by Nicole Casey
Unable to know unless I responded, I cleared my throat and said, “Again: thank you.”
“Hey, Chase,” Dylan said, catching me before I could fully turn and begin to make my way out of the fireman’s lounge. His touch on me was like fire, his fingertips magnets that pulled to their surfaces every inch of my want and need for physical, human companionship.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“I’ll give this a read,” he said. “There’s a way to contact you in the back, right? To tell you how it is?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “My email’s right there.”
“Cool. Guess I’ll be seeing you around then.”
“Yeah. I guess so,” I said.
I waited until I left his presence before breaking into the stupidest grin imaginable.
The hunky fireman was going to read my book and get back to me?
I couldn’t be any happier if I tried.
***
I worked to reestablish my life over the course of the next few days. Getting an updated picture taken at the DMV, receiving a temporary card from my bank, buying new clothes, groceries to help Ariana out as she housed me—always, though, I thought of Dylan, of his words, of how easily he’d accepted my gift without question, and always I wondered when he would get back to me. Given that I was hooked up to Ariana’s WIFI, I would be able to receive his email at any given time, but the anticipation was literally killing me, to the point where I threw myself into my writing so much that I stayed up for several sleepless nights working on the manuscript I hoped would sell to my agent.
Three days after delivering the book to Dylan Cross at the fire station, I received a notification in my email box stating that I had a new message.
A new message? I thought. From who?
I opened the email to find the following message:
TO: CHASE BENNETT
FROM: DYLAN CROSS
Hey Chase. It’s Dylan. Would you like to meet up this afternoon for coffee or lunch? Let me know in a reply to this email. I’ll be eagerly awaiting your response. - D
“What’re you looking at?” Ariana asked as she walked in through the front door. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Or a hot fireman’s email,” I replied.
“Really?” the Italian woman asked. She set down the bag which contained her various social work documents and came running to the kitchen table. After scouring the email’s contents for several moments, she smiled and asked, “Well?”
“Well… what?” I frowned.
“Have you answered?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“But you’re going to,” she replied. “Aren’t you?”
“I am, I am,” I laughed, moving to hit the REPLY button on the email client. “Give me a minute.”
She waited, her impatience more than clear in the fire in her dark eyes, and eyed the computer screen in feverish anticipation. “GO!” she cried.
“Okay!” I cried back.
I typed a quick response back to Dylan, penning a simple, Yes! I would love to meet you for lunch! before asking where he would like to meet.
“You think you can drop me off if he doesn’t decide to pick me up?” I asked.
“Of course,” she replied. “But I’m sure he knows you don’t have a car and’ll probably be willing to—”
The inbox dinged.
Send me your address, was Dylan’s response. I’ll pick you up in thirty.
Ariana screeched, jumped up and down, caused Scottie—who was sitting in his cage watching cartoons on the nearby TV—to cry out in surprise. “WHAT?” he asked.
“The nice fireman just asked me out on a date,” I replied to the parrot.
The bird began to bob his head. He obviously approved of this development.
“Well,” Ariana said. “What’re you waiting for? Go shower! Now!”
“I’m going,” I laughed.
As I made my way down the hall and into my bedroom to gather the clothes I would wear on this outing, I felt a knot of tension begin to develop in my stomach.
What would he say, I wondered, when we met?
I couldn’t know.
***
The doorbell rang exactly thirty-five minutes later, signaling Dylan’s arrival and the beginning of what could potentially be the greatest date possible.
“You nervous?” Ariana asked, eyeing me up and down as I rose from the couch.
“Shut up,” I replied, then made my way to the door.
She giggled and rushed off to hide in her bedroom as I greeted Dylan at the door.
After taking a moment to compose myself—and to ensure that my T-shirt was hanging loosely over my simple pair of jeans—I opened the door to find the fireman standing on the front porch, a bouquet of roses in hand. “Dylan,” I said, shocked. “What are—”
“For you,” he said, extending the bouquet.
I accepted them willingly, shocked that he would offer me such a gift after such a short time of meeting each other, and smiled as I inhaled the sweet smell of the roses, their scent tickling my nose and causing my insides to flutter with uncountable butterflies. Scottie, meanwhile, was screeching; and Dylan, meanwhile, craned his head around to acknowledge the creature.
“Scottieee!” the parrot said.
“Hi Scottie,” Dylan replied, offering the bird a smile before returning his attention to me. “So—are you ready to go?”
“More than ready,” I replied. “Just let me put these in a vase real quick.”
“I’ll be waiting in my truck.”
“Ok,” I said, then closed the door.
Ariana came skittering out of her room. Her eyes widened the moment she saw the roses. “Wow,” she said. “He brought you flowers?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “He did.”
“Gimme those,” she said, gently snatching the bouquet out of my hands. “I’ll deal with these. You go on your hot date.”
“I’m not sure how hot it’ll be, exactly, but—”
“He’s a firefighter. It’ll be sizzling.”
“Ha ha, nice pun,” I replied, then smiled before turning and making my way out the door.
Outside, Dylan sat awaiting me in his big black truck, his carefully-trimmed beard and neck-length black hair glistening in the harsh afternoon light piercing down from the Texas sky. I waved as I approached and waited until the audible click of the passenger’s side door unlocking entered my ears before hauling myself into the vehicle.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I replied.
“How’ve you been doing?”
“I’ve been doing all right,” I replied, reaching up to buckle myself in. “You?”
“Excellent,” he said. “I had the day off, so I figured, Why not hit up Chase Bennett and see what he’s up to?”
“I appreciate you doing that,” I replied. “I’m going kind of stir crazy in my best friend’s house.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Dylan said. “We’ll fix that this afternoon though. What are you in the mood for? Coffee? Food?”
“Food sounds good,” I said.
“Food it is then,” Dylan said, then turned and began to make his way down Airport Boulevard. “I know this excellent place on Manor.”
***
“So tell me a little bit about yourself,” Dylan said as we seated ourselves at the homestyle cooking restaurant that he swore was the best in town. “Are you from Austin, or did you move here from somewhere else?”
“I’ve lived in Austin my whole life,” I said. “Nothing particularly amazing about my story. Born and raised, went to school, tried college and then decided that wasn’t for me. What about you? Where are you from?”
“Corpus.”
“What made you move to Austin?”
“I needed a change of pace,” Dylan said. “Didn’t help that it was boring as hell in Corpus. Pretty, sure, but boring.”
“You’d think living by the ocean would be pretty enjoyable,” I mumbled as the
waiter appeared with our colas.
“When the people suck, everything about the area sucks with it,” Dylan laughed, reaching out to wrap a hand around his glass. He sipped, sighed, then replaced it before leaning forward and saying, “So—about your book.”
“Oh God,” I laughed, suddenly more nervous now than I had been when he’d first picked me up.
“Oh God what?” Dylan replied, a smile perking the corner of his lips.
“This is where you’re going to tell me that it sucks,” I replied.
“Quite the contrary,” he said. “I think it’s brilliant.”
“You do?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“I do,” he smiled. “I’m usually not into genre fiction—I’m usually more of a history buff than anything—but your sweeping tale of vampires across New Orleans is pretty impressive. You can tell you did a lot of research.”
“I fell in love with the city when I visited on a book signing,” I said, smiling as the waitress came froward to take our orders.
“You go on book signings often?”
“Not really,” I said. “I… and this is going to sound a bit silly, considering, but…”
“What?” Dylan’s eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed in question.
“I have really bad social anxiety.”
“No,” he said. “That can’t be true.”
“Yeah,” I replied, then laughed as I reached up to run my hand through my hair. “I can kind of block it out during book signings, but otherwise? I’m pretty much a homebody.”
“I guess that makes sense, in a way. You, the reclusive writer, chilling out at home with your parrot. His name’s Scottie, isn’t it?”
“Scottie,” I agreed, nodding. “And before you ask: he chose his own name, based off a certain science-fiction show—”
“About starships and enterprises,” Dylan nodded. “Gotcha.”
I nodded and reached forward to cup my hands around my cola, surprised at the ease which the conversation came. I’d expected to be paranoid out of my mind—terrified that he wouldn’t like me or my little itty bitty bird. Surprising, that seemed not to be the case at all. He’d brought me flowers, picked me up, taken time out of his schedule to take me out to lunch. And if things were going to plan, maybe he’d even take me back to his apartment and—
I shook my head, feigning surprise from a passing bug or an allergy attack gone wrong.
“What’s wrong?” Dylan asked.
“Nothing,” I smiled. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
Things I shouldn’t be, I thought, but instead said, “You.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. If it hadn’t been for you, me and the stupid bird would probably be… uh…” I made a motion of us splatting on the ground by allowing my hand to fall to the table with dramatic flair.
“Yeah. That.” Dylan grimaced and took another sip of his soda. “Well, we got to you in time. That’s the only thing that matters, right?”
“Right,” I nodded.
A casual silence followed, during which time our food came, our waitress left, we dug into our meals and continued to speak about the matters of life that followed.
Eventually, he asked if I wanted to order a drink.
“I don’t do alcohol,” I said.
“How come?” he asked.
“My last boyfriend,” I said, unsure whether or not to proceed with ‘that infamous talk’ about the exes. Knowing I had very little, if anything, to lose, however, I steeled myself for the potential reaction and said, “He was an alcoholic.”
“Oh.”
“That’s why we broke up. He couldn’t keep his temper down when he drank, so… that’s that. Three years down the drain.”
“I’m sorry,” Dylan said. “I only offered you a drink because you’re not driving. You can trust me not to indulge and then get behind the wheel.”
“Good,” I smiled. “That’s the way it should be.”
“Definitely.”
With that said, we dug into our food and continued to waste the afternoon away—talking about everything from food, to life, to love, to current goals and future aspirations. I told him I longed to move into a home of my own, while he explained to me that he’d eventually like to settle down.
“I’m not getting any younger,” he laughed after our waitress came and carried our food away.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Thirty,” he replied, then paused before saying, “That isn’t a problem. Right?”
“Not at all,” I smiled, then did the unthinkable. I reached out and took hold of his hand, lacing our fingers together and tightening my hold on his palm.
That touch—it was electrifying: the first real intimate content I’d had in over three months.
Dylan flexed his palm beneath my grasp and smiled. “What about you?” he asked. “You can’t be older than… what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-five,” I smiled.
“Damn. Good guess.”
“I hope I don’t look it,” I replied, briefly considering the fact that I was in the presence of a muscle-bound, fireman hunk of a god. “I don’t work out that much. I try to walk, but it’s hard, considering I’m sitting at a desk most of the day.”
“I don’t mind,” Dylan smiled. “Besides—you look pretty good to me.”
He’s really laying it on thick, I thought, then smiled.
I didn’t mind that though. He could lay on the charm all he wanted as far as I was concerned. Like I’d been so quick to think just moments before: he was the first real human interaction I’d had in months. Ariana wasn’t much of a touchy-feely person due to circumstances from her past, and me—well… I craved the attention, the touch, the physical sensation of skin on skin.
Dylan smiled as I lifted my blue eyes to look into his green ones.
“Shall I take you home?” he asked, briefly glancing at the smart watch on his wrist.
“Sure,” I said, then stood, but didn’t relinquish hold of his hand. I didn’t want the date to end, but knew that it would have to eventually, especially considering the work I had to do upon returning home. “I’ve got deadlines I should probably work on anyway.”
“The life of a writer,” he smiled. “Never over, is it?”
“Not in the slightest,” I replied.
We pulled up alongside Ariana’s home on east twelfth street and sat in the truck for several long minutes before Dylan said, “I’d like to see you again. If that’s all right.”
I blinked, stunned.
He wanted to see me again? Little ole boring me?
“You’re serious?” I asked, turning to face him.
“I’m serious,” he replied, then reached out and pressed a hand against my face. “You’re cute, Chase. Really fucking cute. And smart. And funny. And a hell of a good writer. I’m surprised no one’s snatched you up already.”
“I haven’t really been trying,” I replied, reaching up to take hold of his hand. “After Brad, I… kinda got burnt out on the whole idea of dating.”
“I hope I’ve changed your mind,” he replied.
“I think you have,” I said, content and comfortable with that knowledge.
He leaned forward, took hold of my face, and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. He held it there for several long moments before pulling away and saying, “See you in a few days? If that’s ok?”
“More than ok,” I replied.
I leaned forward, pressed another kiss to his lips, then turned and popped the passenger’s side door open. “See you soon,” I said.
He only smiled, bade me goodbye, and waited until I made my way to the porch before driving away.
***
Ariana pounced on me almost instantly. “Details,” she said.
“Woah woah,” I said, raising my hands in mock surrender. “Easy there, officer. I just got back.”
“And I want deets,” she said, making sure the door was shut firmly behind me before turning to
look at me. “So: spill.”
“He’s a nice guy,” I replied, offering a shrug to show my casual indifference over the matter. “He’s from Corpus, just like you.”
“But he hated it,” she said. “Tell me he hated it.”
“He hated it,” I agreed.
“I… kinda watched the two of you when you got back,” she admitted, reaching up to run her hands through her curly hair. “And… I kinda saw the kiss.”
“Oh?” I laughed, to which the bird responded with a bob of his head.
“I may or may not have let the bird watch.”
“Scottieeee!” the parrot said.
“You’re corrupting my parrot,” I said, then leaned forward to scratch the top of his head. He chuckled, obviously amused by the shenanigans that Ariana had allowed him to participate in, and bowed his head to meet my finger.
“So when do you see him next?”
“In a few days,” I said. The bird gave yet another series of head bobs in response to this. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you’ve got a shit-eating grin on your face.”
“Maybe this guy’s my next big thing,” I replied.
“Maybe,” she replied. “Don’t get your hopes up though. You don’t know what might happen.”
“I know,” I replied, then turned and made my way toward where my laptop sat on the kitchen table.
My latest novel wasn’t going to write itself.
Chapter Three
The next time I heard from Dylan, it was in an email inviting me to his apartment to watch a movie.
“Oooh,” Ariana said as she read the email over my shoulder. “Movies and chilling. You know what that means.”
“I do know what that means,” I sighed, expelling the breath out from between my lips in a mighty exhale that caused the long bangs hanging in my eyes to shift.
“What’s wrong?” Ariana asked. “The dude’s hot. I’m straight and even I want him.”