My heart involuntarily drops in my chest. I nod slowly.
"But we both know that won't happen, will it?" Dylan's eyes don't leave mine as he speaks.
I feel my pulse quicken as he sits back down next to me. I don't entirely know what he means by his words, but in an odd way I am comforted by them.
"Are you all right?" Dylan asks me quietly.
I turn my head to look at him. "Yeah," I answer, exhaling slowly.
He looks at me, hard. This is the same boy I was furious with hours ago, and now he's here next to me, after my apartment has been ransacked. What a fucking day.
"All right," he says quietly. He stands and walks over to the door. I follow him, wiping stray tears from my face.
"I'm going to call the police," I tell him.
"Don't," Dylan says. "Don't call the police."
"Why?"
"Trust me, that will only make things worse."
"Trust you?" I almost scoff.
Dylan looks at me with apprehension in his eyes. "You don't trust me?"
"I don't have a valid reason to."
"Back to this, are we?"
"Stop trying to act like a hero. I didn't even invite you over, you just walked in."
"Naturally I would, when I hear you scream bloody murder!"
"Dylan!" I press my fingers to my temples, shutting my eyes. "I have had a hell of a day, and I don't need to fight with you again."
Dylan frowns.
"I'm tired, aggravated, violated, and frankly scared shitless so please do me a favor and leave." I open my eyes.
"You said you were all right." Dylan's expression is serious.
"I lied." The words tumble out of me. I did lie. I'm terrified of what I've gotten myself into.
The corners of Dylan's mouth turn down. He sighs. "Come on, then," he says, turning and walking toward his apartment.
"What?"
"You can stay with me for now." He opens the door and looks back at me.
I shake my head. "No, I don't want to--"
"If you don't, then you're not safe. Didn't I say I was going to keep you safe from all of this shit with Alec?"
I nod slowly.
"Right. Come on, now." He tilts his head, giving me a small smile. His white t-shirt is stained with my tears still and he wears only socks on his feet, having changed into jeans since work.
Why he is promising to keep me safe, I have no clue. All signs show that he hates me, but now he looks so comforting and caring.
I sigh and follow him into his apartment.
Dylan's apartment looks exactly the same as it did the last time I was here. The walls are a dull grey and the place is full of light.
"Do you need anything?" Dylan asks me as I shut the front door behind me.
I shake my head.
"Katie," Dylan sighs, stepping around the couch so he's standing directly in front of me. "Are you sure you're..."
"I'm fine," I say before he can finish. "I'm just a little bit spooked." I look at my feet.
Dylan nods and turns around, walking into the kitchen. "It's five, so I'm going to make something to eat," he says. He opens his fridge. "I hope you like spaghetti."
A smile breaks onto my face. "It's my favorite."
He looks at me from over the fridge door. He smiles, his dimples appearing. "Is that so," he says.
I nod, moving to the kitchen island where I sit on a bar stool.
"It happens to be my favorite, too," he says, pulling out three tomatoes from the fridge. "I also happen to make the best."
I snort. "Doubtful."
"Quick to judge, Katherine," he says as he puts a pot of water on the stove to boil.
"I've had a lot of spaghetti in my lifetime," I tell him. "You've got some pretty fierce competition."
"Have you had authentic spaghetti?"
"Authentic?"
"Yeah. From Italy." He smiles. "In Italy."
I roll my eyes. "Sorry that I've never been out of the country. Well, I have been to Ireland, actually."
Dylan widens his eyes at me as he dices the tomatoes. "You've never been out of Britain?"
"I've been to Ireland," I say again.
"Good God," he says. "That must be boring. Never travelling anywhere."
I shrug. "I've never had a reason to go anywhere else."
"You're not adventurous?"
I snort. "Hardly."
"I see." Dylan half smiles as he continues making the spaghetti sauce.
"What's so funny about that?"
"Nothing, it just ties in with your personality perfectly."
"Hey!"
Dylan laughs. "I'm just teasing, Katie."
A jolt rushes through me at the pet name. My face loses all humor and I look down.
Dylan stops moving and looks at me. "What's wrong?"
"Can you just...stop calling me that," I say quietly. "It kind of hits a nerve."
He turns toward me fully, pressing his palms to the counter as he leans forward slightly. "What kind of nerve?"
I look up at him. "A nerve I'd rather not talk about."
Dylan raises an eyebrow. "What, don't trust me?"
"I've established that."
He smiles crookedly. "What's it got to take, then?"
"What, for me to trust you?"
Dylan lifts a shoulder.
I purse my lips.
"You've got to trust me enough if you're here and not there." He gestures toward the direction of my apartment.
"Only because you know these people better than I do."
Dylan laughs dryly and turns back to his cooking. I watch as he stirs the pasta in the pot, the smell of tomatoes engulfing the apartment.
"You know this world would descend into anarchy without trust, don't you?" Dylan asks as he continues to cook.
I tilt my head at him. "How so?"
Dylan turns the stove off and picks up the pot, walking over to the sink and draining the pasta. "If no one trusts each other, it's every man for himself. There are no allies of any kind, because no one trusts each other. There's no goverment or democracy because no one would trust anyone enough to run a country." Dylan pours the drained pasta back into the pot and stirs it a bit before adding the sauce. "The human population would also diminish," he goes on as he stirs. "If no one trusts each other, then no one will fall in love. If no one falls in love, there's no marriage or reproduction. Natural reproduction, anyway." Dylan smirks at me.
I think about his words. "You've really got that all figured out, don't you?"
Dylan shrugs. "I've got a lot of things figured out."
"Like what?"
"Like the fact that you don't want to be with James, yet you still cling to him because you're afraid of being alone." Dylan pours the pasta onto two plates casually.
I clench my jaw. "That's absolutely not true."
"Then why are you here, and not at James's place? Does he even know you've been burglarized?" Dylan slides a plate of spaghetti across the counter to me.
"That's not the point," I say. "He's working." I twirl my fork in my spaghetti.
"Then what is the point?"
I narrow my eyes at Dylan. "That's none of your business."
"Alright, then just admit you're afraid of being alone."
"No."
Dylan shrugs as he begins to eat. "We both know it's true, Katie."
"I told you to stop calling me that."
"I'll stop calling you it when you admit that you're afraid of being--"
"I'm not!"
"Then prove it."
I scoff. "How am I supposed to prove something like that?"
"Admit you have no feelings for James."
"Why do you even care?"
Dylan half smiles. He doesn't answer me as he turns and pulls a bottle of white wine from a cabinet. He opens it and pours two glasses.
"You know, you remind me a lot of my mother," he says as he brings his glass to his lips.
I tentatively sip my own glass. He's ne
ver spoken about his family before.
"She was the same way," he goes on. "Never wanted to be alone." He looks out the kitchen window at the darkening sky.
"What happened to her?" I ask.
Dylan lets out a humorless laugh that sends chills down my spine. "She's dead," he answers venomously. His smirk drops from his face and he looks into his glass.
I part my lips. Before I know what I'm doing, I reach across the counter and put my hand over Dylan's. He seems shocked at my gesture, but doesn't move his hand.
Dylan's silent for a few more moments before moving his hand away from mine and downing the rest of his glass of wine.
It feels like the atmosphere has changed between us with Dylan's slight revelation. I find the old feeling of curiosity creep back into my chest and thousands of questions pour into my mind about his past. How did she die? What about his father? Is that the reason he left England? I shake my head. It's not my business.
We finish eating dinner, which was surprisingly fantastic, and I help Dylan clean the kitchen.
"My sister hates me," I blurt as we load the dishwasher. I have no idea why I felt the urge to say that. Maybe it's because he revealed something to me, so I should reveal something in return.
Dylan looks up at me from putting a dish in and rises to his full height. "Hate is a strong word," he says.
"It's appropriate in this context," I assure him.
"And why does she hate you?" He asks, shutting the dishwasher.
Memories flash before my eyes. I shake my head slowly.
Dylan studies me, his expression serious. I break his gaze early and look at my feet.
Dylan moves past me to the fridge. "Any sweets you want?" He asks.
"What have you got?"
"Uh..." He narrows his eyes, skimming the racks. He shuts the fridge and opens a cabinet. He pulls out a Snickers bar and tosses it to me.
I catch it. "How did you know this is my favorite?" I ask.
"It's my favorite, too," he says, pulling out another one for himself. I laugh, and he joins me.
"Looks like we share a lot of favorites," I say, moving to the couch. He sits beside me switching the TV on.
"Looks like it." He smiles at me before turning his attention to the television.
We sit and watch TV for a while, just eating our Snickers bars. Flashes of my ransacked apartment still flash in my mind, but for now I push them away.
I lean on a pillow as my eyelids get heavy. I can smell Dylan's indescribable scent from where I am, and it relaxes me.
"Getting sleepy?" Dylan's voice startles me a bit and I jump. He laughs.
I sit up and nod faintly.
"I'll get you some blankets--" He begins to stand.
"No!" I pull his arm back down. He sits beside me again, looking at me confusedly. "I don't want to sleep yet," I say.
Dylan raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. "All right," he says after a while.
"It's Friday, anyway," I ramble on. "TGIF!" I laugh.
Dylan chuckles. "No more Snickers for you."
I frown. "That's not fair."
"Too bad."
I laugh again, leaning on his arm. The mixture of sleepiness, sugar and white wine courses through my veins.
"Can I ask you something, Dylan?" The skin of his arm is smooth against my cheek.
"I suppose," Dylan says, looking down at me, a smile on his face.
"Why did you kiss me that night?"
Chapter Thirty
The shock on Dylan's face is evident as he looks down at me.
I sit up straight, facing him. I had never meant to ask that out loud, but now I anxiously await the answer. Why I care at all, I have no clue.
Dylan's eyes trail over my face. "Why did you kiss me back?" He counters.
I open my mouth. "I--I..."
"After all, you are with James."
The atmosphere has changed yet again, and it's giving me whiplash.
"I don't want to talk about this," I state.
"You brought it up."
"You're the one that kissed me!"
Dylan stands from the couch, turning his back to me. I regret bringing this up at all.
"I'll get you some blankets," he says coldly. He disappears into his room and I put my head in my hands.
Dylan returns with the same pillow and blanket I used last time. I stand up, chewing on the inside of my lip.
"I'm sorry," I rush out. "I don't want to quarrel with you."
To my utter surprise, a smile spreads across Dylan's face and he drops the blankets on the ground, doubling over in laughter.
I stare at him. "What's funny?"
Dylan puts his hands on his knees, gasping for breath as he continues to laugh. "Katie, who the hell says quarrel?"
I smile slightly before breaking into laughs.
Dylan falls back onto the couch, still laughing. I join him and pull my knees to my chest, a smile still playing on my lips.
I lean back on his arm. I like the feeling of his skin on mine, as weird as that sounds.
"Dylan, are we friends?" I ask.
Dylan sighs. "I don't know, Katie," he says.
"Why can't we be?" I seem to have no control over my words.
"Are you saying you'd like to be friends?"
"Well, when you're not being an asshole, you're actually quite pleasant," I say.
He looks down at me. "Thanks," he says sarcastically and I laugh again. I watch his dimples carve delicately into his cheeks as he smiles.
"All right, Katie," he says. "If you really want to be, then we can be friends."
"Really?"
"Sure. I mean, you already know where my stash of Snickers bars is, so I guess there's nothing left to hide." He smirks.
He Looked Back Page 14
