by S. A. Wolfe
“You’re making me nervous about this guy.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not an easy thing to describe. Really, Dylan has such a sweet side to him. He was so cute and used to have this adorable, curly hair. Women would fall over him. He’s still sweet, though sometimes he forgets that we see him in that way. But Carson and my parents all think Dylan is doing great now.” Lauren lets out a deep, tired sigh.
“You don’t sound very optimistic.”
“I am, but it’s only been a few months since he cleaned up his act, so I’m not going to kid you and say it’s finally over and done with. I hope it is. The important point I want to make is that Dylan is a good guy. He’s smart about the business, and I think you’ll get along with him. This job is perfect for you.”
I sigh, wondering what it’s going to be like working with this Dylan person.
What I struggle with is, how well do I understand the ramifications of Dylan’s mental health issue? We joke about it sometimes and use it to lighten a mood, as if it makes us braver and easier to face it head on. The truth is, I wasn’t living here when Dylan was at his worst. I didn’t witness the volatile behavior during his manic stages, and I didn’t know him before his accident and the weeks he spent living in the rehab facility. I have gotten everything second-hand from Lauren and Imogene along with bits and pieces from Dylan.
What if I am replacing Robert with another troubled man that needs more than I can give?
As Dylan secures two large plates on the weight bar, it stirs me from my reverie.
“Those are enormous. Carson is right. It’s overkill,” I say, watching him lock the weights in place.
He is wearing cargo pants, and his bare chest is slick with a sweaty sheen. His brutal workout regime has given him the most spectacular body, and I love staring at his broad chest that narrows down into rippling abs. I have always thought Robert was a gorgeous man, but Dylan is beautiful, both physically and the way he is driven to push himself to the extreme. I assume it’s to chase away bad mojo.
When I put my needles down and analyze his process of aligning the weights, he catches my gaze and grins. I think he likes having me around during his workouts so he’s not enduring his solitary torture in vain.
“Why do you work out so much, Dylan? Between the running and all the weight training… I’ve never seen someone work this hard on their body unless they’re training for the Olympics. You’re not hiding something big from me, are you? I mean, you haven’t been recruited for a slot on an Olympic team, have you?” I am back to being jokey because I know the answer is more complex than what we have ever discussed.
I am curled up on the couch with my lap covered in skeins of yarn and knitting needles. Dylan secures another weight plate and stands up to look down at me with a calm reserve.
“I have to do this, Emma. I have to take medication and I have to see my doctor and let him therapize the hell out of my brain, but I also need the exercise. It may seem like overkill, but I have so much physical and mental energy that, if I don’t do this every day, my brain becomes cluttered with too many thoughts. The meds take the edge off, but sometimes my brain won’t shut off or calm down, and that’s when it starts attacking me. I’ve discovered the only way for me to burn off the negative thoughts is to have my body expel the bad energy by force.”
“Oh,” is all I can say. “It must be very hard to keep up this rigorous schedule.”
“Outside of work, I have a lot of time on my hands, so I’ve gotten used to this and actually look forward to it. Does it bother you that I put all this equipment in the living room? If it does, I can move it back to the basement.”
“It doesn’t bother me. I like your company.” For some reason, that little statement makes me blush. I have brazenly stripped him naked and straddled him, yet that comment is more telling than sex.
He smiles again, a lopsided, innocent grin. “The feeling is mutual. I like when you’re in the same room with me—at work and when I’m cooking in the kitchen. My workouts are long and tedious; it’s easier to do when you’re sitting there watching me.”
“I’m not watching you; I’m knitting.” I hold up my mangled project.
“Okay.” He laughs.
“You really think keeping me prisoner in the house and guarding me night and day is necessary? Are you afraid of Robert?”
“Baby, the only guy I’ve ever been afraid of is me.” He’s kidding again, but there’s truth to his words, and I don’t attempt to dismiss him with a laugh. “I’m only concerned for your welfare, okay?”
“And I appreciate it. I do, Dylan, but how long can you be joined at the hip with me? We may have seen the last of Robert, and you can’t do this indefinitely.” As much as I love your undivided attention, I want to say.
“Until there are new developments. Maybe we’ll see something on the news or we’ll hear from your dad. Until then, we work and we hang out here. And don’t forget, we have a fun-filled night ahead of us at Carson’s house.”
He resumes lifting his weights.
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten. I can’t wait to get out and do something different and be around some new people.”
Dylan pauses and glances at me with a mixed expression. I am afraid that remark has wounded him.
“I meant I haven’t gotten to spend any time with my friends or anyone else in Hera, so it will be nice to see them. I… I really like living here, though.”
“Good.” He pushes himself off the weight bench and joins me on the couch.
He then picks up the mangy little blanket I am knitting.
“Don’t you dare throw this across the room.” I pull it from his hands.
His mouth curves ever so slightly. “Why do you make these things?”
“It keeps my hands busy. I don’t play video games, and I’m kind of a restless person, so this helps, even if I’m not very good at it.”
“Now you know why I exercise so much. I’m a very restless person, too.”
He unfurls my legs and pulls them across his lap and then leans in to kiss me. It’s a soft, tender kiss, his blue eyes watching me as he nips at my lips and then my cheek. The earnestness of his warm gaze leaves me slightly breathless as a little tornado of glee begins in my belly.
I drop my knitting and hold his face in both of my hands, pulling him closer so he sinks down into the couch with me. His expression is so serious. I kiss my way across his cheek to a place behind his ear where I lick his scar. His shoulders release a little shudder when my tongue touches his scalp.
“I hope you stay here for a while,” he says hoarsely.
I wonder if he deliberately added “for a while” to that statement so it doesn’t come across as a commitment.
“I’d like that,” I whisper into his ear. “Unless, of course, I’m forced into the Witness Protection Program.”
“Of course.” He chuckles. “We wouldn’t want that.”
He embraces me, and for that moment, I feel like the most important person to him. Perhaps I am reading too much into our strange situation, and that working together and sleeping together have clouded my judgment. I want to say more and tell him I think he is brave to talk about his illness and to get involved with my unattractive problem; I wish I could be more forthright with him. Telling him I like him is not the same as telling him that his presence floods my heart with joy. I don’t say more, though. I suspect we are both too hesitant to use stronger words, considering our recent troubles and the safeguards we have put in place for ourselves.
***
My nerves are a jumbled mess thinking about the dinner party. In my mind, this is our first real date, and it makes me laugh considering we have been sleeping and living together.
Carson’s large, modern home is unbelievable, and just as Dylan has said, most everyone is dressed in jeans, the atmosphere very casual.
Jessica greets us at the door, her wild, red hair steamed up in curls from the cooking she’s been
doing, I am guessing. She begs off and races back to the kitchen with a fat bulldog chasing her.
“Wow, she must be cooking up a storm. It smells great,” I say, taking in the vast living room with its two-story high ceilings.
“She can’t cook. Their housekeeper, Talia, prepared everything and Jess is trying to figure out how to heat it up.” Dylan chuckles.
Archie looks so distinguished in his three-piece suit, and both Eleanor and Lois—the yoga mavens—are glammed up in dresses and fine jewelry. Only the under thirty crowd is slumming it in jeans.
I elbow Dylan in the ribs. “Why didn’t you tell me I could dress up? It’s a dinner party. No one should go to a dinner party in jeans.”
Dylan studies my skinny jeans and my ballet flats and then lets his gaze fall on my low-cut blouse. “You look fantastic, Emma.”
His voice drops an octave, and he doesn’t move to enter the party area. The way he looks at me, you would think this is the first time he has met me. A smile crosses my face as I realize that’s what it feels like with Dylan—he says something or looks at me and I begin crushing on him all over again.
“Thank you. You look like a sexy assassin tonight, and it’s a good look,” I respond as the heat rises in my face.
Dylan laughs, causing the others in the living room to turn to see what the fuss is about.
“No one’s ever described me that way,” he says as he puts his arm around my waist and walks me into the living room. “I guess my pretty boy days are over. I hope.”
“Who called you that?”
“Lauren and just about everybody,” he replies. “That was before my accident, though. Before the nurses shaved off my curly mop.”
“Well, look at you two. You finally arrived.” Imogene takes a big swig of her red wine, peering at us suspiciously.
“Are you drunk already?” Dylan asks Imogene.
He tightens his grip on my waist and then pinches my side, causing a small yelp to escape me.
Imogene catches it all. “Getting drunk is the plan. So what’s the deal with you two? Em, care to fill me in?”
“I’d rather not. I’m sure you heard about Robert.”
“Screw Robert. I want to know how it’s going living with Dylan.”
“Imogene, you’re supposed to help me corral people into the dining room,” Cooper says, coming up behind her.
He is dressed as he always is, in jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt with black combat boots, and he has the same unruly, long blond hair and beard scruff, but he seems different to me. Since showing up at my meeting with Robert, Cooper doesn’t come across as the comedian I thought he was; he is more mature than I gave him credit for. Or it’s all an act. Nevertheless, he carries off the hot biker look effortlessly.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she says to Cooper as he tugs on her hand. “I want to know what Dylan is doing to my friend.”
“Man, leave them alone,” Cooper says to her, but he’s looking at me.
“Oh, God, here we go,” Dylan mumbles. “Imogene, I’m not doing… never mind.”
“Let’s go sit down,” I suggest, moving around Imogene.
“Oh, sure, but you still have to fess up, Ironman,” Imogene says to Dylan.
I giggle at her nickname for him.
“Well, that’s not so bad. She’s called me worse things,” Dylan adds.
Lois intercepts us and affectionately grabs Dylan’s face with one hand and squeezes his cheeks. “You look so good, dear.”
“Thanks, Lois,” Dylan replies. “I owe it to my Ironman lifestyle, right, Imogene?”
Imogene snorts and throws back another gulp of wine.
“Dear, I think you owe it to this lovely girl,” Lois replies, taking my arm and leading me to the dining room.
I turn back to Dylan, my eyes wide. We are so busted by everyone. He mimics my surprise and laughs.
“Hey, Emma,” Carson says, giving me a quick peck on the cheek as he carries two bottles of wine past us to the table. “And it’s good to see you out of the house, brother.”
“Emma is tired of living like a prisoner in her own home,” Dylan says, pulling out a chair at the dining table for me.
“I never said that, and it’s not my home. It’s Leo’s.”
“My house could use some work,” Leo chimes in from the other end of the table.
“A lot of work,” Lauren adds.
“Hey, wait!” Jess comes rushing in from the kitchen. “Everyone get up, I have a seating arrangement planned.”
“Seriously?” Imogene whines.
“Jess, we’re having enough problems getting the food cooked, do we really have to play musical chairs?” Carson asks, filling wine glasses.
“Yes! We’re not sitting willy-nilly. Archie, you’re at the head on that end. Emma you sit next to Archie, and Dylan you sit across from Emma. Cooper, you’re next to Emma and Imogene is next to you. Lois, you sit next to Dylan, then Leo. Lauren, you’re sitting next to Imogene and Eleanor you’re across from Lauren. Carson you sit next to Eleanor, and I’ll sit across from you, and we’ll leave this head chair empty. Okay, everyone got it?”
Everyone is staring at Jess in utter confusion. She’s very insistent on this seating arrangement, though.
“For heaven’s sake, I’ll direct everyone,” Archie pipes up from his chair at the head of the table.
“We wouldn’t have an open seat if Jeremy didn’t leave,” Imogene mutters.
“You babysit her tonight,” I hear Jess mumble to Lauren who agrees enthusiastically.
“Where did Jeremy go?” I ask Cooper who sits down next to me.
Cooper huddles close to me, so Imogene doesn’t hear. He really has an adorable smile. “He accepted a job offer with one of our retail chains in California. There was an opening for a management position and he asked Carson to put in a good word. They flew him out there two days ago for the interview and he got a job offer right away.”
“Wow, poor Imogene. He just left her?” I ask.
There is a loud thump under the table. “Ouch!” Cooper shouts. He looks across the table at Dylan whose stern face and pinched mouth are locked on Cooper.
“Don’t touch,” Dylan says calmly.
“Oh, settle, man. She was asking me a question. I’m not hitting on your old lady,” Cooper says, and I laugh at his hippie remark even though he is Carson’s age.
“Old lady?” Imogene asks, sounding tipsy. “I knew it. Dylan Blackard, are you schtupping my friend? You guys are all the same.”
“Imogene, that was uncalled for,” Eleanor says. “Honestly, Imogene, you have been extremely ill-tempered. You’d think you’re the first woman to fret over a man. Please, don’t ruin Jess’s dinner with your gloomy attitude.”
“Well, thank you for reminding me how lousy I’m doing,” Imogene huffs.
“Oh, honey, you can fly out and see Jeremy. It isn’t the end of the world,” Eleanor retorts. “If he’s that important to you, use some ingenuity and figure out how to be with him.”
“He didn’t invite me out to visit him in California. That bastard,” Imogene says and glares at Dylan.
“Don’t give me the stink eye,” Dylan says. “You can’t pin this one on me.”
“Listen to you two,” Lois adds. “Why can’t you all be well-mannered like Cooper?”
Everyone turns to look at Cooper whose tan face suddenly turns a light shade of pink.
“Him?” Imogene points her fork at Cooper. “What’s so special about Cooper’s behavior? He’s a good flirt?” she asks acidly.
Cooper recovers from his embarrassment and puts his arm around the back of her chair. “You like my flirting?” It is as if he’s challenging Imogene, provoking her to say more.
Imogene scoffs. “You’re as smooth as a… a bed of daggers,” she struggles with a comeback.
“Ouch.” Cooper dials up his charming smile. He’s winning this round; Imogene is certainly off her game
.
“Guess you need a new tactic,” Dylan says, chuckling to Cooper. “Maybe we should move you away from the ladies.”
I shoot Dylan a glare for his childish remarks.
“Maybe we need a kiddie table, so the rest of us can enjoy ourselves,” Lois adds and Leo nods in agreement.
“Let’s have a nice dinner without the drama, shall we?” Archie says. “This is Jessica’s first dinner party and she’s a little frazzled if you haven’t noticed, and Carson isn’t much help.”
“It’s beeping again!” We hear Jessica shout to Carson.
They are both in the kitchen, hopefully assembling some dishes of food.
“What’s beeping?” Carson asks.
Our table is silent as we listen to their odd conversation coming from the other side of the archway.
“That thing that beeps. There it is again,” Jess says angrily.
“I didn’t hear anything. Besides, I thought you said you fixed the beeping thing.”
“Apparently not. I don’t know where it’s coming from. Carson, this whole house beeps. All day long, something beeps and drives me crazy. The dishwasher, the washing machine, the dryer, the security alarms—they all have different warning beeps, but they’re low enough so I don’t know which appliance is producing the beep, and they’re loud enough to drive me insane. This is high-tech hell!”
“Ah, babycakes, it’s the wine cave. You always slam the door too hard and it bounces open and stays slightly ajar. See? The beeping is a signal that the door is open,” Carson explains in his loving husband voice, the kind you use to calm down a pissed off wife.
“I hate that damn wine cave,” Jess says angrily.
Our table has been listening intently and suddenly bursts out laughing.
Dylan’s big boot nudges my calf under the table.
“I guess marriage is high-tech hell,” I say to him.
He shrugs and gives a lopsided grin.
Lois catches our little flirty exchange and smiles.
