“May I help you, Ms. Lewis?”
Rachel uncrosses her ankles and stands up straighter, adjusting her skirt before turning around to give me a look that if I didn’t know any better, would make me think that she was the love child of Phoebe and Satan.
From somewhere in his office, Dylan asks, “Katy, is that you?”
Seemingly, my impromptu intervention worked, because Rachel says good-bye to him, but not before she lets us all know—and by all, I’m pretty sure it is for my benefit only—that he should call her later tonight. Then, as she struts right by me, she whispers for only me to hear, “He’s all yours.”
“Ms. Lewis?” Phoebe asks once Rachel is completely gone.
I struggle to make my next move, so rattled with nerves and anxiety that I don’t respond. I stand there like a deer in headlights. Because what did I just do? More importantly, why did I just do it?
How am I supposed to act around him now?
Admit it, Katy, you’re officially jealous.
“I can’t be,” I mutter out loud to myself.
“Mr. Sterling,” Phoebe says. “I believe your friend is incapacitated at the moment. Please retrieve her.”
It’s like I’m there but not there. It’s as if I’m hyperaware that my body and mind are all connected like they teach you in grade school: The knee bone’s connected to your thigh bone. The thigh bone’s connected to your hip bone.
The lyrics dance around in my head until Dylan appears in his doorway. I forget the song and focus solely on him and . . . Jesus, his eyes are so amazingly beautiful. Like two emerald pools to get lost in forever and ever and a day.
“Katy?”
I smile at him, trying my hardest not to let it show that what I did with Rachel was complete sabotage. The smile stretches on and on, making me feel like my face might split in two if I don’t stop anytime soon.
“Hey, so did you read the article?” I ask, pretending like nothing happened. Still smiling like a loon. “I sent it over to you.”
He adjusts his glasses while looking at the carpet and then back up at me, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I know you sent it . . . like two minutes ago. I was busy.”
“Do you mind if I sit in while you read it?” I ask.
He thinks about it for a second, then says, “Sure, come in.”
Dylan steps aside to let me walk into his office, where I sit in one of his leather wingback chairs as he closes the door. They’re closer to the floor-to-ceiling windows that line his office on the far side and overlook downtown Fort Lauderdale. The view is breathtaking, and I’m completely wrapped up in it while I hear him get settled behind his desk again. It’s enough to distract me from the overwhelming feeling that I’m coming across like an idiot and helps to calm my nerves.
After a few moments of silence, he says, “It’s good, Katy. Do you want to run it as is? Or do you want to add anything else to it?”
Still looking out the window, I tell him to run it as is.
Then I hear him stand up and walk over to me. He crouches beside the chair and waves his hand in front of my face to get my attention.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I think I’m really tired or something. It’s been a long few days.”
He stands up and then leans against the window, putting his hands in his pants pockets and crossing his legs at the ankles. This makes me cringe every single time he does it. Because I don’t care if they are the sturdiest windows in the free world, they’re freaking windows! They can shatter into pieces and down goes Dylan, flying to the ground.
I go back to staring out the window, keenly aware that he’s watching me. I search myself for the answer to what brought me over to his office in the first place. Is it that I’m truly jealous of Rachel? Or is it something more than that? Has Mimi been right all this time about Dylan caring about me a lot more than he’s let on? Hell, maybe she’s been right about me carrying some sort of torch for him too. Do I? I feel like the world’s biggest jerk, but I don’t even know if that’s true. All this time he’s been right there, always supporting me, always caring about me . . . and vice versa. How do I know where the friendship ends and something else begins?
The questions come one right after the other and not one answer is clear. Which scares me to death. Because if I lose Dylan . . . I don’t know what I’d do.
Out of nowhere, he asks, “Is it about Conner?”
“Huh?” I look up at Dylan. His face is expressionless, as usual. Which makes this all even more confusing.
“Does the way you’re acting have anything to do with Conner?”
“Why would you think that?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that you don’t talk about him easily with me. You’ve never been that way before.”
Is that true? If it is, it’s not intentional. In the past, I’ve been able to talk about exes openly with him. Although with my last boyfriend, Bailey the dream killer, it became a little difficult toward the end of our relationship. Because Dylan didn’t care for Bailey one bit, I purposely withheld a lot of details from him, knowing that it would only make him upset. But even I have to admit that the timing of Conner’s visit is a bit too much for me to handle. Even though I’m usually able to compartmentalize each part of my life, this predicament is making it nearly impossible for me to think straight half the time. As evidenced by the Rachel debacle a few minutes ago. The normal Katy wouldn’t toy with the idea of doing something so crazy as purposely keeping her from him. Who in their right mind would?
Then, for whatever reason, I decide to test the boundaries with Dylan. It’s not my finest moment, but something in me wants to prove that I’m not jealous of Rachel . . . that I don’t want Dylan in any other way than a friend.
“Actually, yeah, there is something going on with Conner, but I’m not sure you’re going to want to hear about it. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
His jaw tightens, and then almost as quickly as it happens, he releases the tension around his face and smiles halfheartedly. “I’m sure it’s not that embarrassing.”
I lean forward in my seat. “Do you promise not to laugh?”
He runs his finger up and then across his heart.
I can just stop talking and end it right here. I can pretend that I’m not the least bit curious as to what he’ll think or say. But the irrational side of me wants to push the boundaries.
“I don’t think I’m that kissable.”
Dylan nearly chokes and starts to cough, covering it up. “What did you say?”
“Dylan, I’m serious. There must be something I’m doing wrong because Conner won’t kiss me. I thought it was the perfect moment the other day, but nope, he didn’t do it. So it must be me.”
“It’s not you,” he says and then runs a hand down his face as if it will help to clear his thoughts. “Maybe he’s just nervous around you. Did you ever think of that?”
“I guess. But what if—”
“No, Katy, there is no what if. Trust me, he’s probably nervous.”
I’m standing and take a step toward him before I can change my mind. The look on his face is somewhere between trancelike and confused. In turn, he stands up straighter and pulls his body away from the window.
“Can you tell me if I did something wrong?” I ask in as friendly a voice I can muster. “Like do I have bad breath?”
“How can I tell you if you did something wrong?”
As soon as he says this, my meaning clicks for him by the look of surprise on his face. Which is better for me, so I don’t have to come right out and explain.
“Just tell me if I did something wrong, okay?”
Dylan stays completely still and quiet. If I couldn’t see the steady beat of his pulse on the side of his neck, I would swear that he was dead. It’s bad enough that my heart is jackhammering away inside its cage in my chest, making it nearly impossible to stay as calm on the outside as I’m trying to be in front of him.
It’s a test, tha
t’s all this is. Get it over with so you can move on.
I’m thinking this while reaching out to take Dylan’s hands in mine. He doesn’t resist, so that’s good. Then he lets me position them on my waist, leaving them there when I take my hands away. I feel a charge of excitement run through me at the warmth of his hands against my body. And it frightens me a little. So I keep my eyes trained on his throat and watch in fascination as it bobs up and then down, as if he is swallowing a breath. Not having to look in his eyes is enough to propel me an inch forward and loop my arms around his neck.
“Katy?”
He says this so quietly that I can’t tell if it’s a plea or a question. So I move closer until our bodies are pressed together, like we’re about to start a slow dance. I’ve finally been able to clear my mind of all stray thoughts and focus on this moment, right here, right now, that I know will change everything. But I still can’t gather the nerve to look up at him, because if I do, I already know I won’t be able to stop.
In a voice so low, I ask, “If you were this close to me, like you are now, would you want to kiss me?”
He doesn’t answer, but I can tell that his breathing is becoming more rapid by the way his chest rises and falls. So I ask him again.
It’s then he moves his hand off my waist and underneath my chin to tip my face up to look at him. He skims over my features with his eyes until reaching my lips, where he holds them in his gaze for a moment too long to be considered merely friendly.
Then quietly, he says, “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I would kiss you.”
For a split second, I want him to kiss me right now. The feeling is so overwhelming that my lips actually ache with the need to have his mouth against mine. And for a second or two, I sense that he’s struggling with the same thought. But then Dylan drops his hands away and lets them fall to his sides as if remembering the boundaries of our relationship. I step back and smile as best I can while a hurricane of emotion rolls inside of me.
The silence between us grows thicker with unanswered questions while I walk backward. I move farther and farther away from him, then my back finally hits his office door. My body rests against it for a second or two until I reach behind me to turn the knob. I already know that when I walk out of this room, the friendship I have with Dylan will not be the same. I also know that the look on his face is one of the saddest I’ve ever seen on him. And it confirms everything I didn’t want to believe until today.
He’s in love with me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
For the past few hours I’ve been sitting on my couch, staring into oblivion and replaying over and over what happened with Dylan earlier today.
When I practically stormed out of his office, I stopped at my desk, collected my things, and mumbled something about going home sick to the nearest body, who was shocked to hear this. Me taking any kind of sick time is unheard of. I report to work and do my job even if I’m on my deathbed. But I needed to think. And to think clearly, I didn’t want to be anywhere around Dylan, so I went home.
My cell phone has been vibrating left and right since I got here, but I haven’t bothered to check it. I’m afraid to see if he’s reached out to me. I’m terrified that I won’t get my daily text. Because as silly as those texts are, they mean something to me.
It must be close to midnight when Mimi’s keys jangle in the front door of the apartment. She takes one look at me on the couch, drops all of her things, and sits down beside me.
“What the hell happened that you’re sitting here in the dark?”
I look around. “The kitchen light is on.”
“You know what I mean. Is everything all right?”
“I almost kissed Dylan today.”
I let that hang in the air between us. Because it’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. Replaying it over in my head is one thing, but to admit it to someone else is quite another.
Mimi sits up as straight as an arrow and her mouth falls open in shock. “What?! How did that happen? And didn’t you almost kiss Conner a couple of days ago?”
“Almost. I said I almost kissed him.”
“Fine, you almost kissed him. How did that come to be? Did you fall into his lap or something?”
Tugging some hair behind my ear, I nervously tell her the story from start to finish. I don’t bother to hide any of it, including the Rachel part, because what’s the point? Mimi will get it out of me anyway, eventually.
When I’m done, I finally say, “I’m a horrible person, Mimi. I shouldn’t have done that . . . any of it.”
She hasn’t said a word since I started, so I look at her from the corner of my eye. She’s bouncing in her seat with excitement, and she’s covering her mouth with her hand, looking like someone who just walked into their own surprise party.
“Would you please say something already!”
Her hand falls away from her mouth to reveal her lips in a perfect O shape. Then, after a few more silent seconds, she says, “I can’t believe you had a fucking John Hughes moment today.”
I’m about to ask what she means by this but she keeps on ranting.
“Do you know how many women wait to experience a John Hughes moment in their lives? It’s probably in the millions. And you . . . you, of all people, not only pulled a John Hughes moment, you pulled one of the top three possible John Hughes moments to reenact.” She reaches over in the middle of her speech and covers my hand with hers, then taps it gently with a mother’s touch. “I’m impressed, Katy. But I’m also a little mad at you. Because I told you to be careful with Dylan . . . and the John Hughes moment you picked was probably the worst one to use on him.”
“What are you even talking about?” I ask.
She’s already up and running to her purse on the floor by the front door. When she’s back, she’s pressing some buttons on her phone and telling me to be quiet. “Shush! I need to find something.”
“I’m in the middle of a crisis, Mimi. Your Twitter account can wait.”
She freezes midtype and turns her attention to me. “I’ll be tweeting about this shit later, for sure. But right now, I’m looking something up for you.”
Then she’s back typing away, and when she finds what she was looking for, she grabs my arm and pulls me closer to her. We’re huddled over her phone while a scene plays out from a movie I haven’t seen in years called Some Kind of Wonderful.
After the scene is over, I turn to Mimi and ask, “So I’m Watts in this scenario? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Girl, I think you might as well have Watts stamped across your forehead. But you’ve also got a little of Keith going on too.”
“Keith? How is that even possible?”
“Bear with me for a minute, okay?” She gets up from the couch and stands in front of me. Her hands go up, waving back and forth like she is going to do some kind of alternate version of show and tell. “Are you ready to have your mind blown?”
I have to laugh at her enthusiasm. “Sure, hit me.”
“So, you’ve got Keith over here,” she says and motions to her left. “He’s been infatuated with Miss Amanda Jones pretty much all of his natural born life. Key word in that sentence is infatuated . . . because hello! Katy, let’s face it, you’re infatuated with Conner, so that one is easy to figure out.”
“I was infatuated with him when we were kids, not anymore.”
“Yeah, right, whatever you say. Moving on,” she says, dismissing me. “Over here we’ve got Miss Amanda Jones.” She pouts a little and with a whiny voice adds, “Poor little Amanda comes from the wrong side of the tracks and just wants to fit in with the rich kids. But for her to do that, she puts up with an utter dick . . . Hardy.”
She freezes and looks like she has an epiphany. “What now?” I ask.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod! I am a genius! Rachel is Hardy!” she yells at the top of her lungs. “This is perfect!”
I rub my face with my hands, at this point lost in w
hatever she’s trying to explain to me. “Mimi, get to the point already.”
“Okay, so Watts is in love with Keith, but Keith is infatuated with Amanda, who’s a bitch with a heart of gold and turns out to be a halfway decent human being.”
“Are you saying that Rachel is a nice person?”
She puts her hands on her hips like the answer is obvious and says, “No. She’s still a bitch. This is a movie we’re talking about, Katy, not real people.”
“But you just said I’m Watts and Keith and Rachel’s Hardy and Amanda . . . wait, who is Amanda in all of this?”
Mimi thinks for a second on this, the wheels spinning in her head, trying to place this character into my actual life. “She’s a metaphor.”
I’m doubled over laughing and can’t stop. A metaphor? A metaphor for what? So I ask her, because I’m sure she’ll come up with something.
“She’s a metaphor for all the things you can’t have. Wait,” she says suddenly. “No, no, no, that’s not it. She’s a metaphor for all the things you want but are afraid to ask for. Like Conner . . . like Dylan.”
“Why would I be afraid?” I ask, my laughter dying down. “And what am I asking for?”
“To be loved by one of them, duh. Come on, Katy, you have to keep up or all of this is pointless.”
“Fine, go ahead.” I wave my hand toward her. “You have the floor.”
“All right. So Watts, in helping Keith—her best bud who she’s in love with—get with Amanda, lets it slip to Keith that what he’s been looking for is not in Amanda but in her. And that Watts is his one and only . . . his soul mate, his forever.” Mimi walks back to the couch and sits down, then she takes a big gulp of air. “Dylan let you pretend to practice or not practice a kiss on him because he’s in love with you and would do anything to be close to you in that way. And you went ahead with it because deep down, I think you’re really in love with Dylan and don’t want to admit it. Then there’s Conner, who is your first real crush from forever ago. Is he hot? Sure. But he’s not the one. He’s your ‘what if?’ . . . which is a big difference. Naturally, there is a part of you that wants to see what it’s like to be with him or what could have been, but I guarantee that you’ll be disappointed. Because in your heart of hearts, it’s Dylan who is front and center. Oh, and Rachel and Hardy can go fuck themselves, by the way.”
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