by M. Robinson
“Just fucking say it, Aubrey,” I interrupted, harsher than I intended.
She took a deep breath, slightly annoyed with the tone I dealt back, but the doubt was too big for her to swallow.
“Do you not like me?”
I wasn’t surprised in the least by what she wanted to know. She knew who I was, my reputation with girls. I’d become my worst damn nightmare overnight. I opened my mouth to say something, but for the first time in my life I didn’t know what to say.
“It’s okay if you don’t like me and just want to be friends. I could use more of those. I really like Half-Pint and your boys. Everyone has been really nice with welcoming me. I would hate to lose that if you don’t like me more than… a friend. I mean, I know I’m not like the girls you’re used to and I guess… that would be hard to let go of and stuff…”
I let her ramble, mainly because she seemed like she really needed to get it out. A part of me, the asshole part of me, thought she looked so fucking adorable being all exposed and shit, that I let her continue with her little monologue. If this was any other girl something like this would have had me running for the door and slamming it in her face, but not with her, she was different.
Never with her.
“Darlin,” I rasped all too soon, not ready for what I was going to confess. “I’m only leaving because I do like you.”
“What—”
With that I opened the door and left.
I drove around for I don’t know how long, listening to “The Thrill is Gone” by B.B. King on repeat. Etching the lyrics and beat into my mind as if I were the one singing them. It was dark by the time I made it back to the restaurant. I sat on the beach instead of going in to face the boys and their ridicule. The storm had come and gone, but the wind remained. I welcomed the cool breeze coming off the ocean. The sand was wet and hard beneath me, but I didn’t pay it any mind, there was too much on my mind to care.
“Hey,” Alex greeted, sitting beside me. She put a blanket around the both of us. “You’re going to get sick if you sit out here. By the look of the clouds, it’s going to rain again any second.”
“A little rain ain’t ever hurt nobody.”
I continued to stare out into the night as she glanced at the side of my face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’ to worry your pint-size head about.”
She fell quiet for a few minutes, leaning against my arm with her head on my shoulder.
“You remember that time you boys finally let me up into the tree house? When I found your stash of nudie magazines?” She blushed, saying the last part.
I chuckled, “Yeah.”
“The first time I saw Aubrey I thought she looked like one of those girls. I thought she was going to be a complete spoiled brat from California, or she was going to be dumb as rocks… you know, your usual type,” she teased, breaking a smile. “She wasn’t though. I liked her immediately. She was so sweet and down to earth. I’ve known you my entire life, I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at her, Dylan.”
I peered over at her for the first time, taking in everything she was saying.
“Your face lights up like in one of those movies you always make fun of. I like seeing you with someone who actually likes you too. Those other girls, they’re just using you. You’re as much of a game to them as they are to you. You do know that, right?” she questioned, her tone laced with determination.
I slightly nodded, my face suddenly serious.
“It’s okay to get to know someone before you sleep with them, Dylan.”
“What the fuck do you know about sleeping with someone, Half-Pint?” I roared, jerking back surprised.
“Nope. Not a chance. You do not get to flip this around on me. I know who you are. I know who all of you are. Let’s not pretend, okay? Not now. Out of all the boys, you have always been the one to hide yourself from me. I haven’t let it bother me. Do you know why? ‘Cause you love me. You love me enough to respect me.”
I pulled my hair away from my face, holding it back on the nook of my neck in a frustrated gesture.
“You respect her, too.”
We locked eyes.
“You respect her enough to not kiss her. To not touch her… to not do any of the things that make up who you think you are, Dylan McGraw. You may be crass and blunt, not caring about hurting other people’s feelings, but you’re still a good guy. We all know that, especially me.”
“How did you—”
“She told me.”
“What?” I narrowed my eyes at her with an intense stare. “She told you what?”
“She told me what I already knew. What I’ve always known. You do have a heart, but I’ll still pretend like you don’t already know that.”
I shook my head, letting a heavy breath escape. Finally admitting out loud and to myself, “I don’t want to hurt her. She’s been hurt enough. I also can’t stay away from her, Half-Pint. So I guess I’ll take her anyway I can.”
She stood up, hovering above me.
“Why don’t you let Aubrey decide that?” She reached for me.
“What if you’re wrong, Half-Pint? What if you’re wrong about me?”
She squatted in front of me, placing her hands on the sides of my face and spoke with conviction,
“I’m not.”
“I’m sorry, honey, I got stuck in a meeting. I know I was supposed to call you hours ago. How are you? How’s everything?” my Aunt Celeste asked when I answered her call.
“No worries. I’m fine. How are you?” I asked, trying to divert her attention away from my lie.
“Girl, don’t even try to pull that one on me. I know you better than that. What’s wrong? What happened? Who do I need to come beat up? Is it your mom? Honey, you know—”
“It’s not my mom,” I interrupted.
Getting off the couch, I muted the TV and began to pace the living room. I knew this was going to be a long conversation.
“Oh… it’s about a boy,” she stated with understanding.
I shook my head even though she couldn’t see me. “How do you know that?”
“Oh, honey, psssh, in life it’s either our moms or it’s our men. Now, come on, tell your favorite aunt what’s going on?”
“I wish I knew,” I grumbled, walking in the kitchen to grab a soda out of the fridge.
“Start from the beginning.”
I took a deep breath. “He’s an asshole,” I laughed.
“Oh, honey, they all are. That’s part of the appeal. Better for you to find that out sooner rather than later, when it hurts more. Now, keep going.”
“No, I mean like a real asshole, Aunt Celeste. He uses girls, sleeps around with everyone, and make’s no excuses for it. He’s blunt, rude, crude, and cocky as shit.”
“You just described my last few boyfriends. Any relation?”
We laughed. I knew she was trying to make me smile. I hopped up onto the counter, took a sip from my soda, and continued to describe Dylan.
“But he’s also deep in a weird, mysterious way. There’s so much more to him than what he lets people see. He says everything I need to hear in a few words. He’s honest, caring, and he doesn’t sugarcoat shit. He says what he needs to say. He’s the most real person I have ever met.”
“Then what’s the problem, honey?” she questioned, not understanding the issue at hand.
“I don’t think he likes me.”
“What do you mean? What’s not to like?”
“We’ve been hanging out for a month and nothing has happened. He holds my hand, opens my door, and kisses my forehead. He talks to me all the time, whether it’s at school, over the phone, or texting. Aunt Celeste, I think I’m in the friend-zone now or something,” I confessed.
“First off, since this isn’t about me, I’m going to let go of the fact that you’ve been hanging out with this boy for the last month, and I’m just now hearing about it. We will come back to that later.”
I chuckled. She always knew the right things to say to me, to get me to laugh and make me feel better.
“Honey, he definitely likes you plain and simple, no doubt about it.”
“Then why hasn’t he tried anything? He sleeps with anything that has a pulse, but he hasn’t even kissed me. He hasn’t even tried to. He has to know by now that I want him to!” I exclaimed, getting worked up over the whole situation again, like I did when he left. “He’s sending mixed signals, and I called him out on it. All he had to say was and I quote, ‘I’m leaving because I do like you.’ What the hell does that even mean? He wouldn’t even let me ask before he turned and left.”
“Your house?”
“Yes.”
“Your mom’s working?”
“You know she is. She’s always working.”
“Oh, honey, he is a keeper.”
“What?” I asked, utterly confused and surprised with her response.
“Long story short… he can’t keep his junk in his pants. Never has, am I right? He respects you enough to not tempt himself to not keep his junk in his pants. Understand?”
“That makes no sense,” I simply stated.
“That’s because you’re seeing it like a hormonal teenager. Take a step back. You’re different, honey. He knows that.”
“Oh…”
“There’s your crash course into a man’s psyche. You’re welcome!” she laughed. “Look, honey, I have to go. We’re on deadline with this marketing campaign, and my boss is riding my ass. I’ll be in meetings all night, so I’ll call you tomorrow. I’ll come to visit as soon as this merger is over in the next few weeks.”
“Okay. I love you. Thanks for listening.”
“I’m always here. No matter what, you know that. I love you, too. Tell your mom I said hello. Talk soon.”
“Bye.”
I hung up, and not even a second later the doorbell rang. I didn’t even have time to contemplate or take in what my Aunt Celeste alleged. I looked down at the time on my phone and it read almost ten pm. I hopped off the counter and made my way to the door.
“Who is it?” I called out.
“Your Prince-fucking-Charming.”
I chuckled with a confused expression on my face. Opening the door, I said, “Did you forget—”
The air was immediately knocked out of me from the impact of Dylan’s lips on mine. He didn’t falter, he parted his lips, beckoning me to follow and I did. His hands were on the sides of my face, pushing me back until I felt the stairs. My body fell back on them with Dylan’s falling on top of mine.
He wanted me.
He needed me.
He consumed me.
It was the scariest but most liberating feeling I had ever felt. Like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down, ready to jump. Not caring if there would be land or water beneath me.
I was ready to take the plunge.
With him.
My mind was scrambled with thoughts and emotions I couldn’t control, label, or even understand. It was one giant cluster-fuck of weeks of wanting to feel his lips on mine. I put my arms around his neck as he pushed me further into the steps, kissing me deeper, harder, and with more determination. I had never been kissed like that before. The passion radiated off of him. I didn’t even know kisses like that existed outside of the movies.
Something told me he didn’t either.
My chest rose and fell faster and faster with every slip of his tongue in my mouth. With each deep breath I took, with each caress of his fingers along my face, with each groan that escaped his mouth, with each heartbeat I felt against mine, with each… with each… with each…
I felt his a little bit more.
I wasn’t imagining it. He matched every beat, every moment, every feeling and emotion times ten. I was putty in his hands. He could mold me, build me, and roll me however he wanted.
In that moment, I would let him.
He suddenly lifted me off the stairs and carried me through the archway to the living room, gently laying me on the couch. His body hovered over mine, our lips never leaving one another’s. They continued to move together as if they were meant for each other.
It was unreal, but so fucking real…
He kissed me one last time, letting his lips linger for just a few seconds on top of mine. I instantly felt the loss when he set his forehead on mine. I could barely hear our heavy panting over our escalated hearts and minds.
They took over.
His hair framed my face again like it did on the boat. I knew right then and there that it was going to be my favorite thing ever. Feeling as if we were in our own little world, surrounded by nothing but our feelings for each other.
Where nothing else mattered.
No one.
He pushed the hair away from my face, and I desperately wanted to return the favor, but I didn’t. I wanted to stay lost in his eyes in that moment, savor the way he was looking at me, the way he felt on top of me, the way he pulled every sentiment from my body as if it belonged to him.
I never wanted it to end.
With his hands framed around my face, he kissed me again, slower, more delicate this time, less frantic and desperate, but with the same intensity and passion. When he pulled away, I whimpered as he let out a loud, massive groan, feeling his absence. I felt like I was going to scream, my mind already shouting on the inside, over and over again. It echoed through the walls, making its way into our hearts where we would forever remember this moment.
He took one last look into my eyes and leaned in toward my ear.
“You’re going to undo me,” he huskily whispered, rubbing his lips below my earlobe, causing tingles everywhere.
“And I’m going to let you.”
A few months had passed and spring was finally here.
Dylan and I were officially dating, spending every second we could with each other. We seemed to learn something new about one another with each passing day. It was interesting to peel back the different layers that made Dylan McGraw.
What made him happy, what made him smile, what made him laugh.
My personal favorite…
What pissed him off, which was pretty much everything. The boy had the temper of a two year old, making it known what he liked, what he tolerated, and what would make him flip the fuck out.
Alex was his Achilles heel, and I felt bad for whomever that girl fell in love with because those boys were going to tear him a new asshole. Never thinking it was one of their own.
The boys were more like brothers than friends. I had never seen a bond like that before. A brotherhood. They were all extensions of one another, and I often felt like I was dating a bit of all of them with the way they acted when they were all together.
His parents were his relationship role models, and I realized that on our first date when we danced under the stars on his parents’ sailboat. Moments after he shared how he watched them from afar, dancing to the same blues beat that surrounded us that night.
Then there was me…
McGraw was like Jekyll and Hyde. Acting one way when it was just us and another when people were around. It didn’t matter who it was. That icy prick demeanor immediately lifted around him as if he was the gasoline that lit his own flame. But when we were alone, he was very charming. He loved to cuddle with me and have his hair played with or his back scratched. Pretty much anything that involved my hands on him, he loved. He was extremely bright, knew all sorts of random facts about anything and everything. He enjoyed watching the news, Discovery or History channel, saying it was good to know what was going on in the world, to be prepared. He hated the unexpected.
He had to be in control.
His dad taught him how to use a gun for the first time when he was five. He told him he would rather Dylan know what it was and the power it had, than to be a curious little boy and hurt himself. It wasn’t a toy. It was protection. Dylan could shoot within the bull’s eye at a hundred yards without batting an eye. When I told him that
guns scared me, he simply stated,
“Best way to stop a bad guy with a gun, is with a good guy with a gun.”
The more I was around him, the more I wanted to be around him. He made me feel safe, and for the first time in a long time I wasn’t lonely anymore. I once read that some people are born lonely, like it’s this predisposition like your hair color, or your eye color, something we couldn’t control. Something we couldn’t understand.
It was just there.
I often felt I was one of those people, born to be alone in life. But when McGraw was around, the anxiety that I felt deep within my bones that strengthened over time, would disappear like it was never there to begin with.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we drove out of Oak Island.
“To the moon,” he said with a dead-serious face.
He loved to surprise me with all sorts of stuff. Bringing me flowers every few weeks when the others had died became part of his routine. When I called him out on it he simply said, “I like to see you smile.”
“South Port.”
“Why are we going to town?”
“Why is the sky blue, darlin’?”
He reached over and grabbed my hand, placing it in his lap. Every time we were in his Jeep my hand was sitting pretty on his thigh. He’d rub his fingers back and forth on the palm of my hand or sometimes he would tap to the beat of the music.
His hands were always on me in one way or another. At times it was subtle, his arm on the back of my chair, rubbing my shoulder with his thumb. Or when we were deep in discussion, he would play with the ends of my hair, listening to every word that came out of my mouth with an intense stare. Or he would draw pictures on my arm with his finger and make me guess what it was, making me miss his touch when we weren’t together.
The boys loved to play pool at Half-Pint’s parents’ restaurant. Alex and I would sit and watch, laughing at their ridiculous egos on who would kick whose ass. Dylan would stand by me waiting his turn, rubbing the back of my neck, right at the nook by the hairline. I would often catch the boys looking over with amused expressions on their faces.
Alex never seemed fazed by the attention he gave me. Her and I became great friends right away. I never felt like she was a year younger than me. If anything she acted much older than her fourteen years of age.