to go to a bar but the thought of hearing Dylan sing again won me over.

I agreed, with a
mouthful of pizza and ice cream, and Dylan made a few calls to the bar to get
signed up.

“What time are you
going to the bar?” I asked after taking a shower. It made me better to get
cleaned up. Dylan tried to get in with me but I told him no, there was no way I
was going near him while I was on my period.

“Five,” he said
tuning his guitar and looking through that notebook, biting the corner of his
lip, he flipped the page again.

I could sense that
he was a little nervous, wouldn’t admit to it, but I felt the need to help him
out.

“Do you need a
distraction?” I asked removing myself from the sea of pillows and candy
wrappers around two that afternoon.

Dylan didn’t quite
understand the meaning behind my words until I moved from the bed and sat in
front of him, on my knees, my hands ran up his thighs.

He snorted, his
eyes lighting up as he tossed his notebook aside and moved the guitar to the
floor. Leaning back in the chair after peeling his t-shirt off, he started
working on his belt buckle. “Fuck yeah.”

If there was any
way to relax Dylan it would be seeing my mouth wrapped around him. His eyes
were trained on my hands as they moved over him, and then my mouth replacing
them.

Dylan was all heavy
breaths, dirty whispering and soft grunts, his hips meeting the movements of my
mouth. “Jesus,” he moaned in a sound that nearly sounded like he was in pain,
one hand in my hair, guiding me, the other on my hand that was rested on his
bare thigh. His iPod connected to his docking station rolled The Black Keys
through the room.

It was like being
at a pep rally and motivated me to continue. Or maybe it was the way Dylan was
reacting and talking to me that kept me going because he was all for
motivation.

“Fuck, you do that so
good…just like that honey…” he moaned and then drop his head back against the
chair and close his eyes. I learned quickly the more I swirled my tongue and
brought him deeper in my mouth, the more he reacted.

The thought that I
was giving Dylan Wade a blowjob was electrifying. I was pleasuring him in the
most intimate way, attached to him in ways I’d never been with anyone else.
Being on my knees provided me the ability to see his face this time, his
beautiful contoured face that was on the edge, moments away from pleasurable
numbness.

He looked
down,
his hand gently touched my cheek, curling around the
back of my neck.
“So fucking pretty.”
Hooded eyes
focused on me, thick lashes blinked slowly. “Watching your mouth on me is…” I
took him deeper, his voice caught. “My god…”

Those were his last
words.

I wasn’t sure what
to do with what was in my mouth at that moment and I think Dylan noticed my
hesitation when he watched me adjusting his jeans and shirt. Of course I
swallowed it. What was I going to do, spit it out?

I heard from the
girls in school that boys didn’t appreciate that and it made them feel bad.

“You don’t have to
swallow, you know that right?” he said slumping back in the chair, his hands on
my hands pulled me up into his lap.

“I know.” My cheeks
burned slightly, he noticed and brushed his knuckles over the left side of my
face.

“It’s sexy though,”
Dylan groaned whispering into my ear before sucking on my earlobe. The sensation
sent a wave of arousal through me. He noticed that too. “How long are you
usually out of commission?”

Damn period.

“Usually
three or four days.”

“Well,” Dylan
turned my body so I was straddling
him,
my legs fell
over the sides of the chair. “I have some serious making up to do in a few
days.”

I couldn’t
fucking
wait and hoped that box would finally be opened.

When we arrived at
Alfreads
on Beale in downtown Memphis, Dylan’s nerves returned and he fidgeted often,
all the way up until the time he was ready to take the stage. I didn’t go back
with him, instead I sat at a nearby table and tried to go unnoticed since I was
only eighteen and it was pure fucking luck that I had been allowed in as many
bars as I had. No one checked my ID and I was beginning to think this was just
part of the south and something they did. Dylan had another thought on this and
said I was dick magnet.

Sure enough, two
minutes after sitting down, guys started approaching me. I felt disgusting
being on my period and couldn’t understand why anyone found me attractive
during that time of the month. Naturally, they wouldn’t have known that I was
on my period other than the fact that I wasn’t exactly friendly with anyone.

Bands and local
artists took the stage, each one singing a variety of music in different
genres. Feeling nervous for Dylan, back stage, alone, I started biting my nails
when they announced his name and the raucous throng of people surrounding the
stage cheered. They were here to listen to live music and didn’t care who was
on stage as long as they could play.

Most of them could
too. I was thoroughly impressed with the talent in this city. I think that’s
what made Dylan nervous too. Though he never intended to be some sort of rock
star, deep down he still looked for approval from an unsparing industry.

The entire way to
the bar, Dylan wouldn’t say what song he picked to sing, just that it wasn’t
his. And until we got here, and he watched about five bands, I don’t think he
had decided on anything until he observed the crowd.

Right before his
turn was
up,
he came out and sat with me for a moment.
Appearing relaxed, he slouched to one side drinking a beer the owner had
brought out to him. Dylan thanked him, another one was handed to me, which I
took and practically chugged. I think I was nervous enough for the two of us.

Without saying
anything Dylan stood and walked over to me. Holding out his palms, I took them
and he pulled me up from my chair to his arms wrapping them around my waist.

I looked up and he
smiled. “Wish me luck?”

Gently kissing his
lips, he had other ideas and deepened the kiss. Letting go of my hands, he
cupped my face with both of his hands, his palms now on my cheeks. Kissing me
with a few more lingering pecks to my lower lip, he pulled away and then kissed
my nose once. “Enjoy the show, brown eyes.”

When he slipped
back stage, I moved closer to the stage wanting a good view.

As the previous
band exited the stage, the announcement came on for Dylan. “Ladies and
gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Dylan Wade of Seattle.”

Seattle? Maybe he
didn’t want anyone knowing where he was really from or he just didn’t care and
rattled off a city when asked. I tend to think he just didn’t care.

Not long after
that, Dylan took the stage, his gaze locked on his feet as him and three other
guys shuffled to the poorly lit stage.

Dylan never looked
up until he was standing at the microphone and then as if he could feel my
presence near him, his eyes found mine. The corner of his mouth curved into a
smirk as the electric guitar behind him played the opening notes to a song I
knew. Within a few seconds, Dylan leaned in and began singing.

He played the
Framing Hanley version of Lollipop.

My face was
immediately on fire but I couldn’t look away. The swarm of bodies near the
stage went crazy for it as did I. The entire song I couldn’t take my eyes of
his lively performance and desire to put so much of himself into his
performance. Not only that, he was relaxed. And when he saw that the crowd was
enjoying it, he fed from that and got even more into it.

I think I lost my
voice that
night,
I even reached out to him when he
fell to his knees at one point in front of me. I felt like a goddamn groupie.

What really made me
feel like a groupie was hoping he’d invite me back to his room and knowing I
would be.

One of my favorite
parts was when he would scream into the microphone keeping a note longer than
the others and the veins in his neck surfaced. It reminded me of what I did for
him earlier and what provoked the song.

Not only could I
see myself being a pit -lizard, I could now see myself being a groupie. It’s a
shame how easily I was influenced when finally allowed to think for myself.

We didn’t stay long after Dylan
sang,
long enough for him to come down from his adrenaline
high singing on stage gave him.

Back at the hotel,
I found my groupie self in his arms, right where I wanted to be. The curtains
were open to the
night,
the lights of the city below
dimly lit the room, our low steady breathing muffled by the sounds of the air
conditioner.

I could feel his
heart between my shoulders and his stomach against my back. I could feel both
his arms around my middle, and I was glad it was dark around us. I was also
glad that I was facing away from him, because the way he was holding me made me
smile like some kind of groupie lunatic.

Lifting my right
arm out from under his bicep, I placed my hand on his that was curved around
the top of my rib cage. I wondered if he could feel my heart, because it was
beating like crazy, wondering if he knew how I felt about him.

He pressed his face
closer; I could feel his nose by the back of my ear. He warmed my body space
and surrounded me as he whispered, lowly and with gruffness. “Thank you for
getting in my car that day.”

I could feel his
breath on my neck, through my hair and my entire body.

Dylan did things to
me, made me feel ways I never imagined.

I wasn’t sure if I
could sleep that night with all the thoughts in my head about what we were
doing, how I felt, how he felt, the future, all of it, but then Dylan made the
lowest, quietest hum-sound right by my ear. It made my eyelashes feel like a
thousand wonderful pounds, and I closed them easily, happily, keeping that
memory, that moment with me.

“Goodnight,” he
whispered, his voice tickling my ear.

I hummed in
response this time, and sleep found me before I even knew it.

14.
   
Her storm – Dylan Wade

I was holding out on
brown eyes. She knew it. I knew it.

Pushing limits was my
fucking thing. It was.
But not with her.
Not with
brown eyes. She was better than that and not someone I wanted a one-time thing
with.

Don’t get me wrong, I
wanted her. I wanted all of her and in every way manageable. The fucking cute
way she scrunched her nose when she couldn’t make up her mind, which was often.
The way her eyes lit up when she watched me sing. They way her lips pushed out
when she slept and the freckles on her nose and cheeks and the way she could
never quite tame her ginger locks into a ponytail.

I wanted all of her.
Even the parts that darkened the light around her but I couldn’t do it without
feeling sick to my stomach that I would be what he said I was.
Resentment.
She wasn’t resentment.

I want her and only
her.