by A. J. Lape
Here’s the great thing about last night’s sequence of events. Each confession Collin and Brantley gave was only within my presence. Mr. B hadn’t arrived and Rudi and Chichi were in the back, play-by-playing the 911 operator and Dylan. Mr. B hadn’t arrived yet. So when I phoned Tito with the scoop last night, my identity of Jester was, fingers-crossed, ironclad. If the other guys involved admitted what had been confessed, they’d admit their own knowledge. So as far as I could tell, Jester was still waving that flag of anonymity. But I was pushing it, folks. My deepest fear was I’d be sitting here months from now and find Tito knocking on my door. The whole process made me think of a female last summer called Pixie. Pixie is Dylan’s grandfather’s informant. He’s a vice detective in LA, and to this day, Lincoln Taylor still couldn’t put a face to the name. I’d been rooting for him to pull off her proverbial mask. Now I sort of rooted for her.
Collin and Damon were incarcerated; Slapstick was hooked up to an IV at University of Cincinnati Hospital. The first two had gone straight to jail. Slapstick’s case, however, wasn’t so cut and dry. His freedom would be hard sought because he one, had a knife; and two, hung with the wrong crowd. But Rudi, Chichi, Mr. B, and I were prepared to move heaven and earth to help him. He’d evidently spoken with Tito since being hospitalized; otherwise Tito wouldn’t possess the info about Madison. So the fact he cooperated with authorities was a sign in his favor. And Brantley? Brantley “fell” on the knife Damon stabbed Slapstick with. I reserved judgment on the particulars, and when the sleeping gas eventually cleared, everyone was so freaked out by the whole ordeal, no one mentioned mysterious smoke. And I’d take that detail to my cold, lonely grave.
Thirty minutes later, Cookie swore Tito would have his hands on ten thousand big ones before the end of the year. He’d hang onto it, and at my instruction would turn it over to me. We hadn’t worked out details of the exchange, but I imagined it would involve Vinnie. Unbeknownst to Cookie (as well as Tito), I’d divide the money with Grumpy, Finn, Bean, Vinnie, and Slapstick. I went at this thing with equal parts ignorance and boredom, but now that I’d found success, I felt it best to spread the green around. Christmas cheer and all that.
Now I just had to figure out where to hide ten grand from Murphy.
The man was an ex-bookie. He could sniff out money quicker than the IRS.
Thing was, the “end of the year” meant I still might not have cash by Christmas. Sigh. My only recourse would be to borrow money from Murphy and gradually pay him back.
Now came the issue of Coach Wallace’s car. Collin fingered his brother. Story over. When I phoned Coach this morning, he offered a check for Services Rendered. Taking it didn’t seem right, but I informed him he could close out his debt to me with a visit to Jojo. Once again, his response was silence. But then I heard a female’s voice in the background I immediately recognized as Jojo’s. Aww, that Christmas miracle felt good.
On a side note, it was my understanding Valley’s Athletic Boosters had taken up a collection to get his car repainted. Dylan’s father got him a deal for dirt-cheap, and since my karma bank could use a deposit, I’d donate money myself and consider the universe and me clear.
I padded upstairs and grabbed my iPhone, thumbing in the speed dial of the number Rookie and Red demand I call ASAP.
Rookie’s annual Christmas Party.
My presence was required.
With a plus-one.
Crap.
Because of last night’s events, Dylan was still in the “freaked” part of freaked the way out. I could see his point. To say it’d been a violent few weeks was an understatement. Before I barely got “Hey,” out of my mouth, his mouth jumped to fifth gear.
“I know we’ve talked until you’re blue in the face, but there are a few things about last night that have been bothering me,” he said. “Mainly, I’m overwhelmed with the number of people that have come in and out of your life right under my nose. Explain. Explain how this even happened.”
Dylan was still having trouble with the Fab-Four, the crew from last night at The Double-B. Well, I wasn’t going to date them—share a jail cell perhaps, but not date. To recap, police cruisers ran into a five-car pileup at the intersection three blocks away. No one was hurt, but if that was the diversion the man in the Yellow Dodge Charger had spoken of, he had some majorly mad skills I needed to acquire. I’d wakened with an oxygen mask over my mouth and Dylan tenderly rubbing my hands with his thumbs. With the look of love on his face, in that moment, I would’ve given him absolutely anything.
My answer was more prolific than normal.
“It’s who I am, D,” was the explanation. “I told Coach I’d find out who trashed his ride. I fell into the identity theft stuff along the way because I ticked off the wrong people. I didn’t know Collin was a possibility, nor did I know Brantley McCoy was his brother. In fact, Damon and Slapstick are better liars than I gave them credit for because I thought they smelled clean.” See, this was the problem. That was a half-hearted attempt at the truth, but thank the Lord Dylan was more interested in other things than my integrity. How do I know this? In the past, he would’ve refused that explanation until he had a piece of my hide. Now he was too concerned with getting a piece of my heart.
“Was there anything else on your mind?” he murmured.
Jesus, take the wheel…
“S-so will you, uh, go to Rookie’s party with me?” I stuttered.
Dylan was silent.
Somebody. Kill. Me.
I now knew how the average male felt when he got turned down after putting his heart and soul out there. I’m positive I smelled like a donkey’s ass because God knew I felt like one. I mean, this was last minute. That insinuated you were the last choice. But in all fairness, he’d asked me to the Winter Formal the freaking day of.
“Ah, two dates in one week,” he murmured. “That spells relationship, but I must say you’d already promised Saturday night to me anyway. A promise I’d planned to remind you of in the next few breaths.”
“Oh yeah, baby, but if I remember correctly that was under extreme bodily duress.”
I slammed a hand over my mouth. Baby…I’d called him baby. What had crawled up in my tomboy tongue and sucked out my inner-bro?
“You’re flirting,” he murmured low in his throat.
The answer there was yes…if I was stupid enough to admit it. And it sounded like Dylan had this whole thing planned from the start. He knew I’d ask because I’d already planned to see him anyway. He’d outsmarted me. “Are you going to make me beg?” I pouted. Oh, God, I’d beg. It was either Dylan or Vinnie, and Vinnie’s Fu Manchu probably wouldn’t fly with the hoity-toity crowd.
“No, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “I’m flattered you’ve asked, and as will always be the case, the answer is yes.”
Yup, I started to hyperventilate. Put my head between my legs and prayed to the carpet gods I didn’t eat the floor. Dylan murmured, “Breathe, sweetheart. It’s a formal affair. Wear your red dress and new shoes. I’ll dress accordingly because it’s my understanding my parents are guests at Rookie’s table. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”
Linen tablecloths draped the table and chairs. Red poinsettias served as a centerpiece. White china with gold edging lay in front of me with too many utensils and cups to count. I reminded myself to use them outside-in. As soon as we settled, Red gave me half a smile, unleashing her pearly whites on Dylan. “I’d like to apologize straight-up for what Darcy may or may not do tonight. I’m afraid this night will be a snore for Little Miss Crime Stoppers.”
I snorted with a grin as Red and I had one of those mother-daughter moments where we both realized I’d never morph into the type of female textbooks said was ideal. We also had one of those moments where she informed me we’d converse later in private. I bet she’d feel differently if she knew I personal
ly erased Cookie from her life.
As Rookie slid in beside her, he placed his arm around her chair, the gleam of his thick platinum wedding ring catching the light. He snuggled into Red for a quick peck on the cheek. Most men tried to hide their emotions; Rookie flaunted his. Red smilingly obliged, her actions not acknowledging they’d divorced a fourth time a year ago. Her green eyes were the perfect complement to her emerald drop earrings and the perfect contrast to a strapless black velvet bustier gown no one—Rookie especially—could rip their eyes from.
After a lavish dinner, I took a sip of white chocolate latte and watched the couples file onto the dance floor, holding their loved ones tight, basking in a full stomach and the wintery feel of the room. Most had stopped by for holiday greetings to Rookie. I smiled as he proudly introduced me and acted unsurprised when comments were made on the similarities between Red and me. I came to the conclusion holidays brought out the stupid in people. Perhaps that’s what’d been wrong with Dylan and me. The holiday spirit made us act ways—and even feel ways—we normally wouldn’t.
As I contemplated the thought, I rapped my ruby-red stubby nails on the table, wishing like heck I had a plastic bag to suffocate myself with. Dylan put his cheek alongside mine, breathing in my ear. “Dance with me, sweetheart. I’m dying to get my arms around you.”
Ditto…
Before I could protest, he lifted me up, taking my napkin out of my lap and depositing it in my seat. Kenny G’s “White Christmas” seeped into my bones, and once mingled with the other attendees, I sulkily realized Dylan was by far the best looking young man in attendance. He was insufferably beautiful and irritatingly…unforgettable. He’d ditched his jacket, and my eyes lazily slid over his perfectly knotted tie and white fitted shirt. I knew the person beneath the clothes, and I could say without a doubt, his heart was more beautiful than the outer package.
Peering into his eyes, I blinked, “You’re umm….”
Dylan inhaled in a sound of appreciation…even before the words left my lips. “You’re the beauty here, but thank you,” he murmured. “And I love the dress.”
If anything, the dress was practical. My body was stiff with the beating it took, and the dress thankfully covered the bruises. The song transitioned into Percy Sledge’s “When a Man Loves a Woman”…Rookie’s favorite song. Rookie and Red slid out from behind the table along with Colton and Susan Taylor.
Time for the real couples to remind themselves why they were couples.
Dylan murmured, “You’re quiet, Darc, and you’ve stopped moving your feet.”
I snuggled into him, wishing I could never leave. “I almost fell asleep.”
“Not the response Dylan Taylor was going for,” he chuckled.
As always, I had an irrefutable desire to be close to him and molded myself even closer. “I meant it as a compliment,” I exhaled. “You relax me, D. No one can seem to do that except you. When you’re around, I don’t worry about tomorrow.”
“Watch yourself, sweetheart. You’re going to make me fall in love with you.”
I shivered from head-to-toe, the temp slightly teetering above freezing. The temperature between Dylan and me, however, said we were minutes from third-degree burns. Murphy and Marjorie had plans to close down the mall. Something he never let the six-year-old do, but Murphy received his bonus and was feelin’ the love. During Rookie’s party, I hadn’t thought too much about being alone with Dylan, but considering the sexual tension between us, I should’ve. Add a lit Christmas tree and logs on the fire, and you’d tripled up on the trouble.
My hormones were waking up.
After Dylan got the fire raging, I immediately hit the sound system. Labrinth’s “Beneath Your Beautiful” popped on. Before I could get all hey-what-do-you-want-to-do, our eyes collided. A heat begging to consume us both was inside.
I stood about twenty feet away. When I felt the boiling emotion, I jumped even further back, scrambling up against the wall. I knocked over Murphy’s nativity scene, briefly wondering if the Good News Angel thought this a good thing or bad thing.
My God, that look…
First thing to come to mind was “lamb to the slaughter.” Dylan didn’t seem normal, like he vacillated somewhere between man and beast. He stalked forward…and kept coming…and coming.
His grin grew big and naughty as he ripped his tie from his neck and unbuttoned the top button, letting the black silk tie flutter to the hardwood in front of us.
“Dylan you need to start—stop it,” I swallowed. “You’re making me want to…”—I shook my head to clear it—“We can’t…” My God, did I need a stun gun? “D? Say something.” Next thing I knew, he closed the distance between us, backing me up against the wall. One leg slipped between my knees, successfully pinning me in the corner with no place to go but inside his arms.
Oh, rawr…rawr, rawr, rawr…
“Why are you doing this?” I whispered.
“You never begged.”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“I wanted to kiss you so badly at the dance, but I must not have shown you how much I cared because you never begged.”
My voice went MIA; my vocal chords shriveling up like a prune that needed to be trashed. My feelings ran deeper than the Mariana Trench, but by God, this wasn’t a good idea. I wanted it too much. “Oh,” I whispered as an answer. “This thing…between us…it can’t happen.”
Dylan looked at every part of my body except the eyes…up, down, side-to-side—lingering as if he tried to figure out which part he’d devour first. “Tell me why,” he demanded, finally catching my gaze.
By God, I couldn’t. “We’ve known each other too long,” I used as an excuse.
“I interpret that as you think we’d be boring together.”
“Yeah,” I whispered.
He rubbed his nose against mine. “Anything else?”
“I like blonds.” This made Dylan smile. “Geeky guys, not jocks,” I added.
He rubbed his nose up against mine again. “The opposite of me.”
“Totally un-alpha.”
“Is that right?”
“Right,” I breathed.
“Tell me why you think we would work,” he coaxed.
My traitorous heart fell woefully short in its argument. I tentatively brought my hands up to his waist, my mouth opened, and against my better judgment, I released my soul. “Your smile is killer, but your heart is what makes mine beat every day. You’re the concrete I stand on, Dylan. Always have been…always will be.”
Dylan pulled back like he’d been scorched in a flame, giving one slow blink. “Jesus,” he prayed, leaning his forehead into mine. “Conversations like this are what would make me lie down and die for you, Darcy. You’re funny. Your face is gorgeous, but your soul…your soul is what slays me.”
I thought he was done. In fact, I wished he were done when the brevity of his next words hit me.
“Sweetheart, listen,” he murmured softly. “Don’t overthink us. For once, just fricking feel.”
I shook like a leaf in the wind. “I’m afraid to feel,” I gasped.
“Why?” he asked tenderly.
“Because of who I am. I’m not so sure you can handle…who I truly am.”
At this Dylan stiffened, immediately going for eye contact. Something dark sparked in his gaze I didn’t understand. “I know everything about you.”
I could barely look him in the face—let alone say the truth. But here we were again. Me truly being one way; him thinking I could be someone else. He placed his index finger under my chin, tipping it upward. “Not really,” I shrugged, forced to look at him. “I use people, D. I used Ben as a science experiment to hold you off. I used Kyd Knoblecker last summer. I used Liam Woods last spring. They helped me in what I was trying to do at the time,
but I also used them to see if I could make you jealous. Did I think they were cute? Sure, I’d be lying if I said they weren’t, but I used their attraction to me for my own end.”
Wow, talk about ripping off the Band-Aid. It felt good, but I wasn’t so sure it felt good for Dylan. He took a good thirty seconds to mull over the admission. “So you think that makes you incapable of having a relationship?” he frowned.
Well, yeah.
I mean, shouldn’t it?