Lost Love

by Nicole Casey

  “You nervous?” Ariana asked, eyeing me up and down as I rose from the couch.

  “Shut up,” I replied, then made my way to the door.

  She giggled and rushed off to hide in her bedroom as I greeted Dylan at the door.

  After taking a moment to compose myself—and to ensure that my T-shirt was hanging loosely over my simple pair of jeans—I opened the door to find the fireman standing on the front porch, a bouquet of roses in hand. “Dylan,” I said, shocked. “What are—”

  “For you,” he said, extending the bouquet.

  I accepted them willingly, shocked that he would offer me such a gift after such a short time of meeting each other, and smiled as I inhaled the sweet smell of the roses, their scent tickling my nose and causing my insides to flutter with uncountable butterflies. Scottie, meanwhile, was screeching; and Dylan, meanwhile, craned his head around to acknowledge the creature.

  “Scottieee!” the parrot said.

  “Hi Scottie,” Dylan replied, offering the bird a smile before returning his attention to me. “So—are you ready to go?”

  “More than ready,” I replied. “Just let me put these in a vase real quick.”

  “I’ll be waiting in my truck.”

  “Ok,” I said, then closed the door.

  Ariana came skittering out of her room. Her eyes widened the moment she saw the roses. “Wow,” she said. “He brought you flowers?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “He did.”

  “Gimme those,” she said, gently snatching the bouquet out of my hands. “I’ll deal with these. You go on your hot date.”

  “I’m not sure how hot it’ll be, exactly, but—”

  “He’s a firefighter. It’ll be sizzling.”

  “Ha ha, nice pun,” I replied, then smiled before turning and making my way out the door.

  Outside, Dylan sat awaiting me in his big black truck, his carefully-trimmed beard and neck-length black hair glistening in the harsh afternoon light piercing down from the Texas sky. I waved as I approached and waited until the audible click of the passenger’s side door unlocking entered my ears before hauling myself into the vehicle.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” I replied.

  “How’ve you been doing?”

  “I’ve been doing all right,” I replied, reaching up to buckle myself in. “You?”

  “Excellent,” he said. “I had the day off, so I figured, Why not hit up Chase Bennett and see what he’s up to?”

  “I appreciate you doing that,” I replied. “I’m going kind of stir crazy in my best friend’s house.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Dylan said. “We’ll fix that this afternoon though. What are you in the mood for? Coffee? Food?”

  “Food sounds good,” I said.

  “Food it is then,” Dylan said, then turned and began to make his way down Airport Boulevard. “I know this excellent place on Manor.”

  ***

  “So tell me a little bit about yourself,” Dylan said as we seated ourselves at the homestyle cooking restaurant that he swore was the best in town. “Are you from Austin, or did you move here from somewhere else?”

  “I’ve lived in Austin my whole life,” I said. “Nothing particularly amazing about my story. Born and raised, went to school, tried college and then decided that wasn’t for me. What about you? Where are you from?”

  “Corpus.”

  “What made you move to Austin?”

  “I needed a change of pace,” Dylan said. “Didn’t help that it was boring as hell in Corpus. Pretty, sure, but boring.”

  “You’d think living by the ocean would be pretty enjoyable,” I mumbled as the waiter appeared with our colas.

  “When the people suck, everything about the area sucks with it,” Dylan laughed, reaching out to wrap a hand around his glass. He sipped, sighed, then replaced it before leaning forward and saying, “So—about your book.”

  “Oh God,” I laughed, suddenly more nervous now than I had been when he’d first picked me up.

  “Oh God what?” Dylan replied, a smile perking the corner of his lips.

  “This is where you’re going to tell me that it sucks,” I replied.

  “Quite the contrary,” he said. “I think it’s brilliant.”

  “You do?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  “I do,” he smiled. “I’m usually not into genre fiction—I’m usually more of a history buff than anything—but your sweeping tale of vampires across New Orleans is pretty impressive. You can tell you did a lot of research.”

  “I fell in love with the city when I visited on a book signing,” I said, smiling as the waitress came froward to take our orders.

  “You go on book signings often?”

  “Not really,” I said. “I… and this is going to sound a bit silly, considering, but…”

  “What?” Dylan’s eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed in question.

  “I have really bad social anxiety.”

  “No,” he said. “That can’t be true.”

  “Yeah,” I replied, then laughed as I reached up to run my hand through my hair. “I can kind of block it out during book signings, but otherwise? I’m pretty much a homebody.”

  “I guess that makes sense, in a way. You, the reclusive writer, chilling out at home with your parrot. His name’s Scottie, isn’t it?”

  “Scottie,” I agreed, nodding. “And before you ask: he chose his own name, based off a certain science-fiction show—”

  “About starships and enterprises,” Dylan nodded. “Gotcha.”

  I nodded and reached forward to cup my hands around my cola, surprised at the ease which the conversation came. I’d expected to be paranoid out of my mind—terrified that he wouldn’t like me or my little itty bitty bird. Surprising, that seemed not to be the case at all. He’d brought me flowers, picked me up, taken time out of his schedule to take me out to lunch. And if things were going to plan, maybe he’d even take me back to his apartment and—

  I shook my head, feigning surprise from a passing bug or an allergy attack gone wrong.

  “What’s wrong?” Dylan asked.

  “Nothing,” I smiled. “Just thinking.”

  “About?”

  Things I shouldn’t be, I thought, but instead said, “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. If it hadn’t been for you, me and the stupid bird would probably be… uh…” I made a motion of us splatting on the ground by allowing my hand to fall to the table with dramatic flair.

  “Yeah. That.” Dylan grimaced and took another sip of his soda. “Well, we got to you in time. That’s the only thing that matters, right?”

  “Right,” I nodded.

  A casual silence followed, during which time our food came, our waitress left, we dug into our meals and continued to speak about the matters of life that followed.

  Eventually, he asked if I wanted to order a drink.

  “I don’t do alcohol,” I said.

  “How come?” he asked.

  “My last boyfriend,” I said, unsure whether or not to proceed with ‘that infamous talk’ about the exes. Knowing I had very little, if anything, to lose, however, I steeled myself for the potential reaction and said, “He was an alcoholic.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s why we broke up. He couldn’t keep his temper down when he drank, so… that’s that. Three years down the drain.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dylan said. “I only offered you a drink because you’re not driving. You can trust me not to indulge and then get behind the wheel.”

  “Good,” I smiled. “That’s the way it should be.”

  “Definitely.”

  With that said, we dug into our food and continued to waste the afternoon away—talking about everything from food, to life, to love, to current goals and future aspirations. I told him I longed to move into a home of my own, while he explained to me that he’d eventually like to settle down.

  “I’m not getting any younger,” he laughed
after our waitress came and carried our food away.

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “Thirty,” he replied, then paused before saying, “That isn’t a problem. Right?”

  “Not at all,” I smiled, then did the unthinkable. I reached out and took hold of his hand, lacing our fingers together and tightening my hold on his palm.

  That touch—it was electrifying: the first real intimate content I’d had in over three months.

  Dylan flexed his palm beneath my grasp and smiled. “What about you?” he asked. “You can’t be older than… what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-five,” I smiled.

  “Damn. Good guess.”

  “I hope I don’t look it,” I replied, briefly considering the fact that I was in the presence of a muscle-bound, fireman hunk of a god. “I don’t work out that much. I try to walk, but it’s hard, considering I’m sitting at a desk most of the day.”

  “I don’t mind,” Dylan smiled. “Besides—you look pretty good to me.”

  He’s really laying it on thick, I thought, then smiled.

  I didn’t mind that though. He could lay on the charm all he wanted as far as I was concerned. Like I’d been so quick to think just moments before: he was the first real human interaction I’d had in months. Ariana wasn’t much of a touchy-feely person due to circumstances from her past, and me—well… I craved the attention, the touch, the physical sensation of skin on skin.

  Dylan smiled as I lifted my blue eyes to look into his green ones.

  “Shall I take you home?” he asked, briefly glancing at the smart watch on his wrist.

  “Sure,” I said, then stood, but didn’t relinquish hold of his hand. I didn’t want the date to end, but knew that it would have to eventually, especially considering the work I had to do upon returning home. “I’ve got deadlines I should probably work on anyway.”

  “The life of a writer,” he smiled. “Never over, is it?”

  “Not in the slightest,” I replied.

  We pulled up alongside Ariana’s home on east twelfth street and sat in the truck for several long minutes before Dylan said, “I’d like to see you again. If that’s all right.”

  I blinked, stunned.

  He wanted to see me again? Little ole boring me?

  “You’re serious?” I asked, turning to face him.

  “I’m serious,” he replied, then reached out and pressed a hand against my face. “You’re cute, Chase. Really fucking cute. And smart. And funny. And a hell of a good writer. I’m surprised no one’s snatched you up already.”

  “I haven’t really been trying,” I replied, reaching up to take hold of his hand. “After Brad, I… kinda got burnt out on the whole idea of dating.”

  “I hope I’ve changed your mind,” he replied.

  “I think you have,” I said, content and comfortable with that knowledge.

  He leaned forward, took hold of my face, and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. He held it there for several long moments before pulling away and saying, “See you in a few days? If that’s ok?”

  “More than ok,” I replied.

  I leaned forward, pressed another kiss to his lips, then turned and popped the passenger’s side door open. “See you soon,” I said.

  He only smiled, bade me goodbye, and waited until I made my way to the porch before driving away.

  ***

  Ariana pounced on me almost instantly. “Details,” she said.

  “Woah woah,” I said, raising my hands in mock surrender. “Easy there, officer. I just got back.”

  “And I want deets,” she said, making sure the door was shut firmly behind me before turning to look at me. “So: spill.”

  “He’s a nice guy,” I replied, offering a shrug to show my casual indifference over the matter. “He’s from Corpus, just like you.”

  “But he hated it,” she said. “Tell me he hated it.”

  “He hated it,” I agreed.

  “I… kinda watched the two of you when you got back,” she admitted, reaching up to run her hands through her curly hair. “And… I kinda saw the kiss.”

  “Oh?” I laughed, to which the bird responded with a bob of his head.

  “I may or may not have let the bird watch.”

  “Scottieeee!” the parrot said.

  “You’re corrupting my parrot,” I said, then leaned forward to scratch the top of his head. He chuckled, obviously amused by the shenanigans that Ariana had allowed him to participate in, and bowed his head to meet my finger.

  “So when do you see him next?”

  “In a few days,” I said. The bird gave yet another series of head bobs in response to this. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you’ve got a shit-eating grin on your face.”

  “Maybe this guy’s my next big thing,” I replied.

  “Maybe,” she replied. “Don’t get your hopes up though. You don’t know what might happen.”

  “I know,” I replied, then turned and made my way toward where my laptop sat on the kitchen table.

  My latest novel wasn’t going to write itself.

  Chapter Three

  The next time I heard from Dylan, it was in an email inviting me to his apartment to watch a movie.

  “Oooh,” Ariana said as she read the email over my shoulder. “Movies and chilling. You know what that means.”

  “I do know what that means,” I sighed, expelling the breath out from between my lips in a mighty exhale that caused the long bangs hanging in my eyes to shift.

  “What’s wrong?” Ariana asked. “The dude’s hot. I’m straight and even I want him.”

  “I just haven’t been with a guy since Brad,” I replied, to which Scottie gave a sad sigh and began to brush his beak along the cage, creating a racket of noise that instantly beckoned me to turn my attention on him. “Yeah. Daddy Brad didn’t like Scottie when he was drunk, did he?”

  “No,” the bird replied, then sighed once more.

  Maybe Dylan will be different, I thought after a moment’s consideration.

  He was rushing into this a little fast—the whole ‘three date before sex’ rule and all—but just because he was inviting me over didn’t necessarily mean that he wanted to have sex.

  He’s a dude. It’s gonna happen.

  Still—the idea of being with the sexy hunk of a fireman stirred within me a primordial urge that all men had: that desire that started at the center of my chest and expanded into the nexus of my brain, where it drifted throughout my body until it set my every nerve ablaze. I tried not to show my apprehension—tried, without success, to not squirm beneath Ariana’s grasp—but found myself doing so anyway.

  “You’re not nervous,” Ariana said, “are you?”

  “Of course I’m nervous!” I replied, a little too harshly.

  “Just go. Have fun. Don’t do anything you don’t want to do. And if push comes to shove, leave, find a gas station, then call and I’ll pick you up. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I said.

  Though most of me was dreading the idea of even hooking up with a guy so soon after meeting him, a part of me was exhilarated at the possibilities that could occur. I was, after all, a man, and had needs and wants and desires that came from the intimacy of being with another person.

  With that in mind, I rose, made my way to the bathroom, and slipped into the shower, intent on preparing for a night of relaxation and fun.

  ***

  “So,” Dylan said as he opened the door to his apartment. “This is it.”

  His apartment was sparsely decorated—and truth be told, did not look particularly lived in. With a couch posed before a flat-screen TV and only a few pictures hanging on the walls—most of which appeared to be of family consisting of multiple siblings and only a single mother—his home was quaint and small, comfortable in that its space was limited while at the same time not overly claustrophobic or filled with unnecessary clutter.

  “I figured we could just sit here, order in, watch
a movie,” Dylan said, feigning exhaustion by stretching an arm over his head before settling it across my shoulders. “How does that sound to you?”

  “That sounds fine to me,” I replied. “What did you have in mind?”

  “You like Chinese?”

  “I can do Chinese,” I said.

  “Cool. Let me grab the menu for the local place and we can decide what we want.”

  I nodded and seated myself on his couch as he sauntered into the kitchen, humming something under his breath in a deep and pleasant tune that instantly reminded me of a country western singer. The fact that he could sing was even more of a turn-on, but the fact that he’d saved my life was what would possibly land me in his bed tonight.

  He returned with the menus and settled down beside me, then proceeded to order the food before flipping the movie on and allowing it to run through the opening credits. During this time, I waited for him to get off the phone and instinctively, whether it was by habit with Brad or something else, set my hand on his upper thigh. He smiled at me and reached down to brush his fingertips along my arm before hanging up and turning to face me.

  “Chase,” he said. “You ok?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Why? Aren’t you?”

  “I just want you to be comfortable with everything that’s going on tonight.”

  “I’m comfortable.”

  “Are you sure? Because if you’re not, just tell me and I’ll back off.”

  “What if I don’t want you to back off?” I asked.

  “Oh?” he replied.

  I leaned forward, then, and kissed him—first gently, as though virginal and reserved, then hungrily, with passion I felt had been brewing since the night of the fire. He tasted of sweat and cigarettes, of mouthwash to try and wipe the taste away, and though not overly fond of tobacco or the taste of it on another man’s lips, I loved it on him.

  Everything about him was intoxicating.

  His scent, his touch, his lips, the brush of facial hair against my otherwise clean-shaven face—everything compelled me to kiss him further: to reach up, part his V-neck, feel the strands of hair beneath my touch, to test the rigidity of his muscles. He groaned beneath my gentle assault and reached up to cup hold of my face, and only pulled away when a knock came at the door.