The Seduction of Dylan Acosta

by Nia Forrester

“Yes you do. You said some pretty shitty things to me, Dylan. And you think you can fix it by dangling a trip in front of me?”

  “You said some pretty shitty things to me too, Ava. And yes, that’s what I was hoping. That I could fix it by dangling a trip in front of you.”

  Ava laughed, as Dylan had known she would. “Fine. Well in that case it had better be good. And what they do in Palm Springs is gamble and go to the mineral baths, shop and golf. If you’re going to turn into a high-roller the least you could do is know how to act like one.”

  And then she hung up.

  Dylan smiled.

  14

  This was bad. This was really, really bad. Dylan lowered her magazine and looked through her eyelashes at Ray Hernandez, sitting a few seats away from her, next to Cindy.

  What was supposed to be a girls’ weekend had turned into something else entirely when he’d unexpectedly been placed on the injury list and flown home to New York from a series in Kansas City. As far as Dylan could tell, he looked perfectly healthy but apparently he had a sprained groin. You couldn’t make this stuff up.

  So he’d decided to hitch a ride on Lauren’s chartered Gulfstream 200 to play golf in Palm Springs while his wife was hanging out with her friends. At the airport, when Dylan and Ava had entered the hangar, she’d almost tripped over her feet when she saw him. All she could think about was how angry Mark was going to be when he learned that Ray had been along for the trip. But surely he would have to see that it wasn’t something that was anywhere close to being within her control. She would call him when she got there and tell him right away; casually of course, like it didn’t matter. And of course, it didn’t.

  Next to her, Ava was still stroking the arms of her seat, marveling at the fact that air travel could be this comfortable. Dylan would have been doing the same, if she wasn’t too busy pondering the Ray Hernandez problem. What bothered her most was that she was so aware of him. None of the others, not even his wife seemed to be. Lauren Morales was napping, Marjorie King was reading a novel, Cindy was working on a laptop and Stephanie Alfieri was idly twisting a long, dark lock of hair about her finger, staring out at the clouds.

  Ray looked up briefly, and Dylan was not quick enough looking away, so his hazel eyes met hers and held. He didn’t smile at her, but just held her stare. She tried to look away, but couldn’t. Finally, one corner of his mouth rose in a tiny smirk. Having women staring at him was probably par for the course. How tedious it must become. Although if the way he was staring right back at her was any indication, he didn’t seem to mind it when she was the one doing the staring.

  Dylan jerked her head back down to look at her fashion magazine. These were dangerous thoughts. Very, very dangerous thoughts.

  “What was that all about?” Ava leaned in and whispered.

  “What?” Dylan whispered back.

  “You making googly-eyes with that creepy Ray Hernandez.”

  Dylan turned to look at Ava full on. “You think he’s creepy?”

  Ava nodded. “Yah. His eyes remind me of a snake’s eyes. Gives me the chills.” She fakeshuddered.

  Interesting. There was just no accounting for taste.

  “I used to think he was cute, but in person, there’s just something about him,” Ava continued. “And the way he looks at you . . .”

  “At me?” Dylan said, surprised.

  “Yes, at you,” Ava said, as though unconvinced Dylan hadn’t noticed. “Like he wants to . . . throw you down to the ground and have his way with you. And he doesn’t make any effort to conceal it, even with his wife less than two feet away. Ick.”

  Dylan’s brows furrowed. Was that what Mark saw as well?

  She stole another glance at Ray. Then why was she the only one who didn’t see it? Ava was watching her closely, trying to read her expression.

  “Dylan, don’t let your low self-esteem fool you into thinking you’re lucky for having him attracted to you. He’s obviously a lowlife who is should be on his knees daily thanking God he has a wife who puts up with his bullshit.”

  It was true that Ray Hernandez looked at every marginally attractive woman within ten feet of him as though they were lunch. And it didn’t help that most of them returned the favor.

  “Lower your voice,” Dylan said.

  Ava shrugged. “He knows he’s a lowlife. And why’s he even here? Most men would claw their own eyes out rather than go away for a weekend with his wife and her girlfriends. He has an ulterior motive.”

  Dylan wondered whether Ava might be right, but hadn’t she heard somewhere that Ray Hernandez had a nineteen-year old mistress? Surely that had to be an incentive to stay home when his wife was going out of town.

  “Or maybe he just wants to play a few rounds of golf. Just like he said,” Dylan said.

  “Sure he does.” Ava leaned back in her seat and shut her eyes. “Because there’s no golfing in the state of New York, he has to fly across the country.”

  When they landed, there was none of the usual hustle and bustle about luggage. Lauren had arranged it so that all of their things would be shuttled to the resort where they were staying. All they needed to concern themselves with was getting into the waiting limo and being driven in style and comfort.

  Dylan looked out the window as they drove, taking in the desert and craggy terrain, the palm trees and otherwise barren landscape. So far, she couldn’t say she was particularly impressed. It reminded her too much of Arizona, where her mother lived; the severe absence of greenery was depressing.

  Suddenly she was reminded of the things back home that she’d blown off to make this trip. Miri wanted to go shopping at an outlet mall in Connecticut, and she’d promised to take her. But the timing had clashed, so she’d postponed it.

  The disappointment in her sister-in-law’s voice had been palpable when she let her know they’d have to make the trip another day, but she’d ignored it, feeling as always, perplexed and unworthy of the affection that Miri inexplicably had for her.

  It was the same way with Mark. Even now that they were married, she sometimes wondered what she had done, how she had managed to get someone like him. The way he looked at her, the way he touched her, the way he loved her, seemed like a cruel ruse. Something that she almost couldn’t allow herself to relax enough to enjoy, because it still didn’t seem real.

  But the other stuff—the car, the clothes, the jewelry—all of that was tangible, and every single time she bought something and Mark simply rolled his eyes in exasperation, she could almost make herself believe he was as crazy in love with her as he appeared to be. Each thing she bought, every dollar she spent was like a testament to his devotion.

  The resort was secluded in a valley, surrounded by tall palms and a golf course that looked so clearly manufactured that Dylan found it difficult to appreciate its beauty. There were also lakes, and several pools that were expertly designed to look as though they hadn’t been designed but had simply sprung naturally from the arid earth. Dylan and Ava were installed in their own villa, as were Lauren and Stephanie and Ray and Cindy. They agreed to get some rest and meet later for dinner parting in the lobby where attendants in golf carts transported them to their respective accommodations.

  As Dylan took in the grounds, she wondered what Mark was doing and found herself wishing he was there. Not that Ava wasn’t great company, but she was no substitute for Mark. Still, somehow Dylan knew he would hate this place as much as she did. He liked things rustic and authentic, and there was nothing about this resort that was either. Having Ava along, despite her earlier reservations about mixing the two parts of her life was like a dose of reality in the midst of fake, and would come in handy if Ray Hernandez decided that he wanted to . . .

  “I’m starting to get a little worried,” Ava sang from her place next to Dylan. “This does not look like the happening town I was hoping for.”

  “If all else fails, we’ll do some spa treatments,” Dylan said. “Get our entire bodies waxed.”

  “My
entire body’s already waxed,” Ava said raising her eyebrows suggestively. “My man likes it that way.”

  Dylan resisted the urge to remind Ava that her man was still actually someone else’s man until he got a divorce, separated or not.

  The villa was impressive, with adobe walls, terrazzo tiles and warm tones throughout. Ava immediately changed into her swimsuit to lay out in the sun, telling Dylan that her plan was to turn “nut-brown” in time for dinner.

  “It’ll set off my white dress,” she said over her shoulder as she headed out to the pool.

  Taking advantage of the privacy, Dylan retreated to her room to make the call she knew she had to make. She didn’t have to understand Mark’s jealousy about Ray, she just had to respect it. And after the housewarming party, they’d agreed that she would stay away from him. All she needed to do was explain that she had no idea he was coming and that he was likely to be off on his own the entire time anyway.

  “Go home,” Mark said. “Get a flight tonight or tomorrow morning, and go home.” Dylan held the phone away from her ear for a moment, stunned. This she had not expected. “I . . . but what would I say to Lauren?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically high-pitched. “I don’t care,” Mark said, his voice flat.

  She’d caught him just as he was checking in at the hotel where the team would be staying during the Kansas City series, and he was abrupt with her from the moment he’d answered the phone, irritable and exhausted from travel.

  The news that the supposedly injured Ray Hernandez had somehow found his way on the same private jet flying Dylan to California had not helped his mood in the least.

  “You’re not being reasonable,” Dylan said quietly.

  She took the phone and went to the balcony. It overlooked the pool where Ava was already spread out on a chaise lounge, wearing a daringly brief yellow swimsuit.

  “Actually I’m recalling a conversation where you promised to stay away from him.”

  “But Mark, I haven’t broken my promise. He came on his own and from what I understand, has no plans to spend any time with the rest of us.”

  She didn’t like the sound of her voice. Like a child, pleading with a parent. On the other end of the line, Mark was silent, waiting for her to reach the correct conclusion on her own—that she should honor their agreement.

  “I’m staying,” she said after a moment when he still hadn’t spoken. “I had no idea he was coming and have no plans to spend any time with him. I’m not taking a six-hour flight back to New York just because you can’t trust me enough to . . .”

  “This has nothing to do with trust!” Mark snapped. “But if you want to make it about that, you should trust me and do what I’ve asked you to do.”

  “And you should believe me when I tell you I’ll keep my promise, regardless of whether he’s in the same city as me, the same hotel or even the same room.”

  “I don’t have time to explain this to you, Dylan. And I didn’t think I would have to. We had an . . .”

  “Agreement. Yes. I heard you the first seven times you said that,” she cut him off.

  “So I’m confused that we’re even having this conversation,” Mark said, his voice dangerously soft. “By now you should be on the phone with an airline, booking your flight back to New York, instead of arguing with me.”

  Dylan’s breathing had become fast and shallow as her annoyance grew. Under normal circumstances she was only too happy to do what Mark asked of her. She never questioned his authority as her husband, never even questioned the notion that he should have that authority, as most women might. But usually, there was some reason to what he asked of her even if it was something she didn’t agree with. Where Ray Hernandez was concerned though, he turned into an irrational dictator.

  “I’m sorry if this upsets you, Mark but I’ve made up my mind. I’ll call you when I get back to New York in a few days.”

  “Dylan . . .”

  “Or you can call me later when you calm down,” she added.

  “Dylan . . .”

  She ended the call and turned her phone off, tossing it back into her room and onto the bed. Her heart was beating hard and fast, because she’d hung up on him, and worse than that, had defied him. His word, not hers.

  Dylan quickly calculated in her head the next time she could expect to see him. Two weeks. When he was in Philadelphia, she was supposed to drive down to meet him while they played the Phillies. By then, he would have gotten over this and realized that it was much ado about nothing.

  “You coming down?” Ava called from poolside.

  “Yup. On my way,” Dylan called back, eager for a distraction from her growing sense of dread that she might have made a terrible, terrible mistake.

  After a couple of hours by the pool, Dylan and Ava had taken naps and awoken just as the sun set behind the mountains. They were meeting the rest of the group for dinner and then Lauren said she’d chartered a car to take them to some of the more hip nightspots around town. Ava greeted that news with enthusiasm, but all Dylan could think about was the Christmas trip to the DR when Mark hadn’t much enjoyed her dancing with other guys in the club even with him present. And of course there was the Montreal fiasco, and long before any of that, her run in with Matt at Liquid. Their history with nightclubs was not a positive one.

  For dinner, Ava wore the white dress she’d been telling Dylan about all afternoon with a gold belt, white stilettos and large gold hoops. Thinking it best not to look too sexy, or even like she was trying to look sexy, Dylan chose a black and white sleeveless pantsuit that was snug about the hip and thighs but billowy at the leg, and black high-heeled sandals. Her hair was a little wild from her swim earlier, and was a fair approximation of what it had been before she started getting it processed, but with all her expensive hair products, she was able to make it look somewhat intentionally disheveled.

  As she and Ava entered the dining room, she noted with dismay that Ray was with their group, waiting with Lauren, Stephanie and Cindy for them to arrive. But of course he was. Where else would he be, when he had to eat like everyone else after all? He was wearing black slacks with a dark blue shirt that complemented his bronze complexion perfectly. Not that every single color she had ever seen him in hadn’t been similarly flattering. When he looked up, there was no question that his eyes were following her as she made her way toward them.

  “Snake eyes,” Ava said under her breath, causing Dylan to smile.

  Unfortunately, Ray thought the smile was for him and smiled back; a real eye-popping, beautiful, make-you-moist smile. How was it, Dylan wondered, that Cindy didn’t notice that her husband was flirting right under her nose? And why was it that she was more annoyed with Cindy for not keeping him under control when her annoyance was more appropriately directed at him for being the kind of man who could not control himself?

  “Got your beauty naps in?” Lauren asked as they approached. She was wearing a tight yellow mini-dress that in a few short months would be impossible as her pregnancy began to show.

  “Yes, and we’re famished,” Ava said.

  “Then let’s go eat,” Cindy smiled and looped an arm through Dylan’s for which she was grateful since it effectively eliminated any chance that Ray would approach her.

  Instead, Ray hung back with Stephanie Alfieri, who Dylan was trying not to behave awkwardly around. Since the cocaine incident—which she’d been struggling mightily to pretend hadn’t happened—Dylan had been avoiding Stephanie’s invitations to lunch. Having her on this trip, especially with Ava there as well, was a little awkward but it also gave Dylan some deniability if Stephanie ever called her out for snubbing her.

  Seated at a table overlooking the golf course, illuminated by pale lights under the palms, the group immediately ordered two bottles of champagne and began the idle and pointless chatter that always accompanied dinners with this many people. But soon after they’d ordered, the conversation splintered off into twos, and Dylan turned to Cindy who was sitting next to her
and had tapped her on the shoulder.

  “I hadn’t realized you were so close to Lauren,” she said, leaning a little closer to Dylan.

  “We met at Pedro and Vanessa Lima’s. Before Mark and I were married,” Dylan explained, wondering why she was feeling as though she’d done something wrong.

  “I was very surprised she even invited me on this trip,” Cindy said. “We’ve never been exactly close, Lauren and I.”

  “Oh,” Dylan said. “I didn’t know that. So why did you . . ?”

  “I came because I heard you were coming,” Cindy said. “There are certain elements in our little Mets family . . .”

  “My wife has a special talent, Dylan.” Ray Hernandez had leaned in, a hand on his wife’s shoulder, causing her to go tense for just a moment. “She can suck the joy out of a party like no one else.”

  “Have you been eavesdropping again?” Cindy asked her husband, her voice icy.

  Dylan blushed, not especially enjoying being front and center witnessing someone else’s marital discord.

  “I didn’t need to hear a word you said,” Ray returned. “I’m familiar with your routine by now.”

  “As I am with yours,” Cindy snapped.

  Ray turned away again and rejoined a conversation with Lauren Morales.

  Dylan smiled at Cindy in a way she hoped was reassuring and Cindy shrugged, touching her hand.

  “We can talk some other time,” she said. “Maybe this is a conversation I should have had with you over lunch back in New York.”

  Dylan had no idea what she was referring to, and quite honestly, was more preoccupied with her earlier conversation with Mark than anything else at the moment. The night was young and she was already wishing for bed.

  After her husband’s rebuke, Cindy made no attempt to talk about anything deeper than the weather and the latest fashions, and dinner dragged on until around eleven, when Lauren announced that they were moving on to the next phase of the evening.

  The ‘next phase’ involved a vulgar, white stretch Humvee limo and a drive through the streets of Palm Springs to a nightclub populated by people who looked young and carefree, the way Dylan remembered being, not too long ago. The loud music, strobes and faint smell of alcohol reminded her of nights she and Ava spent running around Manhattan, seeking out the best nightlife the city had to offer. As they walked into the club in a group, a man in a suit descended upon them, making a beeline for Ray and ushering them all to a semi-secluded section of the club, where comfortable sofas and a private bar awaited.