The Seduction of Dylan Acosta

by Nia Forrester

  “You’re so lucky to have such thick hair,” she said. And then, while Dylan sat still, Miri expertly combed her fingers through it and twisted it into a French braid, tucking the end underneath.

  “There,” she said. “Now you look like you weren’t spending the night rolling around in the sack with your boyfriend.”

  Dylan said nothing and Miri laughed, walking ahead of her out of the room. Dylan smiled to herself. Apart from Ava, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such an easy relationship with another female.

  God, not only was Mark irresistible, his family was too.

  When she got to the kitchen, Mrs. Acosta had already put Miri to work slicing tomatoes and shredding lettuce. As soon as Dylan appeared, she handed her a knife and steered her in the direction of the ham that had been baking all the previous evening, filling the villa with a sweet and savory aroma.

  “Slices,” she ordered. “Not too thick.”

  Dylan nodded and stifled a yawn, beginning the task of cutting into the succulent meat. Across the great room and out by the pool she could see Xiomara and Peter. Xiomara was breastfeeding the baby and Peter was sitting with his legs in the water. Behind them the sun was rising, splashing brilliant reds, orange and purple streaks across the sky. Pausing to enjoy the moment, Dylan smiled.

  Later, before the Acostas’ extended family arrived, Mark and Dylan escaped everyone to spend some time alone out into La Romana and to see some of the surrounding attractions. She suffered through the cigar factory tour without complaint, enjoying just holding his hand as the tour guide droned on about tobacco preparation techniques. The dozens of boxes of cigars that Mark bought and arranged to have shipped back to the States for gifts to his teammates were the first things Dylan had ever seen him spend money on. But after the tour when they walked among the shops and street vendors in the shopping district, he quickly grew bored of looking at sarongs and bathing suits, so he handed her his credit card and pointed across the street from a row of boutiques to a small café.

  “Get whatever you want,” he said. “I’ll be over there having a drink. When you’re done come get me and we’ll have lunch.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Dylan teased waving the credit card in front of his face. “I might get carried away.”

  Mark shrugged. “I just don’t think I can offer any more opinions about sashes and sandals.” He kissed her on the forehead and was gone.

  Dylan browsed for trinkets and found a few souvenirs for Ava, and a couple of t-shirts to use as gifts for the those few people who were always brazen enough to ask whether you brought them something just because you let slip that you’d been overseas. With each purchase, she grew a little bolder, but by the time she was done an hour later, the most expensive thing she’d gotten was just a forty-dollar maxi-dress that she could wear in the evening if they wound up going to a nice restaurant.

  Mark was waiting in the café, drinking a beer and watching the small television set above the bar when she walked in carrying her shopping bags. He looked up and smiled when he saw her.

  “Is that all you got?” he asked, taking them from her. “I thought for sure you’d have found lots of cool stuff once you didn’t have an impatient man hanging over your shoulder.”

  “I didn’t want to go overboard,” she said falling into the seat next to him. “Can we eat here or should we go someplace else?”

  “We can eat here,” he said. “I saw some stuff coming out of the kitchen that looked pretty good.”

  So they ate lunch while Mark talked about remembering his childhood trips with his parents before his siblings were born. They had only emigrated from the Dominican Republic when he was five but he had solid memories of waking early and riding in the backseat of his uncle’s car with all his cousins to the beach where his large extended family would gather to spend the day.

  Mark couldn’t remember how long they would stay, he said; only that it would be dark by the time they got home and the adults would put all the kids to sleep together by laying out blankets on the floor in the living room. He told Dylan that his strongest memory of being a kid was of being surrounded by the arms and legs of his cousins, listening to their even breathing as they slept, and he too began to drift off. In the other room, the laughter of his parents, aunts and uncles would give him a sense of safety that stayed with him even into adulthood.

  “One day I want to give that to my kids,” he said looking at her, a nostalgic smile on his face. “Memories of being safe like that, y’know?”

  Dylan nodded, even though she didn’t know. At least not from experience. But what she did know was that she would be lucky, oh so lucky, if one day the man she started a family with was anything like Mark Acosta.

  “Anyway,” he said, beckoning for the waiter to bring them their check. “That’s heavy stuff for a Christmas Eve afternoon. We’d better get back before my mother sends out a search party. The night before Christmas is more important that Christmas Day here.”

  “Okay, let’s go then,” Dylan said, beginning to gather her bags.

  “Except I want to do one more thing,” Mark said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I want to take you shopping,” he said.

  “Mark, I already did . . .” she said indicating the bags.

  Mark scoffed. “I’m pretty sure we can do better than that,” he said. “You were holding back.”

  For the next hour, he led her through many of the same boutiques he’d complained about earlier, encouraging her to try things she liked, and buying them if she had anything resembling a positive reaction to how she looked in them. After awhile Dylan stopped doing a running tally in her head, and stopped worrying about how much things cost, and it was only when they entered a jewelry store that she grew tense once again.

  “Mark,” she said tugging his hand. “No . . . I don’t need . . .”

  “Help me find something for my sister then,” he said. “If you won’t let me spoil you, I’ll spoil her.”

  “I don’t mind you spoiling me,” Dylan said. “I just don’t like the idea that you might think that . . .”

  He stopped and looked at her. “Think that what?”

  “That this is what’s important to me.”

  Mark smiled and leaned in to kiss her. “I don’t think that.”

  “Because stuff like this is nice to have,” Dylan said indicating the shopping bags. “But it’s being here with you . . . that’s what matters to me most.”

  “So no jewelry?” Mark said.

  “Yes jewelry,” Dylan said. “For Miri.”

  Back at the villa, the rest of the day was like the food Olympics. Once all of Mr. and Mrs. Acosta’s extended family showed up, Dylan, Xiomara and Miri were relieved from kitchen duty as the older women took over. The whole pig had been roasted at someone’s house and was brought in as the centerpiece of the table, and from noon onwards, food came out in waves—fish, rice and beans fried plantains, pasteles en hojas, pan talera, and assorted other seasonal favorites. And if you weren’t in the kitchen the only thing you were expected to do was eat.

  Dylan spent much of the evening sitting on Mark’s lap, his arms wrapped tightly about her waist while he laughed and talked with his family, sometimes in English, sometimes in Spanish and sometimes a mixture of the two. Later she sat in the grass just beyond the pool with Xiomara and played with the baby, watching Mark’s younger cousins running and playing, squealing and jumping on the lawn about them. When Xiomara took the baby in to change him, Miri came over and collapsed next to her, resting her head unselfconsciously on Dylan’s lap.

  Dylan stiffened for a moment then relaxed into the closeness. One day, she promised herself, she would become comfortable with this. Watching the kids running and laughing as the sun set behind them in the distance, she thought about Mark’s memories of his own childhood and thanked him for helping her make her own memories, these memories; of this time, these people and this place. When she glanced ove
r at him he turned, and a small smile fleetingly crossed his lips as though he’d heard her thoughts.

  By tradition everyone bought gifts only for the person whose name they picked out of a hat in the lead up to Christmas Day. Xiomara bought Dylan a pretty yellow pashmina, Miri bought her father a shirt that she and Dylan had spotted in town and Mark bought his brother Peter a car. Well, he didn’t actually buy it, but promised to buy it when they got back to New York.

  “Well shit,” Matt said in response to that news. “The rest of us may as well pack it in. All I got you was a tie, bro,” he shrugged, looking at Mark.

  Everyone laughed.

  But the gifts were obviously not the point. And as it turned out everyone had broken the rules and bought gifts for Mr. and Mrs. Acosta anyway. Miri, too, had made out like a bandit—none of her brothers seemed to be able to not buy her something. She had a pile of clothing, a pair of boots and the necklace from the store in town that Mark and Dylan had chosen by the time the gift-exchange was done.

  Later, when the cousins had all scooped up their children and only the immediate family remained, Mr. and Mrs. Acosta, exhausted from the events of the day had turned in right away and Miri had gone to try on her new outfits. Peter and Xiomara also went to bed and Matt took off for one of the resort bars, so Mark and Dylan were alone to enjoy the sounds of the tropical evening. They sat by the pool, Mark reclining on a chaise and Dylan resting between his legs, her cheek pressed against his chest.

  “I got you something,” he said quietly.

  Dylan sat up. “I thought we said we wouldn’t . . .”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s probably more for me than it is for you anyway.”

  She wrinkled her brow, confused.

  He raised his hips and pulled a box out of his back pocket. It was square, but too flat to be a ring box. Dylan laughed inwardly at herself. Of course, it wasn’t a ring—they’d only known each other a couple months and been together officially for even less time than that.

  The box was untidily wrapped in simple white paper, unembellished by patterns or ribbon. Clearly Mark had done it himself, which made it so sweet. Dylan tore it open and lifted the lid. All she saw was a tuft of cotton.

  “Look underneath,” Mark said.

  She lifted it and stared, looking back up at Mark.

  “It’s a key to the condo,” Mark explained. He was shy, uncertain of himself again. “I want you to move in.”

  Dylan’s eyes opened wide. Wow. This she did not expect.

  “See?” he said sheepishly. “It’s not a gift for you at all. It’s really for me.”

  “You want me to move in?” she said. “It’s so soon.”

  “I know what I want,” Mark said, his voice more forceful now. “When I leave in a few weeks, and I call home, I want you there. Not someplace else, but in my home. In our home.”

  Dylan turned and straddled him, wrapping her arms about his neck.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Yes?” He actually looked surprised.

  “Did you think it was a shot in the dark?” she asked, amused. “If you thought there was a chance I would say ‘no’, then you really haven’t been paying attention.”

  It was Mark’s turn to look amused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing,” she said, squeezing him tighter.

  6

  It was over too soon.

  They left on January 7th, the day after el Día de los Tres Reyes, Three Kings Day. For obvious reasons, the entire family was more subdued at the prospect of returning to the gray and grime of New York than they’d all been on the trip down to the DR. On the flight back, Dylan didn’t sleep. She was apprehensive for reasons she couldn’t pinpoint. But rather than dwell on it, she decided that it was just that being in the Dominican Republic had been like being in a dream world, a world where the most important thing to Mark was her and his family. No one was pulling him in a million different directions, or calling him The Rookie, or trying to take his picture. It had been as close to perfect a vacation as she’d ever had so the pessimist in her was having a hard time with it and that was all.

  Mark was quiet as well. He had the window seat and soon after take-off raised the armrest that separated them and lifted her leg so that it was draped over his, and held her hand, staring out the window. Spring training was now just a little less than five weeks away. Lost in their own private thoughts, they probably exchanged less than a dozen words until they landed and were at the baggage carousel. Almost immediately after clearing immigration, Mark put on his sunglasses and Dylan sighed; now that they were back in the New York, things would start getting crazy again.

  Mark kept his head down until all the bags were off the carousel and then put in his ear buds. Dylan watched as he turned the volume up on his iPod and she felt a surge of irrational animosity toward every single baseball fan on the planet, wishing they would leave him alone, even though so far today, no one had approached him yet. The Acostas left together in a shuttle van and Mark and Dylan retrieved his car from long-term parking. Only once they were in the Jeep did he seem to relax.

  “Where are we going?” he asked. “Your place, or our place?”

  Dylan grinned at him. “Depends on which one’s cleaner.”

  “The condo,” Mark said without hesitation.

  It was true. He was a little bit of a neat freak and she most definitely was not. It would be interesting to see how that played out when they moved in together.

  “So how much time do you have left on your lease? I could just go ahead and pay it off and move you out this weekend,” Mark said.

  Dylan stiffened. “I was thinking of maybe subletting it,” she said. “I mean, it’s so cheap and such a good location, what would be the point of getting rid of it?”

  Mark was maneuvering out of the parking space but paused to look at her.

  “The point is that you wouldn’t live there anymore. So why hold onto it?”

  “Because if we don’t work out, I would be without a place to live, that’s why.”

  “If we don’t work out?” Mark shook his head. “I don’t think like that.”

  “Because you don’t have to,” Dylan said.

  “So you’re betting against us, basically,” Mark said. “Betting against me.”

  “No, I’m being realistic. We’ve known each other for all of two minutes, Mark, and now we’re moving in together. And a month from now you’re going away. Those don’t sound like great odds to me.”

  “Everything I do, I plan to succeed, Dylan.”

  “Well life isn’t a baseball game,” she snapped. “And relationships aren’t plays that you memorize.”

  “Okay let’s stop this,” Mark said. “I’m tired, you’re wound up for some reason, and I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “Fine.” She turned and looked out the window, leaning on the glass and shivering at the cold.

  She closed her eyes and tried to remember the warmth of the Dominican Republic, and how different Mark was there. Already she could feel the shift in him, like he was closing off some part of himself, erecting armor—not against her, but against the less forgiving worlds of New York City and Major League Baseball. In the DR, something about being around his brothers and his gruff, masculine cousins transformed him into an almost entirely different, more relaxed man. And his core Alpha male nature was unleashed. He’d wandered about the villa without a shirt or shoes looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, and if Dylan was anywhere within reach, he grabbed her.

  One morning their second week there, some of the cousins had stopped by unexpectedly. Almost all were young men around Mark’s age, and almost all with the same dark brown skin, jet black hair and that frank way of showing their appreciation for women. She remembered them, taking her in from head to toe when she was introduced, grinning at her or nudging Mark in the side to let him know they approved of his choice.

  Later when it grew hot, they shed their shirts and jumpe
d into the pool, then sat poolside, soaking wet and playing dominoes, drinking beer, talking over each other and joking around. Dylan wanted to swim but avoided going outside, finding them overwhelmingly masculine and intimidating when they were all together in a group. Mark sat among them, as loud as they were, laughing and slamming his dominoes on the table they’d pulled outside from the great room for the game.

  Ava would have loved this, Dylan remembered thinking, as she peered out at them. Then Mark had spotted her and excused himself abruptly. Peter sat down to take over his hand at dominoes. He’d walked up to her, his chest almost touching hers, and Dylan swallowed hard.

  Did you want me for something?

  His voice—lower, huskier than usual—and the look in his eyes had literally rendered her speechless. She looked up at him and he smirked at her, like he could read her mind. Raising one dark eyebrow he held her hand, pulling her along with him into his bedroom suite, shutting the door and putting his hand at her back.

  With one swift motion he’d loosened the knot on her halter top and lowered his head to her breasts. Dylan’s chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. Just as she’d begun to enjoy that, to bask in it, Mark suddenly turned her around again so her back was to him. He walked her forward and bent her over the bed, running his hand up her spine, pressing her face against a pillow as he did.

  He reached around to her front and unfastened the waist of her shorts, pulling them down and spreading her legs. His hands cupped her, his fingers spread her, massaging her until she was slick and squirming against him.

  He leaned over her, arms braced on either side of her on the bed, holding up his weight.

  This is going to be quick, he said. We have maybe five minutes before one of my cousins or my brothers come barging in here.

  You . . . you didn’t lock the door? Dylan asked, panicked and excited at the same time. She tried to look over her shoulder but was distracted by the feeling of Mark’s fingers, working between her legs. She closed her eyes.