by Emery Rose
Whenever Shane rode a wave, Dylan straddled his board and watched him over his shoulder. I doubted that Shane even noticed that Dylan only watched him and not Travis, but I found it interesting. It was also interesting that Dylan barely glanced my way. Since our dinner three nights ago, I hadn’t seen him or heard from him but his declaration about wanting to fuck me was still playing on repeat in my head. So were the other things he’d told me that night.
I saw you, Scarlett. I always saw you.
For a girl who had felt mostly invisible in her own family, overshadowed by an older sister, those words meant a lot to me. And somehow Dylan had known that.
Ollie paddled back out to me after riding a wave and straddled his board. I was staring at the horizon, soaking up the afternoon sun, peddling to stay on my board. There might have been a secret smile on my face.
“Are you planning to surf or just daydream?” Ollie teased, but there was an edge to his voice like he knew where my thoughts had taken me, and it didn’t make him happy.
He was right though. I was here to surf. I surfed for fun. For the rush. And sometimes I showed off and made a total idiot of myself. I eyed a set of waves building that looked perfect for what I had in mind and grinned at Ollie. “That wave has my name on it. Just call me Superman.”
Ollie groaned. “Oh no. Fuck no.”
I was laughing as I paddled for the wave, paying no heed to his words. “Don’t even think about it, Smalls. Waves are heavy today.”
The adrenaline was pumping, and I was up on my board, false confidence riding high as I flew off the lip of the wave and caught air. I was Superman, flying high, my board sky-bound just the way I wanted it. Or I would have been Superman if it hadn’t all fallen apart. Airbound and flailing, I windmilled my arms and legs, desperately trying to grip the rails of my board. Needless to say, that never happened. I plummeted back into the water, sans board, and got rag-dolled by the heavy waves. Tumbled and turned until I had no idea which direction was up, and which was down.
What felt like a lifetime later, battered by the surf and dragged across the sandy bottom, I washed up to shore and got on my knees, coughing up the water in my lungs. With all the grace I could muster which was none, I got to my feet on shaky legs, and retrieved my board. And got knocked flat on my ass in the shallows.
By the time I made it to the water’s edge and sat on the sand to catch my breath, I felt like I’d just gone through a full cycle on the washing machine.
“Shit,” Dylan said, appearing out of nowhere. He pushed his board in the sand, fins down to keep it from getting swept out to sea and crouched in front of me. “Are you okay?”
One might think he would be concerned but he was barely suppressing his laughter. Practically bursting to let it out. Couldn’t blame him. Not one of my finer moments. Entertainment gold, no doubt. I sighed. “I’m fine. Except for my bruised ego.”
“You almost had it.” I shot him a dirty look. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He was laughing so hard he was doubled over. I rolled my eyes and waited for him to pull himself together.
“If you were trying to get my attention, you’ve got it,” he said after he caught his breath from laughing. He pounded his chest with his fist. “Oh man, you’re killing me.” He plucked a handful of seaweed off the top of my head and tossed it over his shoulder. Well, that must have been a good look. Someone just shoot me. “You sure you’re okay?”
I rolled my eyes again and stood up, slightly battered but not broken. “I’m fine.”
He swiped his hand down his face to hide the laughter. “Holy shit. You made my day.”
“I’ll stop at nothing to make you laugh.” He peeled down the top half of his wetsuit, complaining of being too hot, because yeah he was just too freaking hot, and my eyes roamed over the heavily inked tattoos on his chest. I’d been wrong. His entire chest wasn’t covered in tattoos like I had thought. There was a blank space over his heart, about the length and width of my two hands. Blank. Empty. Like the artist had stopped midway through painting a masterpiece and left an unfinished canvas.
Who would do that?
He tugged on the end of one of my braids, drawing my attention away from the blank space over his heart. “These are cute.” Then he leaned in close and brushed a lock of wet hair off my forehead. “I don’t like it when you’re with Shaggy Doo.”
“You don’t have to like it. Ollie is my friend. Get over it.”
“A friend who’s fucked you.”
Ugh, we were back to that. I planted both hands on his bare chest and tried to shove him away. He wrapped his hands around my wrists and tugged me closer. “Come over to my house tonight. I’ll pick you up.”
“I’m busy tonight.”
His eyes narrowed like he didn’t believe me. Like I couldn’t possibly have any plans that didn’t include him. He took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Busy doing what?”
“I promised Nic we’d do an 80s movie marathon. She’s making pizza. Not that I owe you an explanation.”
He snorted. Not sure what the meaning of that was but I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.
“Catch you later, Dylan.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, I jogged into the water, my board under my arm as Shane was on his way in. His eyes darted toward where I’d left Dylan then back to me. “All good?”
“Yep.” I gave him a big smile, and he didn’t comment further. I got the feeling that he’d rather just stay out of it. Smart move.
“What did I tell you? It’s synchronicity,” Nic said as she followed the GPS to none other than Dylan St. Clair’s house. A house I had never been to and hadn’t even known the address of until Nic got it earlier.
“I can’t believe you made this plan behind my back.” What were the chances that she and Dylan would be pumping gas right next to each other? Slim to none. Yet it had happened.
“Oh come on. Tell me you’re not dying to see his house and hang out with him tonight.”
“You’ve undone all of my hard work.”
“What hard work?”
“I chose a movie marathon with my friend over—”
“Hot sex with your other friend.” Nic patted my arm. “Proud of you, babe. But this will be fun. We’ll just be vibing.”
“You’ve met him. He doesn’t just vibe. He’s all… moody and broody and he barely even talks.” That wasn’t always the case but for the purpose of this argument, it was accurate enough.
“Uh huh.”
“You don’t think this feels weird?” I asked as she turned down his street. This looked like a family neighborhood, so I was surprised Dylan had chosen it. In fact, I was pretty sure that one of my friends from junior high used to live here. I remember going to her pool party in seventh grade. The houses overlooked the hills and the canyon, with a view of the sea in the distance.
“No. What’s weird about it? Obviously, he wanted to spend time with you. Besides, I’ve hung out with you and Ollie. And you’ve hung out with me and what’s-his-face.”
“Aaron.”
“Ugh, Aaron. What did I ever see in him?”
“He had a big dick.”
“He did. It was beautiful. Nice and straight. How’s Dylan’s dick?”
“I’m not talking to you about Dylan’s dick.” According to the GPS, we had arrived at our destination.
“You haven’t seen it yet, have you?”
“No.” But I’ve felt it.
“He looks like he’d have a big dick. Thick, you know? Hey, maybe he’s pierced. He looks like the type—"
“Stop talking about dicks,” I said, and we both had a giggling fit in Dylan’s driveway.
I peered at his house through the windshield. It was nice. Really nice. Tucked away behind lush foliage and palm trees. A two-story Spanish style white stucco with a terracotta roof and black wrought iron trim—not what you’d picture a single guy Dylan’s age to live in. Not at all the house I’d picture Dylan living in. Al
though what would I picture? Something sleek and minimalist. A penthouse apartment with a lot of glass and chrome?
“This is crazy. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“I’ll be like your personal chef. It’s just pizza and a movie and afterward you two can—”
“I’m going home with you. Don’t you dare pull a stunt and leave me at his house.” We got out of the car and unloaded the bags from the backseat. All the ingredients to make homemade pizzas plus a pizza stone, pans and God knew what else she packed in these bags. Nic was extra but then, so was I. We got along great. “In fact, you should give me the car keys.”
I held out my hand for her to turn over the keys to her Nissan. Ignoring my outstretched hand, she rolled her eyes at me as we walked up to Dylan’s front door carrying all our bags. With all these bags, we looked like we were planning to stay for two weeks.
I rang the bell and tried not to hyperventilate. I didn’t care what Nic said. This was weird. Dylan was not a people person. I couldn’t even imagine him striking up a friendly chat with Nic at the gas station and inviting us over tonight. She must have done all the talking. I bet she masterminded this whole thing. If she were a true friend, she’d be trying to keep me away from Dylan instead of pushing us together.
The door swung open and there he was, looking all chill in faded jeans with ripped knees and a black T-shirt. And then he smiled, a genuine smile that showed his straight white teeth, and I swooned.
Literally swooned.
There was no armor that could protect me from Dylan when he smiled. To make matters worse, he was charming. Charming. Almost boyish and all kinds of adorable, like he was happy we were there. I couldn’t handle this. He took all the bags out of our hands and we followed him into the kitchen, sneaking a peek into the living room on the way. I loved his house. Not what I’d imagined, yet it was so him with clean white walls and dark hardwood floors covered with black and white Moroccan rugs. Black wrought iron chandeliers hung from the woodbeamed ceiling and his black overstuffed sofas looked so cozy and inviting. Like you’d just want to sink into them and not leave anytime soon.
“Oh my God, you have a chef’s kitchen,” Nic squealed, her smile mega-watt as she took in the expanse of stainless steel and black granite countertops. “This is amazing. A Viking stove.” She lovingly ran her hand over the gleaming stainless steel while Dylan set all the bags on the island, amused by her excitement over a stove.
“Do you cook a lot?”
“Never,” Dylan said with a laugh. Nic was in raptures again when her eyes settled on the bottles of red wine on the counter. “You bought the wine I suggested!”
Dylan lifted one shoulder in a shrug and carved his hand through his hair. Tonight, it was messy and disheveled. Secretly, I preferred it that way. Nic was going on and on about the wine and Dylan’s awesome kitchen while he uncorked a bottle of wine and I just stood there trying to figure out what was going on.
Was he into threesomes? Oh crap. I hadn’t even thought of that. Was he attracted to Nic? Did he want to fuck both of us?
He pressed a glass of wine in my hand, his fingers brushing mine as I accepted the glass and thanked him, my eyes focused on the ruby liquid in my glass. I didn’t even want to look at him. It was always my undoing. “Don’t be jealous, Starlet.”
“Pfft. I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous?” I took a big swig of liquid courage, using great restraint not to chug it and demand a refill. God, why did he make me feel this way? It was his scent. All those damn pheromones just floating around.
He gave me a slow, lazy grin. “I don’t know. Why would you be?”
Thankfully, Nic chose that moment to ask for my help. Something to occupy my time and attention. Dylan, of course, did not help with the pizza making. He drank his beer and played on his phone while I assisted Nicola who acted like she was filming a cooking show. As a joke, Dylan changed the music and “Truth Hurts” blasted from his surround sound.
“In case you feel the urge to dance,” he said. Nic and I obliged, dancing as she prepared the dough and I was put in charge of the toppings. I grated enough mozzarella to feed an entire village in Italy.
We were about to roll out the dough on the floured surface when the doorbell rang. A few seconds later, Dylan returned to the kitchen with another guy—Hispanic with cropped dark hair, built like a linebacker.
“Look at that. Baby sister is all grown up.”
“Keep your eyes off baby sister,” Dylan growled, handing his friend a beer.
The guy, who I assumed was Cruz, chuckled and then introduced himself.
“I remember. Good to see you again. This is my friend, Nicola.”
“The chef,” he said with a grin, his eyes doing a slow descent, taking her in from head to toe. “Very nice to meet you.”
“Very nice to meet you as well.” Nic was practically purring.
O-kay. Now they were just staring at each other across the kitchen island. Like they’d just found their soul mates after a lifetime of searching and couldn’t imagine how they’d lived this long without each other. That’s truly how it felt, watching them. I’d never seen Nic act like this with any guy, and it appeared to be reciprocal. Until finally, Nic shook her head, snapping out of it and gave him a dazzling smile. “Do you want to help us roll out the dough?”
“I’d love to.” Cruz rubbed his hands together and rounded the island to stand by her side. She smiled, this little secret smile as they exchanged sidelong glances, and I felt like me and Dylan were intruding on their private moment. “Just show me what to do.”
Dylan smirked. I suppressed a laugh. Who would have guessed that Dylan would play matchmaker? He was full of surprises, and with each layer of himself he revealed, I fell just a little bit harder.
13
Dylan
They talked us into watching 80s flicks. Cruz took zero convincing. Dude was already pussy whipped. Within five minutes of meeting Nicola, he cracked like an egg and shared his entire life story. She’d done the same. Now I knew a whole hell of a lot more about Nicola Benedetti than I’d ever need to. Starlet and I watched from the sidelines as we ate our pizza, and she’d given me these sweet little smiles, almost shy like we were just getting to know one other and didn’t already have a convoluted history.
I had no agenda tonight. I wasn’t trying to get her into bed. Truth be told, I was content to hang out with her, watch movies, eat pizza, listen to her running commentary on the movie, whatever. Didn’t matter what we did, I just liked being around her. Which was strange. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this way about a girl. Maybe never.
I had never done the whole dating thing. First time I had sex, I was fifteen. She was late twenties, early thirties. Shelby. I used to mow her lawn when we lived in Little Rock. She was rich, lived in a big house surrounded by a couple acres, and her husband golfed every weekend. It was just fucking. No kissing. No intimacy or sweet words required. Afterward, she’d tuck a wad of cash in my pocket, wink and say, “Thanks. Same time next Saturday?”
Fucked up? Maybe.
Would you sell your soul to pay the utilities, put food in the cupboards, and have a steady supply of booze and weed? Turns out I would, and I did. She didn’t know I was only fifteen. Must have left out that little detail.
In high school, I had a reputation. I was the guy who could get you the best drugs, then screw your cheerleader girlfriend in the locker room and leave you bleeding all over the leather interior of your BMW after I fucked up your face. That was the guy Sienna had wanted. A taste of the forbidden. Her feeble attempt to give her daddy the middle finger. She knew what I was, and that’s why she’d chosen me. I was the guy she fucked until someone suitable came along.
But Scarlett… she was different. She actually liked me for me, and I wasn’t entirely sure what to do about that.
Turns out I didn’t have to do anything. Scarlett was a lightweight, got drunk on two glasses of wine. Now, the credits were rolling on
a movie about kids in detention, and she was passed out. Snuggled against me, her legs tucked underneath her like a lovable kitten. My arm around her shoulders was numb, but I didn’t move it because I didn’t want to disturb her. The fuck was I doing?
“You two look cozy,” Nic observed from her spot on the other sofa.
“Like an old married couple,” Cruz said with a snicker.
I gave him the middle finger and he chuckled. “We’re gonna crash in one of the guest bedrooms.”
“This isn’t the Holiday Fucking Inn.” But I didn’t give a shit if they stayed. I had plenty of room and they’d had too much to drink to even think of driving home.
“It’s nicer. And the walls aren’t as thin,” Nic said with a wink, no embarrassment whatsoever that she and Cruz were about to go upstairs and fuck like rabbits. She was pretty cool. A straight shooter. No games. I liked that. And obviously so did Cruz who had a little more swagger in his step than usual.
Meanwhile, I’d put a girl to sleep. That was a first.
I wasn’t thinking with my dick when I carried her upstairs. I wasn’t even thinking with my dick when I tucked her into my bed, leaving her in a skull T-shirt and leggings, her hair messy and disheveled. She smelled like vanilla and honey, the scent of red wine on her soft breath. It was a heady combination. Sweet, innocent, and forbidden. Like her.
She slept like the dead, this girl, and only stirred briefly, mumbling something incoherent before she dropped off to sleep again with a sigh of contentment. I pulled the covers up to her shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her sleep, her face so peaceful, a small smile turning up the corners of her lush lips like all her dreams were good ones.
A few minutes into creeping on Scarlett, my phone rang. I turned it to silent, checking to make sure my crazy mother hadn’t woken her. One in the morning was her favorite time to call. Ducking outside onto the balcony, I closed the French doors to block out the sound of my voice and answered my mother’s call.