When I tell Dylan, he takes a seat on the sand and gestures me to join him. “Do you remember her bringing you to social services?”
“No.” I stop blinking as I stare at the waves crashing onto the shore, and then I look out further at the surfers trying to stay on their feet. “I don’t. It sounds weird, but all I remember is her perfume and Malibu. My therapist thought I probably blocked out a lot of my childhood memories. She says that’s normal when there’s been a trauma.”
We lie back on the sand with our hands entwined, and I close my eyes and allow myself to dream.
And I hear myself say, “You want to stay here tonight?”
Dylan doesn’t flinch although I’m pretty sure he had to work at it. “Sure.”
“Because of your parents’ visit,” I say quickly.
“Right.”
“So.” I start talking very fast. “At your house?”
“Yeah. We can drive by my other place tonight, since we’ll have time now, and I can show you where I actually live.”
“And I want to stop by and see Bessie and Balaster again.”
“Why don’t you bring them with us for the night?”
“Dylan, they’ll get fur everywhere. And your place is so nice—I don’t want them to ruin it.”
“I don’t care. God, I bought the house to live in it. Let’s actually make it look lived in. It’s just been sitting there like a freaking monument.”
I squeeze his hand.
We pull off at Palisades Park in Santa Monica on our way to dinner. It’s a beautiful evening, and I lean on the fence by the overlook and stare down at the ocean below. I love the smell of sage that’s so strong this time of year. I love the rose bushes lining the walkway. No one is nearby, and except for a lone woman seeking a quick picture with Dylan, nobody approaches us at all. His arms are around me, my head’s on his shoulder, and right about now, life feels more perfect than it ever has.
“Look.” Dylan’s turned his head to the right.
I glance over and see a bride and groom as well as plenty of photographers.
“Lots of people get married down here by the water. It’s where I was going to have my wedding when I was engaged.”
I try to suck that last part back in, but it’s too late.
Dylan tenses behind me.
“You—” He pauses for breath. “You were engaged?”
I sigh. “It was no big deal.”
“Marriage was no big deal?” His voice is low and strained.
He takes a seat on an empty bench a few feet away, and I reluctantly join him.
“Of course marriage is a big deal,” I say quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I just didn’t care for Joel is all.”
“Well, why’d you get engaged to him then?”
Dylan’s possessive tone would annoy me if it were coming from any other man, but from him? I enjoy the low growl in his voice as he asks me the question. I bite back a smile at the way he’s glaring at me but pretending not to be. And I put my hand in his and tell him the raw truth.
“Because I was so lonely.” My eyes fill with tears without my meaning to. “I missed having a family. I always kind of feel that emptiness, and I probably always will. And of course, it’s no excuse for getting into a bad relationship. But I don’t know—Joel asked me to marry him after a couple months of dating, and I jumped.” It was the longest I’d ever been with someone. It was also one of the worst jokes I’ve ever played on myself. Because I didn’t love him, not even a little. “Looking back, I can’t believe I ever convinced myself to say yes. I really can’t. I sure as hell didn’t love him. Or him me.”
Dylan squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry you were lonely.”
“Me too.” I look into his dark eyes focused on me, and I know he’s still feeling vulnerable. “It wasn’t something big. There was no ring—not that that matters obviously—but we had no love or commitment is what I mean. We were drunk, we had sex, and he said, ‘so you wanna get hitched?’”
I sigh. I can still remember the moment. Joel said the words exactly like that as if we were going to take the car in for an oil change or something.
Dylan exhales. “Okay. I get it now.”
“I meant it when I said I was never in love. Promise.”
He nods. “I believe you. I understand loneliness, too.”
I break into a laugh. “Despite all the obvious ‘run now’ signs, I had my wedding dress picked out.”
“Can I see it?”
“I never bought it.”
I did put down a fifty percent deposit, but I got the lady to refund me half the money. So I was only out some of my savings, and I worked extra that week to earn it back. “I returned it to a little bridal shop here in Santa Monica.”
“Well, we’re right in town. Let’s go to the store and you can show me the dress.”
I drop my chin onto his shoulder. “Are you nuts? We’re not engaged! And I don’t even know if I’d still like the dress.”
I’m lying about that part, though. I know I’d still love the dress. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever tried on. And it fit me. The saleswoman said it was very rare to try on a wedding dress and have it fit flawlessly, just like that. But this one did.
“The darn thing fit me. You know?” I say to Dylan. “And I don’t get that. I know Joel didn’t fit with me. So why the dress? Seemed like a cruel joke from God or something.”
“Right dress, wrong guy?” He stands up. “Let’s go see it.”
I’m scared to bring Dylan into Twin Sisters Bridal Shop. He and I have known each other for just over a week, and now we’re going wedding dress shopping?
I march into the shop, hardly holding the door for him behind me. As soon as we get inside, I walk straight to the rack where I remembered the dress was and point the gown out to him quickly.
“See, there it is. Pretty, huh?” I turn to leave before the saleswoman approaches.
“You want to try it on for me?” he asks.
I glance at his face, but he’s not revealing much. His expression is neutral, and if it weren’t for the way his piercing dark eyes are pinning me in place, I wouldn’t know he had any emotion at all about this whole weird shopping trip.
“You know we fly back to Tucson tomorrow right?” I say.
“Yes.”
“And you know our ‘thing’ together, whatever you want to call it, is scheduled to end the next day.”
“Yes.”
I sigh. “You’re crazy. You know that?”
“I’ve been told that before. My high school coach told me I was crazy to dream of playing football for a living, in fact.” He grins at me. “Guess he was wrong, huh?”
I glare at him as he calls out to the saleswoman.
This moment is quickly getting away from me, and I’m still not sure how. I used to be so good at standing my ground and staying hardened.
“You’re making me feel weak,” I say to Dylan.
“In the knees?” He kisses me.
“In the will.”
“I feel ridiculous,” I say from the changing room. “This is so stupid, Dylan.”
“Do you have it on?”
I can tell that he’s right next to the curtain. If I reached out, I could probably pull him inside the changing room with me. That could be fun.
I refocus as I take a look in the mirror. I always loved vintage, and this dress fits the bill perfectly. The beading on the neckline is dainty and subtle, and the ivory and champagne color blend is gorgeous. It’s a romantic antique-style gown with lace trim, long illusion sleeves, and a deep V-neckline. It has a princess feel to it—but not Disney, more like Princess Grace. It doesn’t feel boho but 1940s vintage, which is exactly what I wanted. And the satin lining is so comfortable; I could actually imagine wearing this dress for an entire day and not wanting to tear it off my body.
So. It’s still a beautiful dress. The difference now is a beautiful guy is standing about two feet away from me, and he says he love
s me. Which makes this wedding gown feel a whole lot different and a whole lot scarier.
My one relief is that the saleswoman isn’t the same one who waited on me last time.
I step out from the changing room and right into Dylan’s arms. He hugs me back.
“This is nice,” he says into my hair. “But I can’t see the dress very well.”
“I know.” I pull away from him and walk up onto the platform with all the mirrors staring at me from every direction. “Well, here it is.”
Dylan stares at me for an uncomfortably long time without speaking. The silence grows so extended that I start to walk off the platform and back into the dressing room where I can hide my face.
This was a stupid idea, but I already knew that. He’s the one who insisted on coming here.
“Jasalie, wait.” Dylan catches me by the wrist and walks back up onto the platform with me. He turns us toward the front mirror.
I stare at the reflection of the two of us, him on my right, slightly behind me. He’s got on jeans and a sweater, and I’m wearing a formal gown, but it doesn’t change the picture—we look perfect together.
“What do you think?” he says in my ear.
I swallow hard and look down. “Don’t know.”
“I do,” he says, still in my ear. “You look beautiful. You were right. This is the perfect dress for you.”
I raise my head, and our eyes lock in the mirror.
“You look beautiful, too,” I say in a soft voice.
His lips part like he’s about to say something else. But then his expression changes, and he turns me to face him so he can put his mouth over mine. His tongue is everywhere, and I fist his wool sweater in my hands and pull him against me.
We’re still kissing when the saleswoman comes around the corner. “Oh, what a perfect fit! Never seen anything like it.”
I break away from Dylan.
“When’s the big day?”
Flustered, I nearly topple off the platform. But Dylan grabs me around the waist and holds me steady.
“We don’t have a date set yet,” he says calmly. “We’re just in the beginning stages.”
“How exciting,” the woman says. “And to have the dress chosen so early on! That’s one of the biggest stresses out of the way.”
“That is a relief,” Dylan agrees.
“Where did you two meet?” She doesn’t seem to have a clue who he is.
“Arizona,” Dylan says. “In the desert.”
I’ve lost the power of speech and nearly of air.
“So romantic,” the saleswoman says. “Congratulations. You make quite the couple.”
My air has returned, and with it my ability to move. I smile at her and turn quickly to walk down the steps and into the dressing room where I don’t look at myself again until I have the dress off and my old jeans and sweater back on my body. That dress is too elegant for somebody like me. I don’t know whatever possessed me to try it on in the first place.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“I‘m full,” I say as we finish up our dinner at a Mexican restaurant overlooking the water in Marina Del Rey.
Dylan hands the waiter a wad of cash.
“Dylan, let me pay you for half.”
“Nope,” he says. “I invited you to L.A., and I know you weren’t necessarily thrilled with the idea, so this is my treat.”
We leave the table and walk toward the back exit. Dylan has a Dodgers hat on, pulled low in hopes of avoiding being recognized. It seems to have worked. Either that, or it’s the fact that the owner placed us in a booth so far removed from the rest of the room that we’re almost impossible to see.
“That’s the first time no one’s asked you for an autograph or a photo in all the restaurants we’ve been to together,” I say.
“Relief,” is all he says as he puts his arm around me. “Let’s go pick up your cats.”
Bessie and Balaster are in their carriers in the back seat when we reach Dylan’s downtown apartment for a quick tour before returning to Malibu. I’d snuck a note under Rosita’s door so she wouldn’t think they’d been kidnapped. She texted me five minutes later that she was in the laundry room and couldn’t believe she missed us.
Dylan pulls into the underground parking garage and opens his door.
“Should I leave the kitties in the car?” I ask him.
“Bring them in with us,” he says. “This parking lot is all underground. I wouldn’t want to leave them.”
He carries Bessie’s carrier and I hold Balaster’s as we walk through the lobby toward the elevators.
“Good evening, Mr. Wild,” the doorman says to Dylan before turning to me. “Madam, good evening.”
“Hello, Raul.” Dylan smiles. “How are you?”
Raul’s gaze darts to the cats in their carriers, but Dylan keeps walking, so I follow.
“Are pets allowed here?” I ask once the elevator doors close behind us.
“I don’t know,” Dylan says. “We’re not staying overnight, though.”
When we reach the top floor, Dylan leads me out of the elevator and down the hall to the very end.
“You’ve got a corner apartment! Those are the best ones.” I’ve always wanted one of those.
Dylan unlocks the door. “Yeah. It’s cool.” He ushers me ahead of him and puts Bessie’s carrier on the floor before unzipping it. “Go ahead. Put Balaster down anywhere.”
As soon as I open the carrier, Balaster’s on the move. In unison, he and Bessie go skidding across the hardwood floors and right up onto the beautiful black couch in the center of Dylan’s living room.
“No!” I race over to grab them, but Dylan touches my arm.
“It’s fine, babe, really. I like having them here. A little fur is the last thing I’m worried about.”
He takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom. The massive bed is covered with a maroon and beige comforter, and the headboard is made of a dark fabric. The ceilings are cathedral, giving the room the appearance of grandeur.
“Wow. This is amazing.”
“I’ve wanted to take you up here since we met.”
I look out his floor-to-ceiling window. “You can see all of Los Angeles from here.”
Dylan stands next to me. “I’ve always loved that part of it. I’ve been here five years, so it’s been like home.”
“You sounded like you wanted to leave it when you were talking earlier.”
“Yeah.” He takes a seat on the bed and pulls me onto his lap. “I’m ready for something a little quieter. Malibu’s more my speed right now.”
“I’m sure you’ve had lots of women up here already,” I tease him.
Okay, sort of tease him. I think I felt more comfortable in Malibu where at least I knew he didn’t spend much time.
He kisses my cheek tenderly as I put my arms around him. “Literally every woman I’ve dated was a temporary distraction,” he says. “From injuries, from stress, from loneliness. I actually didn’t understand love. Annabella was the only woman I was with for more than a few weeks, and like I told you, we were more good friends than anything else. I didn’t know what real love felt like in the least.”
I trace my initials on his chest. “I guess we’re more similar than I realized, Dylan Wild.”
He takes my hand in his and plants a kiss on my palm. “You’ve had to follow an unbelievable road to get where you are. I’d never compare my life to yours. But I guess we aren’t as different as we thought.”
I lean in and kiss him. When things turn passionate, I pull back and look at him for a second, and then I gently press him back against the pillows. He resists me at first—I know he’s not used to giving up control and being vulnerable.
But I persist until he relaxes. Then I lean in and take off his shirt, pants, and shoes.
And boxers.
When I abruptly lean over his waist and put my mouth on him, he calls out my name in surprise.
“Jasalie, you don’t have to…”
&
nbsp; I know I don’t have to. That’s one of the things I love about Dylan. He never demands anything from me. And in return, he gives me more love and affection and care than I’ve ever had in my life.
But right now, all I want is his hard length in my mouth. I shush him as I kneel between his legs. I lick him gently at first before I suck hard, and then I continue in a way where I think I’m going to lose my mind with lust.
I normally hate giving a guy head. Loathe it. The joke about women giving blowjobs for no reason other than to shut their boyfriend up? I should have invented that joke.
But when my lips land on the soft, velvety tip of Dylan’s erection, I actually do it because I want to. I want to take him this way. I want him to buck off the bed like he’s doing right now, and I want him to come in my mouth so I can taste him.
He gets high off what we’re doing, so high he’s moaning out my name in between a long string of curse words. And then…
He lets go.
“Christ, Jasalie. God, I’m gonna come—”
He tries to push my head away, but I hang on, and when he comes on my tongue his strangled sounds of bliss nearly send me into orbit.
I keep my eyes trained on his face and as he’s coming down, he gets emotional. He’s shaking and his eyes are filled with sadness.
I pull off of him and crawl up to his chest. He brings me close and kisses my lips.
And I forget where I am. I forget I’m in L.A. and that I said I’d never stay here with him. I forget why I ever said that in the first place. I can’t imagine ever being apart from this man.
“You’re the only woman who likes me as I am, for me,” he whispers.
I widen my eyes like I’m seeing him for the first time. “Do you feel you need to be perfect or no one will love you?”
Dylan tries to shrug off my question, but I take his face in my hands and force him to look at me.
“I don’t know.” He looks down.
“You’re shaking, honey.” I thread my fingers through his hair.
Dylan shuts his eyes. “I always tried to be perfect. It was just never enough.”
Dylan (Wild Men) Page 22