More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5)

by Jay McLean

  We make love on the kitchen counter. And in the shower. And finally in our bed. And we make plans. Stupid plans. Things like turning the guestroom into storage for random clown and moth paintings.

  I hate moths.

  He hates clowns.

  We spend the night laughing, not bothering to stifle them in case we wake anyone, and when exhaustion finally takes over, we fall asleep the way we do every night—with his arms around me, and my arms around him—keeping each other safe.

  * * *

  I hide out in the bathroom when Dylan tells me Logan and Amanda are close. I don’t know what else to do with nerves so high and my hands so shaky.

  Dylan knocks on the door. “Babe, Amanda’s here.”

  “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I check my make-up free face in the mirror—once pale, now a little tanner since I’ve started leaving the house. I check my eyes, gray and full of hope, and I look down at my dress, hoping it’s enough. I curse myself for not being more like my mother—a woman who enjoys the wonders of hair and make-up. A woman like Heidi.

  When I finally gain the courage, I head out of our room. They’re all standing in the kitchen while Dylan tells them the details of the house. The age, the build, and a bunch of other stuff I tune out when Amanda turns around. She’s in denim shorts, a tank, and flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up like she’s ready to work. She’s dressed exactly like I do. Her hair’s in a knot on top of her head and when she smiles at me, her eyes smile too. She places a giant folder on the kitchen table as she makes her way over to me, arms outstretched when she says, “Hi Riley!”

  She pulls me into a hug, not too over-affectionate, but not underwhelming either. “It’s good to see Dylan let you out of his grasp long enough to finally meet you.”

  Logan’s next to her now, his arms out just like hers were. “’Sup, Riley?” he asks, pulling me in for a hug.

  Dylan breaks us apart while Logan and Amanda laugh. “That’s enough of that,” Dylan says, not a hint of humor in his voice.

  Just so I’m clear, Jealous Dylan = Hot Dylan.

  “Did you want to show me around the place first and then we can go through some ideas?” Amanda asks, stepping up next to me. She waves off the boys as she picks up the folder and the next thing I know we’re talking Scandinavian versus Modern Eclectic and picking out paint samples at the hardware store.

  At some point while we’re there, Logan gets a call from Cameron and by the time we get home, all of Dylan’s friends are waiting out front. Apparently they’d all come home for the weekend because they wanted to help us get settled in, and they wanted to see Dylan.

  “I brought the food,” Mikayla (Jake’s girlfriend) says, lifting boxes of pizza in her hands.

  “I brought the booze,” Lucy adds.

  And now we’re having a paint party.

  “Do you mind?” Dylan says when he finds me in the bedroom. “It’s just that we don’t get to see each other often and—”

  “I don’t mind at all!” I replace my dress with what I normally wear, smiling as I see him watching me from the corner of my eye. I’ll never get sick of his reaction to my body. Never.

  We eat first, then end the night painting and dancing and singing to the High School Musical soundtrack. I get to know his friends; they get to know me.

  The only rule Mom had when Dylan spoke to her about me moving in was that no alcohol was to be kept in the house. It was a no-brainer for Dylan, and even for me. He once asked if I thought I should go to AA for my drinking problem. He even offered to go the meetings with me, but I didn’t think I needed it. Truth is—Dylan had become what he once offered. He became my alcohol. Only he didn’t just dull my pain—he cured it.

  I guess the rule was just Mom’s way of making sure I don’t fall off the edge, and regardless of how I may have acted months ago, I truly appreciate her thinking of it.

  I don’t have an issue with other people drinking. I don’t even mind watching other people drink. Especially Dylan. Because Buzzed Dylan = Handsy Dylan = Hot Dylan.

  Lucy gets drunk and curses like a sailor, which everyone finds hilarious. Me, especially.

  She then goes on to tell Dylan the details of Operation Mayhem: Roxy-Is-A-Slut-Of-A-Fucking-Whore Edition (aka Ho-peration Whore-hem), and even though I’m sure the fumes from the paint contribute to our mood, I’m having a good time. A really good time.

  Because Lucy and I had been chatting about books, I kind of felt like I knew her already. And because Amanda and I had spent the day together, we had bonded. So I find it a little odd when Mikayla stands next to me, paintbrush in her hand and a Tar Heels cap pulled low on her brow and says, “I remember my first night meeting these guys. Swear, I thought they were all crazy, but crazy good, you know?”

  I nod. “You didn’t go to our high school, did you?”

  “Nope. I met them all the night of senior prom. We had it on the same night. It’s long story. I’m sure Dylan can tell you about it.” She drops her gaze, just for a second before looking back up at me. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “I kind of felt compelled to reach out to you and let you know that they’re all good people. They’re accepting of anyone, no questions asked. They’re the type of friends who become family, Riley.” She looks over at Dylan quickly. “And if you ever need anything, you can always call us. Especially when…”

  “Yeah,” I finish for her. When he deploys, she wanted to say.

  She smiles again. “I just didn’t want you to think that because you’re only dating Dylan, it doesn’t make you part of our family. Because you are now.” She laughs. “Whether you like it or not.”

  Behind us, Lucy squeals, pulling our attention away from each other.

  “You’re just causing more work for me, Luce,” Cam huffs. “You got streaks everywhere. Go sit in the corner like a good little girl.”

  “Oh, Dylan!” She snaps, puffing out her chest. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

  “What?” Dylan asks, turning to her from his spot on top of the ladder. “Did you say my name?”

  Lucy yells. “You can Dylan too, Dylan!”

  “She’s so wasted,” Mikayla says through a giggle.

  “Why are you saying my name?” Dylan asks again, his brow bunched in confusion.

  Confused Dylan = Hot Dylan.

  “We’ve been through this,” Jake tells him.

  “I forget,” Dylan mumbles.

  Amanda chimes in. “Like that time Lucy forgot that we don’t all read like her and spoiled an entire book.”

  “You can Dylan, too, AmanDuh!” Lucy shouts.

  Now everyone’s laughing. Me included. “Why is my boyfriend’s name a verb?” I ask.

  Mikayla speaks first. “It means to shut up or stop, I guess. Or, like, don’t talk about it.”

  “Really?” Dylan asks. “Funny. When Riley says it, it means ‘Don’t Stop. Please. More. Keep going. Yeah. Just like that!’”

  “Dylan, Dylan!” I yell, throwing my brush at his head.

  Funny Dylan = Hot Dylan.

  And Hot Dylan = Mine.

  Twenty-Nine

  Dylan

  We spend the next month getting settled into the house. I see Riley a lot less since she got a job. I told her she didn’t have to, that I had enough income plus Mom’s life insurance leftover from the deposit on the house that she could wait, at least until I was gone. It was selfish, I know, but I just wanted her for myself.

  She works at an animal shelter—which is perfect for her because she really doesn’t like people. This way, animals don’t judge her. She spends eight hours a day cleaning dog shit and mopping up piss and feeding them and giving them meds and she couldn’t be happier.

  And I’m happy she’s happy.

  Now, it’s summer and Jake and Mikayla, and Cameron and Lucy have graduated. Logan and Amanda still have another year because of the year they both missed—Amanda at the start and Logan when he took the year off with Doctors Without Borders. Jake is… well,
Jake is taking his year off now. Everyone questioned why the hell he would possibly take a year off between college and all the possibilities the MLB are offering him and his answer is simple: Baseball’s been his and Kayla’s and his family’s life since he moved back to the states. Now it was his chance to give them the attention they’d been giving him. Everyone thought he was crazy. Everyone but me. I understood completely. The income they have from renting out the house by UNC is enough for them to live off for the next year before things get hectic again with him, so he’s taking the time. If the decision bites him in the ass, then so be it. Baseball is a career. It’s not his life anymore. He and Kayla have plans to travel and see the world, and me? Well, I’m just taking every horizon I can get.

  “Watcha got, old man?” Riley says, her arms spread out as she watches me dribble in front of her.

  From the stands, Logan shouts, “Yeah, Grandpa Banks. Whatcha got?”

  We decided to put the house stuff on hold for the day and spend it with our friends at the sports park. We normally hit up the batting cages, but today we gave it a break and played basketball instead. Well, Riley and the guys and I played. The other girls sat in the stands arguing about some book something. Unless the book gets me laid, I don’t really pay much attention.

  Now it’s just me and Riley, one on one, and she’s in short shorts, a sports bra and lose tank that barely covers said bra. She’s sweating though. Not because it’s hot, but because she’s down 12-2. She doesn’t like losing. It helps I’m almost a foot taller than her and my arm’s almost at a hundred percent again.

  “Who you calling old?” I ask, dribbling around her for another lay up.

  She narrows her eyes at me, just for a moment before she pouts.

  “Don’t think you can distract me with your hotness. That shit won’t fly on the court.”

  The pout turns to a smirk as she makes her way over to me, taking the ball from my hands. She drops it to the ground, then stands on it, using my neck for leverage. “Next score wins?” she asks.

  I roll my eyes.

  Lucy shouts, “Use the girl card!”

  “What girl card?” I ask.

  She smirks. “No sex for a month.”

  “Pshh. You can’t live without sex for a month.”

  She quirks an eyebrow. “Want to test me?”

  I remove her arms from around my neck. “Nope.”

  Her head throws back with her laugh. “I didn’t think so.”

  She scores.

  She wins.

  I get guaranteed sex for the next month.

  I win.

  I’d call that a win-win.

  I sit back down with the rest of the guys while Riley gets us drinks. “You let her walk all over you,” Cameron says.

  Lucy glares at him.

  He apologizes.

  “Where does she hide that whip she’s constantly beating you with?” I ask him.

  “In her magical pussy,” he says, earning him a slap on the back of the head from Lucy.

  We all laugh as Riley returns with drinks. She hands the waters out to all of us and takes her seat on my lap. Then she places her bottle on my shoulder. “How is it?”

  “Fine,” I tell her, kissing her neck. “I’ll rest it when we get home.”

  She smiles. She loves it when I say home.

  “So, do you know what the deal is, Dylan?” Amanda asks, her hand shielding the sun as she looks up at us. “Like, any idea when you go back?”

  “Not sure.” I shrug. “I have a check up next week and we’ll go from there.”

  Riley adds, “They’re really happy with his progress, though, so that’s a good sign.”

  “And what? You go back to your unit?” Logan says.

  “Yep. If everything goes to plan.”

  “I can’t believe we’re all home for the summer,” Micky chimes in.

  “It’ll be good,” Jake says. “We haven’t all been together like this in forever.”

  “Minus Heidi,” Lucy says.

  There’s no awkwardness at her statement. Not anymore. Riley and Heidi seem to have formed a weird only-a-girl-would-understand mutual respect for each other. We’ve even hung out as a group. They don’t say a lot to each other, but they don’t claw each other’s eyes out either. Granted, if it ever got to that, I’d put my money on Riley. Every single time.

  I tune them out as the girls go back to talking books, the guys go back to talking about Cameron’s inability to score a free throw and I go back to looking at the girl I love, watching her smile and join in on both conversations.

  She faces me, her smile still in place. “You okay?”

  I nod.

  Then, for some random reason, I shout, “Yahoo!” Weird, I know. But Dad used to say it and… dammit, I guess I am Grandpa Banks.

  “What the hell was that?” Riley says through a fit of laughter.

  “Did you just Yahoo?” Jake asks.

  Next to me, Cameron’s holding a hand to his chest like I just scared the shit out of him.

  I laugh with them. Then loudly exclaim, “It’s a beautiful day, boys!”

  Now they’re all looking at me like I’m crazy. I am. Riley—she bakes me crazy. Okay. That didn’t have the same effect as bacon but whatever.

  Down on the court, I see two teenage boys eying me like my friends are. “What?” I yell. “It is a beautiful day! The sun’s out… everyone’s on break. I got a beautiful girl in my arms.”

  “Well,” one of the kids says. “You do have a beautiful girl.”

  “Watch your fucking mouth,” I shout, getting up to go to him.

  Riley grabs onto my neck with one hand, the other covering my mouth. “He’s sorry,” she tells them, before looking back at me, a laugh bubbling out of her. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “I’m happy,” I tell her.

  “You’re crazy,” she retorts.

  “You bake me crazy.” Nope. Still not the same effect. Maybe this is why I kept silent for so long.

  We leave the guys at the park and I drive Riley to work. She’s on the afternoon shift for now, but she’ll be taking over the nine to five next week. Most days, I drive her there and pick her up because even though she has her own car, she prefers I drive. Reminds her of how dreams can become a reality. I don’t mind. But I do get lonely. Some days I just go over to Dad’s house and mess around with Eric. Other days I work on our house. It’s old, but the bones are good, and with enough work we can get it to where we want. That’s what I’m doing—replacing the air-conditioning unit—when I get an unexpected phone call.

  Dr. Garvis is on the other end, his tone a mixture of hopefulness and something else I can’t quite decipher. He tells me he’d like to fast forward my appointment to tomorrow and that something has changed with his scheduling. I agree, even though I know Riley can’t get the day off and she likes to go with me to all my check ups. He ends the conversation by saying, “Hopefully your shoulder’s still where it was and I can sign off on the paperwork sooner rather than later.”

  I spend the next couple hours writing a list of all the work the house needs and head over to Dad’s. I tell him and Eric about the phone call, ignoring their identical solemn looks, and get Eric to make copies of the list on his printer. I ask them for help to get the work done in case I can’t get to it all before I leave, and then I give them spare keys—to the house and the cars. I give them the information to my bank accounts to forward on to Riley because if it happens sooner than I want, I don’t want to waste our time together going over these petty details while she whines about not needing it until I tell her to shut up. Then I visit Holly next door. I sit with her and have a quiet meal and I tell her what I know. I ask that she not tell Riley yet, that I want to be the one to do it, and then I tell her that my dad and Eric have spare keys in case she, too, ever needs anything. I don’t know why I tell her that. I don’t really know why I do any of it. Then I go back home and get started on the list. I finish the air conditioner, fix the
jammed garage door and clear out the gutters. And then I shower, grab my keys, and put on a mask so I’m ready to face Riley with the plans of keeping the appointment to myself. She doesn’t need to know yet. She’ll just worry—and the fact that she won’t be there will make it worse. I’ll tell her when I know for sure what the plan is. If there even is a plan.

  “She’s out back,” Edna, the shelter receptionist, tells me.

  I go behind the desk, like I’d done many times before, and make my way through the aisles of cages and crying animals until I see Riley squatting in front of a cage, patting a tiny dog so ugly I swear I would’ve mistaken it for a giant rat.

  “Ry,” I call out, walking toward her. “What’s going on? I’ve been waiting in the car for fifteen minutes.”

  She looks up, her eyes glassy. “He always cries when I leave. I hate it,” she mumbles, looking back at the dog.

  “They’re sad animals,” I remind her. “They cry.”

  “Not like this one,” she says. “He’s all scared and alone and he has no-one.” She motions for me to squat down next to her. “Look at him, Dylan.”

  I roll my eyes and sigh at the same time. Then I look at the dog. He looks like every other homeless dog. Nothing but skin and bones and spots of fur. His head rests on his front legs, the fur around his eyes wet from all the crying he’s done. “He’s… cute,” I lie. “I’m sure someone will come in and take him. Let’s go. I’ve got stuff to do at the house.”

  “Okay,” she says, reluctantly getting up. The dog whimpers as soon as her hand leaves him. “See, baby?”