Say Yes: Dylan: Say Yes Series Book Four

by Mae, Amelia

  But now as I make my way into the packed room, I’m looking for my person. I’m ready for my crash moment.

  And she’s a sight for sore eyes.

  Jane seems to dress like she’s trying not to draw attention to herself, but it’s impossible. Unlike most women, and men too for that matter, who completely go for broke with their clothing choices at an event like this, Jane is dressed casually in a black halter top that shows off her arms and her ink and cute denim shorts. She’s on the short side and doesn’t seem to like wearing heels.

  She looks cautiously around the space completely unaware that everyone who passes her is doing a double take. There’s something about Jane that makes someone want to know her and to be around her.

  Something that’s made it clear that breaking down her walls and putting in the time and effort that it will inevitably take to get to know her well is going to be worth it.

  I wish she saw it too.

  She gives Julia a quick hug goodbye and smiles as I approach her.

  I don’t think twice, I just take her in my arms and crush her to me. She yelps little. I think her feet even come up off the floor, but it feels too good to hold her right now.

  “Hey, we’re going for a drink,” Ian calls. “Coming?”

  I look at Jane with an eyebrow raised.

  What is with these guys? It seems like whenever I suggest some afterparty ideas, they’re suddenly all busy with the women in their lives, but now that all I want to do with my post-show energy is get Jane to the nearest flat surface and make her come her brains out, they’re all ready for a night at a club.

  “Okay,” she says.

  “I guess we’re in then,” I tell Ian.

  Jane and I follow the rest of my band, their significant others, and a few friends to a nearby club It’s Saturday night and the place is kind of crazy. Loud, dark, packed dance floor, and drinks everywhere. The hostess takes us to the second floor to a roped-off area and introduces us to a waitress who will be ours for the rest of the night.

  “Want a drink?” I ask Jane. “Cider, right?”

  Jane sucks her bottom lip into her mouth. But it’s not the sexy way she was doing it the other night. It’s a nervous, kind of overwhelmed, I don’t fit in here, sort of gesture.

  “Think I need something stronger,” she replies.

  I notice Cora abstaining from alcohol. She asks for a water and Ian, who doesn’t really drink anymore, does the same. Shawn and Aya both go for the whiskey. Jack opts for beer. Nikki and Julia both order sex on the beach, though, and I see Jane perk up a bit.

  “Two more,” I tell the waitress. She nods.

  The drinks come and I notice that Jane drinks hers pretty quickly and gets another. Well, I suppose the great thing about being a VIP in a club like this is that you’ve barely finished one drink before you’ve got another in your hand.

  “Thank you,” Jane tells the server. She’s not slurring her words or anything, but Jane seems a lot looser and I’m relieved that she’s finally starting to get comfortable.

  “Jane, we’re going to go dance,” Nikki tells her. “Come with us.”

  “Yes, yes,” Julia adds. “We need to get to know ‘famous Jane.’”

  Jane rolls her eyes at the new nickname but laughs and follows the girls down to the lower level.

  Once vacated, Ian plunks himself down in Jane’s seat.

  “Did I overhear someone say ‘Famous Jane?’” he asks.

  “You did.”

  “Why is she famous? Is she an actress or something? I’d say a model, but she’s kind of short,” he says.

  “She’s an artist,” I tell him. “And… a bartender.”

  “A bartender?” Ian asks slowly, narrowing his eyes. It takes him all but a second to realize… “That’s her? That’s the girl that song is about?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Holy fucking shit.” Ian runs his hand through his hair. “I can’t believe it. How the hell did you ever find her again?”

  “At that party Dean threw for his boyfriend. Turns out his new guy is Jane’s best friend. So a few nights ago, I’m figuring I’m going to be meeting Kelvin and awkwardly hanging around Dean’s dancer friends and… in walks Jane. Just like that.”

  Ian smiles and shakes his head. “Fate. It’s fucking crazy.”

  Ian should talk. He’d all but given up on everything in his life until Say Yes was casting for the music video for Her Name in Stars, and Cora’s headshot was on the top of the pile.

  I get up to go look over the railing and down at Jane. She’s sipping on something pink and laughing with Nikki and Julia, dancing and looking like she’s having a good time. It makes me smile.

  “Cora,” Ian calls to his wife, who sits nearby talking to Aya. “Come here for a second.”

  Cora joins us and looks over the railing at the dancing crowd. “What are we looking at?”

  “See her?” he says, pointing. “That’s Jane. The Jane.”

  Cora puts two and two together more quickly. “Oh my God, Dylan. You found her?” She hugs me tightly like I’ve just told her I’ve won the lottery or something. “How?”

  I repeat the story of Dean and Kelvin’s party, but Cora barely pays attention. The three of us just keep watching them. Well… her.

  “Fuck, I think I should go thank her,” Cora says wistfully. “I’m pretty sure I owe her my career.”

  Cora returns to the sofas and resumes her conversation with Aya and Shawn.

  “You like her?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Like… do you really like her?”

  “What are you getting at?” I ask him. “Of course I like her.”

  “You invited her to the show.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” I chide. “I invited her to the show. I’m thinking about inviting her to the next one too.”

  “The Vegas one?”

  “That’s the next one, so…”

  “That’s a lot, Dylan,” he starts. “At least a two day trip.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I just… I see the way you’re acting with her. Like you want to take care of her. Like you’re really concerned that she’s happy and fitting in and…”

  “So?”

  “You’re acting like a boyfriend,” he points out. “It’s a little fast, isn’t it?”

  “We’ve known each other for seven years, Ian,” I argue.

  “No. You fucked once seven years ago, and then Jane was never heard from again until a few days ago. Jane could be a completely different person than she was the last time you saw her.”

  “Hmm…”

  Well, Jane is different than I remember her. She’s still defensive and has her guard up. But she’s not as edgy as she was when we met. If anything, she seems a little more fragile.

  And I do believe that fate is a cruel bitch, but she wouldn’t have thrown Jane back into my life if something wasn’t supposed to happen between us.

  “You should talk,” I point out.

  “That’s different,” he says defensively.

  “I don’t see how.”

  “Cora and I… When we found each other again, we took it slow.”

  “Bull fucking shit,” I spit out. “You took her home the first night you went out.”

  “Actually, it was the second,” he tells me. “But that’s not the point. When it came to actually starting a relationship, we kept it casual so we wouldn’t end up hurting each other. So we could get to know each other without the pressure.”

  That makes sense.

  “I’m going to give you a piece of advice,” Ian starts.

  Great. Ian’s been in a relationship the longest and he’s the only one married, so he seems to think that he knows all there is to know about relationships.

  “Don’t put Jane on some kind of pedestal,” he continues. “You had one amazing night seven years ago It’s easy to think that no one has measured up since then because no one was ever as perfect as this one wom
an.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Jane is going to have flaws, Dylan. You’re going to expect her to be something and she’s going to turn around and be exactly the opposite. So you have to slow down and get to know each other again,” he says. “Otherwise you’ll put unrealistic expectations on her and build her into something she isn’t. And when she realizes it, she’ll run.”

  Maybe Ian has a point. That’s pretty much exactly what happened to him and Cora.

  But it did work out for them in the long run.

  An hour or so later, he and Cora say their goodbyes and head home. Shawn and Aya follow shortly after. Our little group dwindles. Jack returns from the dance floor with Nikki practically draped all over him.

  “Jane is still down there with Julia,” Nikki informs me. “But Julia’s getting ready to leave, so you might want to get down there and rescue your date.”

  “Why didn’t she come back up here with you?” I wonder.

  “She looks like she’s having the time of her life down there,” Nikki says with a smile. “Didn’t want to spoil the party for her.”

  I look back down at Jane, who’s dancing pretty wildly with Julia. She’s smiling and laughing, holding a pink drink that is much fuller than the last one I saw her with. I wonder if I should ask how many she’s had.

  I mean, she’s enjoying herself and having fun. Plus, she’s an adult and counting her drinks is completely patronizing.

  I head down to join the little dance party.

  “Mind if I cut in?” I ask Julia.

  She grumbles in mock-indignation. “I think I’m going to make my way out,” she says lightly. “It was nice meeting you, Jane.”

  “You too,” Jane says cheerfully as Julia leaves.

  We’re the last of our group left in the club. Fuck, I used to close down clubs like this and then go looking around for an after after-party. Now I’m ready to call it a night while it’s still dark outside.

  “You look happy,” I tell Jane.

  “I am happy,” she says. She looks at my hands. “You need a drink.”

  “I’ve already had a drink.” More than one, if we’re being honest here.

  “Well, you should have another,” she goads. “You need to get on my level.”

  “What’s your level?”

  I’m not concerned. Jane isn’t wobbling or slurring her speech. But she’s definitely more outgoing than she’s been all night.

  “Dance with me,” she playfully demands, taking my hand and leading me into the fray.

  And grinning like a fool, I follow her.

  Dancing with Jane leads to some grinding. And some kissing. And groping. It doesn’t take long before I’m hard enough to cut diamonds and Jane is whimpering in my ear.

  “Ready to get out of here?” I ask her.

  “Oh God, yes.”

  11

  Jane

  I feel like the sunshine is mocking me. I lift my head up off the pillow, and it hurts, so I set it back down and close my eyes. What’s going on here? My bedroom doesn’t get this much sun.

  I open one eye. This isn’t my pillow. These aren’t my sheets.

  Where the fuck am I, and how did I get here?

  I shift a little under the unfamiliar covers.

  Why am I naked?

  Oh God, what happened last night?

  And why did anyone let me near the tequila bottle?

  I lick my lips and groan. Morning-after-tequila-drinking-breath is gnarly, and my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. I can only imagine what I’ve been saying or doing that led me to end up here in someone else’s bed with my clothes nowhere in sight.

  Because tequila makes me slutty.

  What have I done and who have I done it with?

  Wait… Dylan.

  I look around the room. That’s the shirt that Dylan was wearing last night on the floor by the bed.

  This is Dylan’s room. I went home with him.

  Okay, good. At least I know where I am and that I didn’t do anything too stupid. But as I think back on the night before, I’m sure my behavior was pretty cringeworthy.

  I vaguely remember getting into a cab outside the club and climbing into Dylan’s lap in the backseat, pawing at him and trying to undo his shirt. I remember him laughing as I sucked on his neck. Fuck, I was acting like a horny idiot who wanted into Dylan Cotter’s pants.

  Well, I was a horny idiot who wanted into Dylan Cotter’s pants.

  And I tried to literally get into them in the elevator. I remember trying to go down on him as we headed up to his floor and him pulling me up from my knees multiple times.

  My head starts to throb. It doesn’t get better from there.

  We got into his apartment and… oh, God… I started stripping. Dylan was trying to tell me that I was drunk and needed to go to sleep, and I was insisting that I was fine and ready to fuck his brains out.

  And yes, I’m sure I said exactly that. Or something just as eloquent.

  Then I flung my very naked self onto his bed and promptly passed out.

  I find my panties and put them on, but there’s no sign of anything else, so I retrieve Dylan’s button-down from the floor. It’s huge on me, and it might be cute, me wearing his clothes the morning after spending the night in his bed, if I wasn’t about to apologize profusely for fucking up our night and beg him not to hate me forever.

  Why do I even drink anyway?

  Oh yeah. Because I’m terrified of crowds and new people and walking into a party alone and being the lonely weirdo standing in the corner unable to make words come out of her mouth. Drinking loosens me up and makes me more talkative and fun. Going to the bar to get another drink gives me something to do when there’s an awkward break in the action.

  And, of course, Dylan’s life is nothing but crowds and noise and new people and being swarmed by mobs of fans. It’s non-stop parties and events. What am I going to do? Drink my weight in tequila to get through it all?

  I feel myself tearing up. I can’t do this.

  I have to get out of here, and if there’s a God in heaven, I’ll be able to do so quickly and quietly and be on my way to the rest of my quiet, lonely, safe little life.

  Draw my novel, take my classes, and tend bar until my hands fall off.

  I say a silent thanks, because as I tiptoe out into Dylan’s kitchen, it’s empty. But there’s a note attached to the fridge. I notice that it’s held in place with every magnet he owns for fear that I miss another ‘went out for coffee’ message from him and we don’t speak for another seven years.

  I read: Jane, I hope you’re feeling okay this morning. I left coffee and toast for you on the table. I have a meeting and will be gone till the evening. When I get back, we should talk. -Dylan.

  The tears come back full force. He’s being sweet when I don’t deserve it. But I’m sure that ‘we should talk’ is going to be code for I can’t handle a needy, insecure, drunk girl hanging around all the time, so have a nice life.

  I sigh. I close my eyes.

  I hated Dylan for so long.

  Well, no. I didn’t hate Dylan. I hated the idea of him. Hated that I could want someone so badly, so quickly, and have this amazing instant connection with him and then wake up in the morning and be alone. Realizing that everything I felt was one-sided and that I didn’t mean as much to him as he did to me.

  And now, years later, I find that all that resentment I felt toward him was a mistake and that he’s eager to reconnect. And yet, here I am, hungover and humiliated because I’m afraid to be myself. I’m afraid that myself isn’t very much and that Dylan will realize that the woman he waited for all this time is nothing special.

  What a waste.

  I find a pen on his kitchen counter and write back: Thank you for breakfast, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t handle it. -Jane.

  I don’t touch the coffee or the toast. I don’t want to intrude on any more of his hospitality. I find my jeans and sneakers strewn about
the living room and my purse in the entryway. No sign of my shirt or bra.

  I add an addendum to the note: I will wash your shirt and give it to Dean tomorrow.

  Then I head downstairs and get a Lyft from the lobby. The doorman gives me a funny look, probably because he watched Dylan carry me upstairs while I was wrapped around him like a jellyfish. I don’t say anything or even make eye contact with him. I just go.

  When I get back to my apartment, I throw myself in bed unable to fend off the breakdown I was fighting in the car any longer. I cry until I fall asleep.

  When I wake up, I realize I’m still wearing Dylan’s shirt, and it smells like his soap and cologne, and it sends a fresh wave of panic, nausea, guilt and tears through me.

  I sleep clear through the day and into the night. I do wake at around ten to change, drink a lot of water, and scrub yesterday’s makeup from my haggard face. Then I swallow some painkillers, and I’m out cold until the next morning.

  I throw Dylan’s shirt in the hamper, but then I wonder if his shirt is the expensive dry-clean-only kind and if I’ll ruin it by tossing it in a machine at the laundromat with my Target clothes.

  Maybe Kelvin will know.

  I’m just about to text him when I see that I have at least a dozen messages. All from Kelvin. And seven missed calls.

  Kelvin: Where are you? Are you okay?

  Kelvin: Did something happen at the concert?

  Kelvin: Did Dylan do something? I’ll fucking kill him.

  The rest of the messages are to that extent. I figure I’d better call Kelvin back before he sends the police or something.

  He answers on the first ring.

  “What the fuck happened to you?” he says. “Dean rang me like twelve times last night because Dylan called him about a hundred times asking how to get ahold of you because apparently you two are fucking betrothed to one another and yet you can’t be bothered to exchange phone numbers.”

  “That’s not true. I have his number. He just doesn’t have mine.”