Dylan Read online

  “Shit, you did? I did too.” He pushes my hair away from my face and kisses me unabashedly on the mouth. And then I feel him right there… just where I want him.

  When we were together, I would masturbate in front of him, for him. He would come so hard, just as I came. It was a fun and dirty game we played. His lips go to my neck, nipping and kissing as he pushes in abruptly, forcing a moan from me. He looks up. Our eyes lock as he pulls back out, then pushes back in. His eyes weigh heavy like mine.

  “I missed you,” I say, but maybe I shouldn’t have. It’s the truth. Can telling the truth be wrong?

  “I missed you so much, Jules,” he replies, squeezing his eyes shut.

  This is intense—the feelings, emotions, sensations, him. Dylan inside me after so long. It’s overwhelming, dragging me under. But I don’t mind.

  This. Right now. This is everything and all that matters.

  Almost breathless, I mumble, “You feel so good.”

  “You feel amazing.” His response is quick and wanted.

  We fit. We fit so perfectly together in this way. We always did. Can we fit together again in other ways? I wonder, but then I don’t because I scold myself for thinking instead of enjoying what we’re sharing right now.

  I find his lips and kiss him, my tongue seeking more, which he so easily gives. “Dylan, Dylan, Dylan,” I chant and it feels natural. It’s what my body craves, to shout, to scream again in ecstasy as he hits that spot, remembering exactly how I like it.

  “Juliette… Baby.”

  There’s a silence that follows, our quiet pants filling the void. My body reacting to him, his words, and the way he calls me Juliette like he used to. I feel the change in him just as he tenses, worried the moment is ruined. He’s well aware of the name he called out, but for some reason, this time, I don’t mind. “I’m sor—” He starts to say, but I interrupt, “It’s okay. Please don’t stop. Do this for me.”

  “I’d do anything for you,” he whispers, looking into my eyes as his hips move to a steady rhythm, caressing my soul with every thrust. Breaking the wall down brick by stubborn brick until I feel the exposure, the light invades with love, or something like it. Our bodies are vessels to connect when our souls can’t yet. I realize this now. I realize that I might still love him. I still want him, more than just physically. It’s wrong, but feels so right, right this second.

  His hands are on me, his fingers rubbing in a way that send me into an abyss I’ve avoided for too long. “Dylan!” Just one word as I sink beneath, drowning in emotions I haven’t felt in years.

  Dylan grunts, then groans, saying my name and other endearments as he comes. A series of small thrusts push him to a breaking point that makes me feel alive, worthy, forgiving, and meant to be.

  Hearts racing.

  Sweating.

  He rolls over, bringing me with him. As I lay draped across his chest, I listen to his heartbeat—powerful, comforting, his hand rubbing my back, soothing. My lids are heavy as they lift to see the time on the nightstand in the dark bedroom.

  1:30 a.m.

  I give in, maybe not entirely to Dylan, but to sleep in his arms.

  7:04 A.M.

  Dylan.

  I can feel him.

  I can smell him.

  I can smell us all around.

  Strong and calming, frightening and troublesome.

  My eyes open to find I’m curled into his side, my head on his shoulder. My naked body is against the side of his very naked and sexy body. I smile feeling his cock harden under my arm, ready for more. My thigh is over his, his arms around me.

  Tilting my head up, I see his face with his eyes still closed. My stomach clenches seeing the bruising, the small cut, speckles of dried blood still visible. His breathing is regular and his lips slightly parted. He’s nothing less than beautiful even with the damage.

  Fuck, now I want him again.

  I should leave, needing time to process what happened between us and what happened between me and Austin.

  Austin. I sigh. I shouldn’t be in bed with Dylan while thinking of him. It’s rude to both of them, so I slip out from under his arm and replace my body with a pillow. Dylan snuggles into it, exhausted. He needs his rest to help heal.

  I use the restroom and wash my face, cleaning up as much as I can with a towel. Afterward, I open the door slowly, turning the knob. I shut it behind me quietly and quickly, hoping I don’t disturb him.

  Sometime in the night, he dried my clothes for me, making me feel cared for. I pull the clothes out of the dryer and slip them on before heading for the door. I’m startled when the coffee pot percolates to life, the timer chiming. I walk into the kitchen tempted to have a cup, but I don’t want to steal a mug, although he didn’t have the same courtesy. Standing there staring at the coffee maker drags all the emotions I’d been suppressing back to the surface. My eyes burn from the threatening tears and lack of proper sleep.

  When I reopen them, I see a letter on the counter near the coffeepot. It’s from Dylan’s mother. My heart races, remembering how much I miss her, thinking about our emails over the years, that bond still there. I lost more than Dylan when he walked out on me. It makes me wonder with all that’s left to resolve, if it’s possible to overcome the past to have a future together.

  AFTER SLIPPING IN the building door just as a neighbor exits, I trudge up the stairs that lead to my apartment and check the knob, hoping it’s unlocked. I can’t remember if I locked it or not before I was whisked away so quickly yesterday. When I check, it’s locked and I don’t have my purse. I hate having to do this, but I walk down the hall to the only other apartment on this floor and knock. While waiting, exhaustion sets in. I slide down the wall to sit.

  The door creaks open. Since I woke Brandon up, he looks sleepy. “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “I want to sleep, but my apartment is locked and I don’t have a key.”

  He helps me to my feet, then says, “I’ll get it.”

  I watch as he disappears into the kitchen. He’s wearing only boxers. We’re beyond the necessity to dress for each other, especially at this hour. He returns, handing me a key. “Hey Jules, Austin dropped his key off. Said he had to go to London. You weren’t home sooo…”

  I take it from him like it’s the most foreign object I’ve ever seen. “Did he say anything?”

  “He said he thought you’d want it back. Not much else,” he adds, scratching the back of his neck. “Where’d you stay last night?”

  Nodding to my right, I reply, “I’m gonna go.”

  He knows not to ask too many questions, but he still offers, “I’m here… you know the drill. If you need me or anything.”

  “Thanks.”

  I turn back to my apartment, walking slowly toward it, wondering what I’m going to find in there if anything. I hear Brandon’s door shut behind me just as I stick the key in, my hand shaking.

  When I open the door, I see all my belongings have been returned. The haul of a small moving truck sits in the middle of my living room. The big furniture pieces back in their rightful places which means he directed the movers to do so. My heart aches, but I step closer to the pile of boxes stacked in the middle. I see the painting hanging on the wall, my suitcase and purse where I left them.

  My life has been whittled down to an apartment of stuff, most of which I don’t even care about, things that don’t mean a thing to me anymore.

  Looking around again, I notice a note on top of my purse. Bending down, I read it.

  Jules,

  I love you.

  Austin

  Sitting down on the couch, I fall to the side, closing my eyes to stop the tears that are welling. Finally, I give into the crushing emotions I’ve managed to keep at bay and do what I should have done yesterday instead of sleeping with Dylan. I cry.

  I’ve hurt Austin. He’s the man who would have given me the world, but I hurt him and then… then I slept with Dylan. Grabbing a pillow, I hold onto it, squeezing it to
me and willing this endless sequence of pain Dylan and I started to end.

  The door clicks as it’s opened. I know who it is, so I don’t bother hiding my emotions or even looking up. “Jules?” The couch dips next to my head. Brandon’s voice is soft, whispering near my ear as his hand touches my cheek, revealing my tears. “Come here,” he says. I lift my head up and lay it back down on his lap. “It’ll be alright. I promise, Jules. It’ll be alright.”

  “I wish this would all go away.”

  “I know. It will look different after you get some rest.” He strokes my back and I find safety in my closest friend.

  I must’ve dozed off. When I wake, I sit up, my body sore and my heart still broken, but I think of Dylan and a small smile involuntarily appears.

  “So, what’s the deal?” Brandon asks. “What’s really going on?”

  Looking over at him, I sigh and decide to tell the truth because it would take too much energy to lie, energy I don’t have. “Austin and I broke up.” I wait for the comment—a reprimand, or scolding. A judgment even.

  But nothing like that comes. Instead, he says, “I figured as much when he returned your stuff and gave me the key to give back.”

  “And I slept with Dylan.”

  Once again, I wait for him to comment, a voiced disappointment. But that doesn’t come either. He looks at me and asks, “Are you back together?”

  “No. I don’t know. Maybe.”

  His brow furrows and I can see the judgment caught in the lines of his forehead. “What are you doing, Jules?”

  “Everything is moving too fast. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, my life is spinning out of control.”

  “Then get off the merry-go-round. This all started when Dylan came back into your life. What if he hadn’t? Would you be living with Austin right now?”

  “Brandon, please.”

  “I’m not gonna pressure you one way or the other. But here’s what I know. I don’t like to see you hurt, but this time, I think you need to figure this one out on your own.”

  With a heavy exhale, I reply, “Yeah, I’m coming to that same conclusion.”

  He stands, adjusting his shorts at the waist. “You know you’re never really alone though, right?”

  I stand to walk him out. “Thanks for being my friend when I need it most.” I hug him, throwing myself into his arms and trying to show how important he is in my life through the embrace.

  Brandon kisses my head and holds me, then turns and goes. He looks back when I say, “Hey Brandon, thank you and… and… I love you.”

  “I love you too, girl.”

  He’s the closest thing to family I have in the city and even though I’d love for him to come take charge and tell me what I should do, he’s right, he can’t rescue me this time. I’m going to have to save myself.

  I KEEP CALLING, but she won’t answer. I know she’s probably sleeping because she sure as damn didn’t get much sleep last night.

  My mind is still fucked sideways over the fact that we had sex. When I woke up, Jules was gone. Her clothes and her… gone, her absence felt before I opened my eyes. She might as well have stabbed me because it felt the same at that point.

  I lay there, thinking. That’s when I smell her all over—the pillow, the sheets, my skin. The air in my room altered to accommodate her presence. Now, lack thereof. I don’t regret what we did. Not at all, but hell if I don’t feel like I took advantage of the situation. Did I screw up the potential for a second chance? I hope not.

  I should have been here to listen, to answer her questions, but I couldn’t. She was so tempting, like she always was, always will be to me—my weakness. Seeing her last night was like the first time I ever saw her, but the need was different. Back then, I was determined to talk to her, to know her, to kiss her. Last night I was desperate for her forgiveness or forgetfulness, and a second chance.

  I got more than I expected because I got all of her—her mind, her body, her soul by the time we ended up in bed. I could feel her need for me, her own desperation as our souls reconnected. I wonder if she recognizes what really happened. It wasn’t just sex. It never was with us. But waking up alone… maybe the daylight scared her, the reality of what happened yesterday.

  Fuck! I grab my stomach sitting up in bed. I hope she didn’t go back to him. I hope she didn’t realize he’s the better man.

  He is.

  Even I know that, but I’m the better man for her.

  An hour later, I’m taking a cab to Jules’ apartment. I slog up the stairs, my shoes feeling like weights as I walk. What if she rejects me? Last night might have been it for us, but after feeling her… being that close again, I have to try.

  When I knock, there’s no answer. Two more raps on the door and still no answer. I press my ear to the door like the fucking low life stalker I am and listen. Nothing.

  I return twice over the next few hours before heading home, her decision not to see me again, obvious at this point.

  Come Monday morning, I’m sitting at my desk and still in shock that Austin didn’t have me fired. At least not yet. I sit idly by waiting for it to happen, but it never does.

  Not today.

  Not the next day.

  Not even the day after that.

  I’m still working here, moving up the ladder, but I removed myself from his account. Jacqueline is disappointed when I tell her. She questions, “I think the bruises on your face might have something to do with this. What did you do, Dylan?”

  I remain silent, not wanting to lead her on in any way. I never have. I’m not starting now.

  “You like her, don’t you? You like his girlfriend, Jules.” She laughs, flipping her hair over her shoulder, then says, “Holy shit! Austin did this to you.” She drops the papers in her hands as she stares at me with her mouth wide open. “You make it so obvious, so now you’ve piqued my curiosity. Why’d she pick Austin over you?”

  Shaking my head, I stare out the window of her large office. I don’t have the answer to that. I don’t even know if she chose Austin, but she didn’t choose me. That is glaringly apparent. I walk to the door as she calls to me, “Dylan? It’s her loss. I think you’re a great guy.”

  “Thanks.” I leave, not wanting to discuss this with anyone, but especially not at work. Trying to escape the office that seems to confine my thoughts to the past, I go to the park every day, hoping to see her, but she doesn’t come.

  I try not to go by the gallery, but I’ve been and watched her from afar. Through the office window, I see her. She often seems to be staring at the vase I gave her, touching it, examining it. Sometimes she looks out the window as if she’s looking for someone. I hope she’s looking for me, but I hide. I don’t want to be a distraction to her, to cause her anymore pain. I tried to force my way back in once, twice, and it backfired. If we’re supposed to be together, we will.

  IT’S BEEN A month. My mind still wanders and wonders, so today is the last day I knock on her door. The last time I’ll go to the park. The last time I’ll bother her.

  She doesn’t answer. Brandon comes out unexpectedly though. “Hey man,” he says, eyeing me warily. “She’s not home.”

  “Yeah, I gathered.”

  “So you’ve been coming here, what every day?”

  “Most days.”

  “She’s been working a lot, not home much.”

  “You don’t have to find excuses, Brandon. I know she’s avoiding me.”

  “She told me what happened.”

  I’m curious what she told him. I cross my arms over my chest defensively; worried that what she told him might hurt me more than her blatant avoidance. “What?”

  “That you two were together that night.” He looks just as uncomfortable as I feel right now. “I think what she feels for you scares her. Like me, she needs to know you won’t hurt her again.”

  “Never.”

  He takes my response and mulls it over, gauging me momentarily. “She’s not with Austin. They broke up. She’s
running on autopilot these days thanks to you.”

  “So am I.”

  “You look like shit.” He shifts, stepping back into his apartment, grabbing his phone from a table by the door. “Give me your number. Maybe we can talk over a pitcher sometime.” Jules’ best friend is offering to tell me what she can’t. It’s an opportunity and a death sentence all in one.

  I give him my number and ask, “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because as much as I want to help her through this, I can’t this time. It’s something she’s going to have to do on her own when she’s ready.” He shakes my hand, which seems oddly out of place, but strangely appropriate. “She’s not ready, Dylan.”

  “She’s stubborn. More than she used to be.”

  He laughs dryly. “Yes, that she is.” He steps back into the doorway to his apartment. “She’s still that same girl from years ago, the one you were with. She’s just more protective of her heart now. Give her some time.”

  “How much do you think she needs?”

  He shakes his head, laughing vacantly. “I don’t know. I don’t want her to hurt at all. I know you don’t either. Let’s grab that beer in the new year if you haven’t heard from her.”

  “Okay.”

  I walk away from her building feeling the same emptiness I’ve felt for a month. In reality, I’ve felt it for years, but deep inside, an inkling of hope remains. Finally, I might have someone else on my side, someone on her side that cares about her enough to know that I just might be the guy she should be with.

  THERE’S SOMETHING FUNNY about hate. It seems to be the only emotion you can’t hold onto. I used to think it was happiness. It’s not. It’s hate. It slips through your fingers before you’re aware it’s gone and you find yourself feeling something else, something new, something different. It manipulates itself. You think you can rely on the emotion like you once did so readily, so easily, but it changes.