Dylan

by S. L. Scott

  “Hey, Jules, I’ve been thinking,” Dylan says and I look up. “What do you think about moving closer to our families?”

  Surprised, I sit up on the couch. “Leave New York?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it lately.”

  “I’d move back.”

  “Just like that?”

  I nod, “Yes, just like that.”

  Instead of walking, Max drops to his knees and begins crawling to his jumper swing. Dylan puts him in, securing him before Max starts bouncing happily away. That boy has the strongest thigh muscles from that thing, which makes us smile.

  Dylan sits next to me on the couch, his arm wrapping around my shoulders as I continue, “I want more kids too. I want to have another baby or two.”

  His eyebrows shoot up, but he only says, “Okay.”

  “And I want to stay home with them. I’ve missed so much with Max and I’m tired of it. I want to be there for every feeding, laugh, even poop… I want to be there for it all.”

  “Okay.”

  “The sooner the better,” I say.

  “I had no idea… well, I had an idea, but I guess I didn’t know you were thinking about moving.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but I didn’t think it was possible because of our jobs. I’ve been dreaming about living in your parent’s neighborhood. I love their home. Is there a way for us to afford that area?”

  Dylan chuckles, glancing at Max, then back to me. He gives me a sweet kiss on the temple before he replies, “I’ve done really well this year and with all of your commissions we can definitely afford that neighborhood. Once we sell this place, we could probably buy a house outright. You can pick out the house of your dreams.”

  “DYLAN!” MY HANDS are shaking and I need him. He’s the only one who can make things right. Make my world right.

  “Jules! Where are you?”

  “Upstairs,” I shout, knowing I won’t wake Max because he’s with Nana and Papa.

  I hear his steps. They’re thunderous as he comes up the wood stairs, down the hall, barreling into the doorframe while making the sharp turn into our room. “Jules?”

  I hold it up, eye level to him. The stress and fear that covered his face evaporates and he smiles, a hammer in one hand and a white picket in the other, both dropped to the floor with a loud bang.

  I’m in the air, his arms around my middle holding me up and he spins, making me squeal in delight.

  “You’re pregnant.”

  “Your babies take after their father.”

  With a smile, he asks, “Great abs?”

  “Yeah,” I laugh, “Great abs, cute butts, and they are very determined to be a part of my life.”

  Grabbing me, he flops us onto the bed, rolling gently on top of me. I smile, brushing the hair that has fallen down over his forehead away. “How do you feel?”

  Both of his eyebrows shoot to the roof, but his smile gives him away. “The more that ties us together the better.” He emphasizes his point by pressing his pelvis against mine.

  Staring into his eyes, I say, “Our souls are bound together, our babies are made from that love. We are forever.”

  He leans down to kiss my neck and I feel that familiar tingle begin, making me squirm beneath his body. I drag my fingers upward through his hair as he whispers, “How much time do we have?”

  I know he’s referring to when Max will be dropped off, but I feel his love so strongly that I answer from my heart, “An eternity, my love.”

  “How about I start by making love to you all day then?”

  “Sounds like a good way to spend forever.”

  I kiss him, putting every ounce of passion, every particle of my being into it, into Dylan and realize it’s not what’s happened in the past. That’s done and gone. It’s how we spend our future and mine was always meant to be spent with him.

  Forever. Always.

  ADVANCED ECONOMICS FOR Business Majors is as boring as it sounds. I look around, analyzing the others who are stuck taking this course too. “Hot girl, row three, eight seats from the right,” I say, nudging my buddy.

  “Forget it. She dates Hurst.”

  “Hurst the quarterback?”

  “None other.”

  “Fuck. Is it serious?”

  He laughs under his breath. “Serious until she meets you, right?”

  “Sounds about right.” I’m not overly arrogant. Girls just tend to leave their boyfriends for me. They’re always looking—grass is greener and all that. It makes me wonder if anyone truly does consider the repercussions when facing opportunity. “Forget her. It’s not worth it,” I reply.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m over cliché and she’s a walking billboard for it. She’s hot, but,” I say, ending my thoughts on her.

  “Oh man, the great Somers reign is coming to an end?”

  “Maybe,” I reply, shrugging. “Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe if I met the right girl.”

  “They don’t exist from my experience.”

  I laugh, then joke, “At twenty-one, you’re the least experienced guy I know, so that’s not saying much.”

  “Fuck off,” he says, laughing.

  The professor tells us to stop disrupting or to leave, so we let the conversation die since technically we’re supposed to be learning this crap. After class, we walk out into the overcast January day and I ask, “I’ve got to head over to the English building. Where you going?”

  “P.E. I have a training session scheduled. The season is gearing up. Hey, look over there,” he says, nodding toward the bottom of the steps.

  She’s there, the blonde from class, talking to her girlfriends, probably sorority sisters. I’ve messed around with enough sorority girls to know I don’t want to mess around with any more. They’re gossipers… and kinkier than you’d think. “Nah, really not interested.”

  We walk down the steps, but stop at the bottom. I scan the quad, then turn to him. “You want to put in a few more gym hours tonight?”

  “Yeah, I need it. I’ve gotten some holiday flab.”

  I laugh. I didn’t gain any over the holiday break, but it’s not easy maintaining a six pack.

  “Cool. Seven-thirty.”

  “Hi, Dylan,” a girl’s voice interrupts.

  I look to the source and it’s none other than the blonde who is apparently dating the quarterback of the football team.

  My friend nudges me in jest, laughing, and says, “I’ll catch ya later.”

  “Yeah, okay. Whatever man. I’ll remember how you abandoned me. Some wing man you are.”

  She approaches, giving me her best pearly white practiced smile.

  “Hey, have we met?” I ask cuz I don’t know her name but she sure knows mine.

  “No, but I’d wished we had sooner. I’m Brandilynn.”

  “That’s unique.”

  “I’m a unique kind of girl. Soooo, I heard you’re single and might be looking?”

  I highly doubt that when she’s wearing a shirt that fifty other girls are wearing and she looks exactly like all of them, but I’ll play along… for a minute. “I heard Kevin Hurst has a girlfriend named Brandilynn.”

  “So you’ve heard of me?” she asks, looking around and lowering her voice to a whisper. “Sometimes he can be a bit unbearable, especially during bowl season.”

  “So you’re looking for a revenge-slash-need-attention-fuck?”

  She fingers the collar of my button up and smiles deviously. “And you like to get right to the point I’ve heard.”

  I step backward, her hand dropping back to her side. “What about I’m not interested?”

  She smirks. “Everyone’s interested in me.”

  “I’m not.”

  Her expression changes, the anger apparent, her eyes staring me down like I’ll change my mind. “We both know what we want. Let’s just make this easy and simple. Meet me at my sorority house at seven tonight. We’ll grab some dinner and then go back to your place. Tit for
tat. Easy.”

  “Why do I have a feeling that tomorrow Hurst will be banging down my door taking a few swings at me, me breaking his throwing arm, and you rushing to his side, playing the innocent who was taken advantage of?”

  “See, we’re on the same page.”

  I almost respect her audacity. Almost. Since this scenario has me ending up getting my ass kicked by the football team, I can’t commit fully.

  “I’m looking for a girl, but you’re not it.”

  “Whatever girl you’re looking for doesn’t exist, so why not get the next best thing and be the envy of your friends.”

  This conversation is going nowhere, so I walk off and leave her fuming.

  I see a group of guys I know and join the conversation, knowing I have about fifteen minutes left until I need to be in class again. I’m listening to the play by play of the Rose Bowl from one of the guys who went out to Pasadena to watch when I hear a laugh nearby that draws my attention. I look over my shoulder and that’s when I see her. My heart skips about five beats until her eyes meet mine, restarting it. Okay, a bit dramatic, but the voices that were once loud around me become muffled, her laugh taking precedence.

  “Who’s that?” I ask the guy next to me.

  “Some chick from my art history class. Hot, smart, and a great ass too.”

  “Gotta name?”

  “No, but I’m gonna ask her out…”

  I’m already in motion.

  I walk straight toward her, drawn just like the group that encircles her, listening to every word she says. Her eyes are bright despite the clouds. Dark hair that falls over her shoulders, and I imagine the contrast against my sheets.

  She watches me, laughing to be polite as one of her friends tells her nothing that will be as important in her life as what’s about to happen. I know this because it’s the most important thing that has ever happened to me.

  I’m nervous for the first time in years. It’s quite unsettling and very telling. She unnerves me, which is how I know she’s the one I want. “Hi, I’m Dylan Somers,” I introduce myself, staring at her, my heart stunned by her beauty.

  “Hello. Juliette Weston,” she replies, shifting and blushing under my gaze.

  Her friends disappear. My friends are long forgotten.

  “Will you marry me, Juliette Weston?” Sounds like a pick-up line, but it’s not. I’d do it. I can feel my heart pounding, pulling me to her. Our souls attaching, becoming one.

  Yes, I’d do it. For her.

  She giggles, then quickly replies, “Why don’t we start with a first date.”

  “How many dates until you’ll marry me?”

  Her sweet smile falters as surprise momentarily takes over, but returns when she realizes I’m not joking. “Let’s just see how things go from here.”

  From here… From this moment on, I was hers and she was always mine.

  Scorned (Part 1), Jealousy (Part 2), and Austin now available.

  YOU, THE READERS make living the writing life even more fun. Thank you for being a part of the journey.

  Heather, you are awesome! Words don’t encompass my appreciation of you. Love ya.

  I couldn’t do this without the support of this awesome group of women: Cara, Corinne, Danielle, Flavia, Irene, Lisa, Marla, Meire, and Vilma.

  I adore you, my sweet friends: Jennifer, Kerri, and Kirsten.

  My mom and sister are the best. The. Best. I love you.

  My husband is the most amazing man. Thank you, honey. My kids are incredible, patient, and beyond supportive of my chosen career. The writing sometimes takes me away from them, but they are always with me in my heart.

  NEW YORK TIMES and USA Bestselling Author, S. L. Scott, was always interested in the arts. She grew up painting, writing poetry and short stories, and wiling her days away lost in a good book and the movies.

  With a degree in Journalism, she continued her love of the written word by reading American authors like Salinger and Fitzgerald. She was intrigued by their flawed characters living in picture perfect worlds, but could still debate that the worlds those characters lived in were actually the flawed ones. This dynamic of leaving the reader invested in the words, inspired Scott to start writing with emotion while interjecting an underlying passion into her own stories.

  Living in the capital of Texas with her family, Scott loves traveling and avocados, beaches, and cooking with her kids. She’s obsessed with epic romances and loves a good plot twist. She dreams of seeing one of her own books made into a movie one day as well as returning to Europe. Her favorite color is blue, but she likens it more toward the sky than the emotion. Her home is filled with the welcoming symbol of the pineapple and finds surfing a challenge though she likes to think she’s a pro.

  Scott welcomes your notes to sl@slscottauthor.com