by L.H. Cosway
“Okay, I’m going to wear it,” she decided, steeling herself.
I smiled at her through the mirror, happy with my make-up, then got up to put on my own outfit. I wore my best pair of jeans with a loose, flowy cream blouse and some heels. I thought it was smart enough to work for a range of possibilities.
I’d just finished pinning my hair up when the buzzer went. Yvonne hurried over to answer it. “Hello.”
“Yvonne, it’s Dylan. Can we come up?”
“Sure, I’ll buzz you in now,” she replied and my stomach tightened. I was excited like a giddy teen.
The front door opened and in walked Dylan and Conor. They were both going casual in jeans and shirts, which put me at ease somewhat. My attention rested on Dylan the longest. What he said about me growing into my face suddenly made sense, because he’d grown into his, too. He looked comfortable in his own skin now. He’d achieved everything he’d set out to, and there was contentment where once there’d been restlessness and dissatisfaction.
“Hi,” I said, going to give Conor a quick hug and then Dylan. He held me tight for a beat longer than normal, murmuring in my ear, “You look amazing.”
“Thanks,” I replied and stood back as Yvonne came out of her room, bag in hand.
“Hi everyone,” she said, all smiles. When she saw Conor she stopped short, blinked several times then cleared her throat. Quickly, she gathered herself and stepped forward. “Dylan, it’s good to see you again. And C-Conor, it’s been a long time.” She cast me a quick glance as if to say, holy shite, he grew up, didn’t he?
“Too long,” he agreed. “Hello, Yvonne.” He smiled, eyes wandering over her appreciatively. And there it was. Holy crap. It was hard to believe that even after all these years, he still had a thing for her. I guess we always held a candle for our first crush, which was probably why Dylan had such a potent effect on me.
A moment passed between us, like nobody knew what to say.
“Well, let’s get going, shall we?” I ventured and Dylan nodded.
“We have a taxi waiting outside.”
“Oh great,” Yvonne said. “I always have such trouble flagging them down. It’s like I’m invisible.”
“It’s ’cause you’ve got shaky hands,” I said, teasing. “Those taxi drivers can spot weakness a mile off.”
“Oh, it’s a cutthroat business hailing taxis in NYC,” Conor agreed. “They can sniff out blood in the water like nobody’s business.”
Yvonne chuckled. “Right. Maybe there’s a class I can go to.”
“Of course, there is. There’s a class for everything here,” I said.
“The land of miracles,” Dylan added with a wink. It was something I said to him the other week, and it made me smile that he remembered.
“Exactly,” I said as he opened the door to the taxi and ushered me in. Conor did the same for Yvonne on the other side, and I might’ve been mistaken, but I thought her cheeks reddened ever so slightly.
It was a tight squeeze, with my leg resting right next to Dylan’s during the ride. His attention wandered to where our knees met; he focused on the contact for a second before directing his attention out the window.
I had butterflies the entire journey.
Our destination turned out to be a cheesy but completely fabulous Irish-themed pub. There were pictures of shamrocks and leprechauns above the door, and all the woodwork was painted bright emerald green.
“We thought you might appreciate some kitsch,” Conor said, grinning as we walked inside. Surprisingly, the place was packed, and there was a trad band on stage playing a set.
“Oh, wow. It’s so bad it’s almost good.”
“It might be garish, but they do the best pub grub in the city. Conor and I come here all the time when we get homesick,” said Dylan.
“I can smell the bacon and cabbage already,” Yvonne added. “Come on, let’s grab a table.”
We found a free booth in the back, far enough away from the live music that we could carry out a decent conversation. I sat down first, and Dylan slid in next to me, leaving Yvonne and Conor to share the seat on the other side. I picked up the menu and perused the options.
“So, how are you liking the city?” Yvonne asked, making conversation. I knew I was letting the side down, but Dylan wouldn’t stop looking at me, and I felt self-conscious. What was he thinking?
“I love it,” Conor replied. “I’m actually thinking of buying an apartment here and making it my base. I still need to travel between the stores a couple times a year, but Dylan NY has by far been our most successful opening. If we’re lucky, we might even be able to open another branch next year.”
“Two perfume shops in one city?” Yvonne said, wide-eyed. “I’m impressed. Oh, and I forgot to say, I saw your full-page advertisement in The Times yesterday. It was very eye-catching.”
“Thanks,” Conor said. “But the concept was Dylan’s.”
“What was the picture?” I asked, curious. I hadn’t seen the advertisement.
“It’s our campaign for the new line,” Conor replied. “Here, let me show you.” He pulled out his phone, swiping until he found what he was looking for, then handed it to me. I stared at the picture. It showed a model with her back turned to the camera. All you could see was her bare shoulders and long blonde hair, and scattered through the strands were lilies, roses and wildflowers.
For the briefest second I thought, she looks like me.
But that was probably just my ego playing tricks.
It had to be a coincidence.
I handed the phone to Conor, glancing at Dylan when I said, “It’s stunning.”
His expression was guarded as he studied me for a reaction. I kept my face blank and was relieved when a waitress came and took our food orders.
The mood lightened after that. The four of us ate, drank, shared jokes, and talked about the old days. It was comforting, sort of like visiting with family even though we weren’t. And I didn’t fail to notice the way Conor looked at Yvonne.
And my aunt was as oblivious as ever.
“This is fun. Are you having fun?” she asked as we paid a visit to the ladies’. Her blue eyes shone with a merry gleam, a result of two pints of beer. She was such a lightweight.
I, on the other hand, was pacing myself. I didn’t trust what I’d do to Dylan if I got too tipsy.
“I’m having lots of fun. So is Conor,” I replied and stepped inside a stall.
“He’s really grown up,” she commented from the stall next to mine. “Like, I barely recognised him.”
“Yep. And he’s still got eyes for you.”
She scoffed. “Oh, hush. He does not. I’m old enough to be his mother.”
“If you got pregnant at eight. It’s not that big of an age gap, Yvonne. Besides, I’m fairly sure you’re not even old enough to be a cougar.”
“Yes, well, I still think you’re wrong. That boy is thirty years old, gorgeous, and probably earns six figures a year. Whereas I’m thirty-nine, earn a moderate wage, and well past my prime. I’m pretty sure he could do better.”
“First of all, Conor is about as much of a boy as you are a girl. And second of all, don’t you dare. You’re gorgeous and smart and kind. If he can do better, I’ll eat my hat.”
“You’re not wearing a hat.”
“You’re tipsy. Shut up.”
We both emerged from our stalls and went to wash our hands. I caught Yvonne staring at me thoughtfully through the mirror and frowned. A moment ago, she’d been giddy, now she looked a little sad.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head and glanced away. “I was just thinking, if Sam were here he’d have loved tonight.”
My heart gave a hard thump. “He did love a good night out.”
“I miss him,” she whispered.
“Me, too.”
We both focused on washing our hands before Yvonne spoke, changing the subject. “Anyway, please tell me you’ve noticed how Dylan’s been looking at you
all night. The man is besotted.”
I frowned as I pumped some soap from the dispenser. “He said he wants to date me.”
“Awww. That’s so sweet. What did you say?”
I pursed my lips. “I told him I’m not ready.”
Yvonne was quiet a moment, obviously thinking hard about something. “Can I be frank?”
“Only if I can be Susan.”
She laughed and swiped me on the arm. “Be serious, Ev. I think after all these years you two deserve a second chance. The only time I’ve ever witnessed real love was you two as teenagers. It was clear how much you meant to each other.”
Her words and kind sentiment formed a knot in my throat, and I suddenly felt very emotional. She was right. It had been true love, and if things had been different we might’ve been blissfully happy together.
It was difficult to say yes to trying again, especially when I couldn’t stop thinking about all the years we’d lost.
But maybe I should. If we really were meant to be, it’d be a worse tragedy to waste any more time. I walked out of the bathroom in a tailspin. Dylan and Conor were still sitting in the booth, chatting casually. When Dylan looked up, a smile on his face that was all for me, my heart caught in my throat.
Over by the stage, people were dancing jigs to the live music.
“We should join them,” Conor said, standing and offering his arm to Yvonne. She took it, and he led her to the dance floor. I stood in front of Dylan and his smile grew fonder.
“I guess you want to dance, too.”
I grinned. “Oh, go on. You’ve twisted my arm.”
Dylan shook his head and led me over. He held me close as the music thumped around us. It was traditional, with a punk edge. A flash of Yvonne’s red dress caught my eye, and I saw her and Conor laughing as they butchered a jig.
“Come here,” Dylan whispered and pulled me closer.
His lips brushed along my cheek and I suppressed a tremble at the feather-light sensation. I fell against him, knees weak, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
“I missed you,” he went on sadly. “For so long I’ve missed you.”
I turned my head into his neck and pressed my lips to his skin. “I missed you, too.”
I felt a shudder run through him, my name a rasp on his tongue. “Evelyn.”
He ran his hand from my shoulder, down my back to rest to just above my backside. We stayed like that for a while, not really dancing but holding each other while all around us people moved. I pulled away from him when Yvonne tapped me on the shoulder.
“Conor and I are going to get more drinks. You want anything?”
“Yeah, get me a vodka and Coke,” I replied.
I definitely needed it.
One drink led to another, and another, and before I knew it I was drunk as a skunk. So much for staying level-headed. Dylan’s hand rested on my thigh as the four of us took a taxi back to his and Conor’s place. It was two in the morning, but none of us were ready to say goodnight.
We tumbled into the house, a messy, drunken riot. Conor fiddled with the sound system, and Of Monsters and Men “Little Talks” came on way too loud. He and Yvonne started dancing giddily, while I wandered into the kitchen to find some water. I grabbed a bottle from the fridge when Dylan came up and wrapped his arms around me from behind.
“Stay the night,” he whispered low.
“I won’t let Yvonne go home on her own.”
I heard rather than saw his smirk. “I’ve a feeling she won’t be sleeping in her own bed tonight.”
I twisted in his arms, trying to formulate thoughts past a haze of vodka. “Dylan . . . you and me . . . we . . . aren’t having sex.”
“But we’re so good at it,” he whined charmingly and tickled my hips. I laughed and struggled out of his hold. I made sure there was at least a foot of space between us when I pointed my finger at him.
“I’m serious. It’s way too soon.”
His smile slowly transformed into a look of passion. “You’ve been mine since the beginning of time, Ev. It’s never too soon.”
“We weren’t around at the beginning of time,” I argued and stumbled away from the fridge. I wandered into the living room and fell onto the couch. I lay there, staring at Yvonne and Conor acting silly when Dylan appeared in front of me.
He sat down and pulled the water bottle from my grasp. He took a swig then muttered quietly, “Feels like we were.”
“Don’t think you can charm me with your romantic ways, O’Dea, because I’m wise to it.”
He chuckled and dropped his head to rest on my shoulder. “Oh Ev, you know me too well.”
He joined me in watching Conor and Yvonne. “I think it’d make me happy if they got together,” he said after a few quiet moments.
“Everybody loves a good caterpillar to butterfly story,” I replied.
“Stop. Now I’m just picturing Conor’s face on a butterfly,” Dylan chuckled, and for some reason I thought it was the funniest thing ever. Obviously, my drunk self had a very basic sense of humour.
“What are you two laughing at?” Conor asked as he and Yvonne came to join us.
“You’re such a pretty butterfly, Conor,” I said and his brows furrowed.
“If you say so.”
“He’s more like a panther, a sexy panther,” Yvonne blurted, and I knew she’d be embarrassed when she remembered saying that in the morning.
He shot her a flirty look. “If I’m a panther, you’re a fox.”
“Rawrrr,” she growled. “Hold on, what sound does a fox make?” She was officially suffering from ‘too much alcohol and dancing with a younger man all night’ syndrome.
“Okay, I think it’s bedtime,” Dylan announced, standing from the couch. “Ev, you can stay in my room. Conor, Yvonne’s staying with you, right?”
Conor opened his mouth to answer in what I suspected was a resounding yes, when my aunt butted in. “What? No. No way. This house is huge, there must be spare bedrooms.” Maybe she wasn’t as drunk as I thought.
“There are,” Dylan said, “but they aren’t made up.”
“You can have my bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch,” Conor offered kindly.
She waved him away. “No, I couldn’t possibly—”
“It’s no trouble, I mean it.”
Okay, someone needed to take control of this situation. “I tell you what. Why don’t Yvonne and I sleep in Dylan’s room, and Dylan, you can bunk up with Conor for the night. That way everybody gets a bed.”
Dylan grabbed my hand, pulling me close. There was warning in his tone. “Evelyn.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Yvonne said, happy now.
Dylan let out the surrendering sigh of a man who knew he wasn’t getting laid. “I’ll go grab you both some T-shirts to sleep in.”
“I’ll get one for Yvonne, Dylan,” Conor was quick to offer. God. No doubt he wanted that visual to last. Yvonne in one of his shirts.
Dylan cast him an arched look but didn’t argue. He tugged on my hand and led me upstairs to his room, where he pulled two T-shirts out of the dresser. I plucked one from his hold, recognising it instantly. “Oh my God, I remember this.” It was the exact same dark green Oasis T-shirt he’d worn when we were teenagers. “I can’t believe you still have it.”
Without thinking, I pulled my blouse up over my head and replaced it with the T-shirt. The room went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I glanced at Dylan and his gaze darkened. He’d obviously caught a glimpse of my bra.
“Your boobs have gotten bigger,” he commented.
I arched a brow as I tried not to blush. “They have not.”
“Yes, they have. Want me to prove it?”
“Not if proving it involves you copping yourself a feel,” I said, narrowing my gaze in playful suspicion. I really, really wanted him to cop a feel.
“Damn, foiled at the first hurdle.”
I laughed, shucked off my jeans and climbed onto the bed. His navy duvet set
felt cool and soft, probably Egyptian cotton. I laid my head against the pillow and closed my eyes. I was so tired, and the alcohol pulled me under.
I snapped alert and opened my eyes when I heard the slow scrape of Dylan’s hand run across his stubble. He stared at me like I was a very tempting slice of chocolate cake.
Unconsciously, I wet my lower lip with my tongue.
“Fuck it,” he swore and a second later he was on me. Before I had time to react, his mouth met mine, and my brains cells shut off. He cupped my jaw, and kissed me deeply with tongue. I wrapped my legs around his waist and his erection pressed between my thighs. I huffed a needy whimper and pulled him closer. He kissed me like he was already inside me. I clawed and pulled at his shirt buttons, needing them open. It was the sweetest relief when I finally got his chest bare and ran my hands down his smooth, hard abs. He might not have been a fan of the gym like Conor, but his body was absolutely one of my favourite things.
I’d never tire exploring the pathways of his skin.
“Oh, God. Sorry,” came Yvonne’s voice.
I pulled my mouth from Dylan’s. My aunt stood in the doorway, hand covering her eyes. I’d find it adorable if I wasn’t feeling so cock-blocked. Or well, vagina-blocked I guess. I dropped my head onto the pillow and burst out laughing.
“Go to sleep, you’re drunk,” Dylan whispered in my ear before he climbed off the bed. I noticed Yvonne wore a grey T-shirt Conor must’ve given her, but I didn’t comment on it.
Dylan shot me one last hot look, a look that said next time, then closed the door behind him. I sighed and got up to use the bathroom. I splashed water over my face, having sweated off most of my make-up from earlier, and gargled with some of Dylan’s mouthwash. I needed to get his taste out of my mouth, erase it from lips. I felt so aroused, so hot and bothered. I definitely wouldn’t sleep with his kiss flavouring my lips. There wasn’t much I could do about his smell though. This was his room, and it was everywhere. It was just as much a comfort as it was torture.
And I wondered, if my aunt hadn’t interrupted us, would we have gone all the way?