by Mimi Strong
“You’re early,” I say.
“You’re drunk. And you don’t know what time it is. I’m late, but I brought you these.”
He pulls a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. They’re red roses, and they’re so beautiful. I stare at the flowers, barely able to take them from his hand. I could just cry, they’re so romantic.
“And these are for your roommates.” He pulls out another bouquet. This one is a mix of pink and yellow roses. “I was going to get wine, but fuck wine.”
I take the second handful of roses and repeat after him, “Yeah, fuck wine.”
He picks up a paper bag from the step and comes into the house. The bag is full of bottles and the contents clink together as he follows me in.
He walks through to the kitchen with confidence. I trail along behind him. “How did your songwriting go?”
“How do you think?” He sets the paper bag on the counter and pulls out a bottle of tequila. “I hope you have salt and limes.”
Amanda squeals and claps her hands. “Body shots! Oh my god, we have to do body shots.”
Riley doesn’t say anything. She just stands in the kitchen, holding a bucket of ice, staring at Dylan.
Amanda reaches out to shake Dylan’s hand and re-introduces herself. Then she introduces him to Riley, who gives him a limp handshake and mumbles something nobody can hear.
“You look familiar,” Dylan says.
“She’s my sister,” I say. “Dylan, that’s Riley, and she’s my sister.”
She looks over at me, her eyes still wide. I give her a look. Yes, Riley, I said sister, not half-sister. If that’s not good enough, she can suck it.
Dylan makes himself at home in the kitchen, checking under all the pot lids and talking about how good the food smells.
Now that he mentions the smell, I notice how good everything smells. Even the store-bought buns warming in the oven give off the aroma of fresh baking.
After a dramatic search for oven mitts, the meal is served.
We don’t have a dining room, but there’s a table inside the kitchen that the girls have cleared off. The thing has been covered in so much mail and recycling since I moved in, I didn’t even realize it was a table. We sit on folding chairs—the kind you might take camping.
“This is really nice,” Dylan says, which makes everyone laugh. “No, really. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in ages. This is incredible.”
We start with the artichokes, and I watch as Dylan pulls the stiff leaves off and dips them in the sauce. He’s obviously had them before. I watch him and do the same as he does. I make the mistake of putting the whole leaf in my mouth, and I struggle to chew the tough husk.
The four of us are evenly spaced around the small, square table. Dylan is to my left. He shifts his chair over so our knees are touching. He leans over and whispers in my ear, “Don’t eat the whole leaf.”
My roommates get up to grab some things they forgot to bring over. We’re on our own for a moment. I use my fingers to pull the green mess from my mouth and hide it in my napkin.
Dylan smirks, but doesn’t laugh at me for eating the artichoke wrong. I get the feeling he’s laughing with me. I glance over at the red roses in the center of the table and get an aching in my chest.
“Let me show you,” he says. He pulls a leaf from his artichoke, dabs it in the sauce and holds it to my mouth. He bares his teeth and makes a biting motion. “Use your teeth and pull off the edible part at the bottom. Open your mouth.”
I open my mouth and let him put the leaf partway in.
He whispers, “Now bite down gently. Not too hard. A little biting is sexy, but too much will leave a mark.”
I get the giggles as I’m biting down.
“Now hang on with your teeth,” he says, flashing his eyes at me suggestively. He pulls the leaf away, leaving the soft bit and the sauce in my mouth.
I chew, enjoying the artichoke now that I don’t have the tough plant to deal with.
“Hang on,” he says, reaching up to wipe my mouth with his thumb.
He catches a bit of dip from the corner and brings his thumb to rest on the middle of my mouth.
“Now suck it,” he says.
I open my mouth and suck the tip of his thumb.
He closes his eyes for a second, his dark eyelashes resting near the tops of his cheeks. When he opens his eyes, the look he gives me is so intimate, I start to blush immediately. I pull my head back, letting go of his thumb.
“Thanks for the lesson,” I say.
He rubs his knee against mine under the table.
“I enjoy teaching you things.” His voice is so deep and soulful, it makes me feel raw. My chest aches, and my body is yearning for him. An intense heat builds within me, so powerful it scares me.
Chapter 10
The four of us finish dinner, and have strawberries and whipped cream for dessert.
Dylan keeps flirting with me, looking into my eyes as he licks the cream off his strawberries. He steals kisses when my roommates aren’t looking. And when he isn’t kissing me, he’s rubbing his knee against mine.
Amanda notices the body contact and makes a joke about me sitting on his lap.
“I’d love a lap dance,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
I bat my eyelashes his way. “I totally would, but I’m too full from dinner. I’d break your lap, and that chair.”
“I’m not too full,” Amanda says.
Riley smacks her across her upper chest. “No!” she says, like Amanda’s a bad dog. Then they both start giggling like maniacs and feeding each other strawberries.
I turn to Dylan. “What’s it like, living on your own, without crazy people?”
He grabs my chair and pulls me closer, then he leans in and rests his hand on the small of my back. “Not as much fun,” he says.
He’s got his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. His other hand is still on my back. With him gazing into my eyes, it’s like a closed circuit, and I’m inside his space. My roommates and their voices fade into the background, and it’s only us.
“I’m glad you came for dinner,” I say.
His gaze moves down to my lips. I was going to ask him again how his songwriting went today, but I’m too self-conscious to move my mouth. All I can do is smile.
He says, “I’m glad, too. But I’m surprised we’re already at this stage… meeting each other’s families.”
I open my mouth to explain that I didn’t know my roommate was family until yesterday, but I swallow my words. I can’t tell Dylan that. Or any of my family history. He’ll think less of me if he knows all that.
“They’re more like friends,” I say. “I only lived with Riley on and off a few times. Mostly off.”
“Friends are good, too. They’re the family you choose, which makes them special. Even if sometimes you look around and you don’t remember choosing them. The best friends are the ones who choose you, and don’t take no for an answer. You know they’re in it for the long haul.”
I smile at what he’s saying. Dylan’s so cute and sexy that sometimes I forget that he’s also smart, and a deep thinker. He has a way of telling me things I know, but in a way that makes me feel comforted, like everything is right in the world.
“What are your friends like?” I ask.
“Good.” He turns his head away and looks down at the empty dishes on the table. “We’re all getting older now. Some of them are getting married and having kids. I don’t know about all that.”
I stare at his profile, trying to imagine his friends. They probably aren’t musicians, since music is a new thing for him.
He turns back, his expression bright. “One of my friends owns a restaurant. You’d really like him. And his wife would love you. All my friends would love you. They’re good people.”
I smile and look down at the table. My head is swimming from the mojitos. I don’t know anymore if I actually am allergic to alcohol, or if I’m just a cheap drunk, like Amanda says. I do k
now that I’m not my regular self. My mind feels weirdly disconnected from the rest of me.
Why is Dylan saying his friends ‘would’ love me? Why isn’t he saying they ‘will’ love me? It bothers me that his theoretical future doesn’t include me in it.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts by sounds of arguing. Amanda and Riley are fighting over the bottle of tequila. Amanda wants to keep the party going, but it’s Sunday night. Riley has to work in the morning.
Damn it. I have to work in the morning, too.
“Jess, are you feeling okay?” Dylan asks.
I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. “Totally fine. Just thinking about work tomorrow. In the archives. Ugh. Transferring dusty old files. Shoot me now.”
He frowns, looking confused. “Dusty old files?”
“I know, right? I’ve been there a week and they haven’t promoted me up to vice president yet. Obviously they don’t know real talent.”
He laughs and leans back in his chair. “You’re a talent, all right. Your cheeks are flushed. Should we go for a walk outside?”
I lick my lips and glance over at my roommates. They’ve compromised with a half-shot of tequila each, and they’re making a mess throwing chunky sea salt everywhere. I ask them if they mind if I go out for a walk with Dylan, and they say no problem.
A few minutes later, I’m stumbling out the door, holding Dylan’s hand. The coolness and the dark sober me up instantly.
“Wow. It was hot back in there,” I say as we walk down the street.
Dylan throws his arm across my shoulders. “Was I making you hot?”
“Always.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you getting cheeky?”
I smile and look down, feeling self-conscious.
We cross a street and keep walking. We’re heading in the opposite direction of the shops, and the houses here are bigger and older.
We get five blocks away from my house. Dylan stops and stares at a house with a metal construction fence around it. “What do we have here?” he asks.
“I guess they’re tearing this one down.”
Beyond the fence, the house is dark, with all the windows boarded up. It’s a tall house, with a steeply-pitched roof, like a haunted house in a movie.
“Let’s explore.” He nods at the fence.
I laugh, because I think he’s joking.
He jogs a few feet to the side, where the neighbor’s property starts. He steps on a big rock, then the neighbor’s picket fence, then vaults over the metal construction fence. He wipes his hands off on his jeans and stares at me, waiting for me to do the same.
I look up and down the street. This house is in the middle of the block, between two street lamps, but it’s not that dark. People could see us.
“I’ll wait here,” I say, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
“Come on, Jess. You’re not the kind of girl who stands around waiting while other people have fun, are you? At dinner tonight, your sister kept talking about how you used to jump off barns and things.”
I step closer to the fence and whisper, “But that wasn’t trespassing.”
He puts his hands up against the fence, his palms facing me. I put my palms against his and look into his eyes.
As soon as we lock eyes, I know I’m lost. His dark eyes call to me. If he wants me to jump over a fence, I’m going to do it.
He smiles.
I pull away, shaking my head, and go to the spot where he jumped over.
I’m not as tall and strong as Dylan, so I struggle and laugh at myself, but I get over.
“This way,” he says, leading me along the side of the house.
He grabs hold of the wood covering a window and pulls it away. The wood was already loose. We aren’t the only ones who’ve been here.
I look around, getting a bad feeling about this. But Dylan is already climbing in through the window and waving for me to follow. I shake my head. This is something kids do, not adults. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I am.
I climb through the window.
Now I’m inside a dark basement. The only light is what’s coming in along the edges of the wood covering the windows.
Now what?
Dylan grabs me and pulls me close. Okay, maybe this isn’t so scary. His lips land just to the side of my mouth, which makes him chuckle for a moment. Then he finds my mouth and we’re kissing in the dark.
My body responds to his touch, and I push against him. His chest is so broad compared to mine, he’s like a wall. A warm, sexy-smelling wall. I wrap my arms around him and revel in his masculinity.
The darkness plays with my senses. I can’t tell if we’re tipping to one side, or to the other. I try to adjust, to stand up straight, but that just throws us off balance more.
He pulls his mouth away and steps back quickly.
“You’re trying to tip me over,” he says, laughing in the dark.
“No, you were trying to tip me over.”
He stops laughing, but he’s still smiling. I can just barely make out the glint of his teeth in the dim light.
The ceiling overhead creaks, the crack like a thunderbolt in the relative hush of the basement. Instantly, my blood runs ice cold.
I whisper, “We have to get out of here.”
“Not yet.” A square, blue light flashes on, illuminating the cement floor under our feet. He’s got his cell phone in his hand, and he’s using the flashlight function.
With the help of the light, I find my way back to the window. I’ll need a boost to get back out. What is it with Dylan and windows? He’s definitely got a thing for windows… and getting in trouble.
“Gimme a boost,” I say.
“Hang on, Jess. I just want to check upstairs. These old houses have great hardware. If they haven’t stripped everything, I want a piece.”
“You’re joking, right? If there’s squatters in here, I don’t want to run into them. Or what if there’s rats?”
He aims the light up at his chin and shakes his head, like I’m being ridiculous. Maybe I am. I’m from a small town, and I don’t know much about squatters besides what I’ve seen on TV, but I am scared. My heart is beating fast, and my hands and face feel clammy with cold sweat.
“You won’t come with me?” He shines the square light directly at my face.
I shake my head, no. “I’ll stand guard here by the window.” The little light is bright enough that when he turns it away, I see nothing but spots.
I hear his boots on the cement as he walks away. “Gimme five minutes,” he says.
He keeps walking, muttering about stairs for a moment, then I hear his boots on wooden steps. A door creaks open, and he’s gone.
Now I’m alone in the empty, dark basement. My face itches. I wipe at my cheek, and feel a silky strand drag across my face. OH FUCK, NO.
SPIDERWEB.
I let out a near-silent wail and swipe my face and hair as fast as I can. I shake everything. Repeatedly.
Whimpering, I finger-comb through my hair. When I’m done, I hold absolutely still, listening for spiders. Yes, I’ve lost my mind. I’m listening for eight tiny legs walking.
Screw this, I’m going back outside. I grab onto the windowsill and try to pull myself up to the ledge so I can crawl out. If only I was just a little bit stronger, or had a step, I’d be able to get out, but I can’t.
Sweating and grimy, I finally give up and stand there, waiting.
I’ve been hearing footsteps upstairs, but now the whole house is quiet. This tall house has at least three floors, so Dylan probably found more stairs and went up.
Something crashes. Like a big piece of furniture, or a person, falling hard.
I hold my breath, waiting for more sounds.
The house is silent.
My mind plays through a number of possibilities. One idea is the strongest. Dylan fell in the dark and hit his head. I have to get to him.
I don’t even have a light, because my phone is back in my bedroom, at the
house.
Still listening in vain for noises, I fumble my way in the direction Dylan left. By some miracle, I find the stairs and get up to the main floor without falling down.
“Dylan?”
I’m on the main floor, which is almost as dark as the basement.
He doesn’t answer. I call his name again, louder. I don’t care if anyone discovers us in here, I just need to know that he’s okay.
The floor squeaks behind me, and arms grab my middle.
I’m so relieved, I don’t even scream.
He clutches me against him.
He smells different.
Sour.
Nasty.
My blood turns cold again. A man rubs his chin along the side of my cheek. His bearded chin.
It’s not Dylan.
I open my mouth to scream just as a hand claps over my mouth.
Chapter 11
The hand over my mouth is rough and smells of motor oil.
I scream as loud as I can, the sound coming out muffled.
My self-defense reflex starts up, not even conscious.
My elbow smashes back, aiming for the solar plexus, the soft spot below a person’s ribs. He’s behind me, so I crack my head back, trying to connect my skull to his face. Something connects with a satisfying crack.
The arms around me are all bone and sinew. They loosen, and I pull away. I bring my arms up in a defensive position. This floor is dark, but not as dark as the basement. I should run.
My eyes make out a human form in front of me. His hair is wild, and he’s skinny, but tall.
Everything’s happening fast, but I’m hyper-sensitive.
RUN. I need to run.
I’m aware of my feet, flat on the ground. A patio door, to my left. A man holding his broken nose, in front of me.
I let out a scream, take a breath, then scream Dylan’s name.
The shadowy man in front of me takes two steps forward, positioning himself between me and the door. I back up, holding my fists in front of me. My feet contact something soft, and I fall back. I land hard on my butt.