Flutter

by Olivia Evans

  Her eyes trailed up his body, and when her hazel eyes finally met his, it was as if she was looking right through him. There was no recognition. Her pupils didn’t dilate, and her expression never changed. He was a stranger, and she was a ghost.

  “Hello,” she murmured. Her eyes were glazed, covered in a film that shielded her from reality. As much as Dylan wanted to shake her, to lift her from the chair and hold her tight against his chest until neither could breathe, he knew doing so would be a mistake because he understood now. It was her. She was here, and something was very wrong. As much as the realization caused his heart to slam against his chest, it also wrapped him in a blanket of calm. Closing his eyes, he pulled in a deep breath and exhaled. When he opened them once more, he smiled. It was strained and weak, but under the circumstances, it was the best he could do. Crouching down, he looked toward the blanket.

  “Who’s this?” he asked.

  She looked at the blanket, an adoring smile stretching across her face. “This is Dylan.”

  The sound of his name on her lips caused his balance to sway. Choosing not to fight it, he dropped to one knee. “That’s a nice name. How did you come up with it?”

  A frown creased her mouth, and sadness swept over her eyes. “That’s his daddy’s name. He didn’t want us anymore.”

  A strangled sound escaped Dylan’s throat as tears he fought desperately to hold back clouded his vision. “How could he not want the two of you?”

  The girl shook her head and sighed. When she spoke, her voice was resolute yet saturated in anguish. “We ruined his life.”

  Dylan’s face crumpled. With a shaking hand, he reached out and brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Elvis,” he exhaled, her old nickname rolling off his tongue as he fought to control his emotions.

  Her brows dented, and she leaned away from his touch. Her body was rigid. Nervous and on edge. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t know him. That didn’t mean he didn’t know her. Any doubt he had about her identity was erased the moment his eyes landed on the freckle just below her ear. He’d kissed that freckle a thousand times. The love of his life, the girl who had stolen his ability to love another, was less than a foot away, and she didn’t know him at all.

  “My name is Presley,” she corrected. Her voice was small, frail. It was nothing like he remembered, but it soothed him in ways he didn’t realize were possible.

  The sound of the automatic doors opening caused Dylan to jerk his head to the side and shoot to his feet. A barrage of emotions waged war inside his body as he took one step then two away from Presley. Doing so was physically painful, but something inside Dylan told him to keep quiet. He had a million questions, and his desire to cradle her to his chest and run as fast as he could away from this place was immeasurable. But the girl in front of him would never understand. He needed answers, and once he had them, once he brought her back, he would reclaim all that had been stolen from him, fill the hole that had been created six years ago when she’d been ripped from his life. He would have his girl again, and nothing would stand in his way.

  Nothing at all.

  Chapter Three

  August 2010

  “Kiss my ass,” Dylan laughed, punching his friend Matt in the arm.

  Matt took a long drag from the joint in his hand, a lazy smile stretched across his face. “Dude, I’m serious,” he coughed, grimacing as he passed the joint back to Dylan. “Presley’s a fucking knockout now.”

  Dylan shook his head and exhaled out the bathroom window, his head swimming. He didn’t doubt that Presley was a knockout. She’d always been a knockout to him. Not that she’d ever noticed. The first bell for school rang, and Dylan snuffed out the joint before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and standing. “Our last year in this shithole,” he said, moving toward the door. “I can’t wait to be out of this place.”

  Matt laughed. “I love how you call the best fucking school in New York a shithole. Your old-money privilege is showing.”

  “Whatever,” Dylan chuckled before walking to homeroom. Throughout roll call and the teacher going over the syllabus, Dylan couldn’t concentrate on anything other than what Matt had said about Presley. He wondered what about her had changed. He looked for her between classes but somehow never managed to catch a glimpse of her. He heard plenty, though. Guys couldn’t stop talking about her or how she was still single. By the time lunch rolled around, Dylan wanted to punch someone in the face.

  Tapping his foot, he looked around the dining hall. He couldn’t help but laugh at calling the place a shithole earlier. Everything about his school screamed wealth. From the solid wood beams and fancy lighting arching over the room, to the five-star menu served on expensive trays to be eaten at top-of-the-line tables or in private nooks in the corners of the room. He shook his head as he stepped forward to pay for his food, his steps faltering when his eyes landed on Presley. He nearly dropped his tray. Her blond hair, which had always been beautiful, fell to the middle of her back. Her face had slimmed, but her body had filled out in all the right places. Her skin was a sun-kissed bronze from her time in Italy over the summer, and something about her eyes was different. In the past, brown had dominated the green of her hazel eyes, but not today. All he could see was vibrant green.

  “Told you,” Matt said under his breath as he bumped Dylan’s shoulder.

  “Fuck,” Dylan exhaled, absently handing his card to the cashier. A smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he watched Presley giggle with her best friend, Sunny, who sat next to her. His smile slipped when their classmate Chris fell into the open chair on the other side of Presley, the look on his face telling Dylan everything he needed to know about Chris’s intentions. Not for the first time, but certainly the strongest, Dylan felt a surge of jealousy.

  Too many times he’d kept his feelings for her hidden, not only because of his fear of rejection, but because Presley was his friend. The thought of losing their friendship if things didn’t work out between them was terrifying. But this was their last year of school, and if he had any hope of seeing how they could be together, he’d have to do it now, before Chris or Matt or any of the other guys with half a brain beat him to the punch. Pulling in a deep breath, he walked over to her table and took the seat across from her. She hadn’t noticed him yet, and for that, he was grateful. He needed a moment to settle his nerves. He took a sip of his drink and listened to Presley and Chris’s conversation.

  “You shouldn’t smoke before the first day of school. It sucks bad enough without having to deal with wanting to sleep all day,” Chris said, commenting on how tired Presley seemed.

  Presley laughed, and the sound caused the corner of Dylan’s mouth to lift into a smile. “That’s a rookie mistake. I know better. I’m just tired.”

  Chris leaned in closer, his arm moving to the back of Presley’s chair. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you spend the summer in Italy, living inside a wine barrel.”

  Without thinking, Dylan grabbed a fry from his tray and threw it at Presley. It smacked her right in the face. “Presley Cooper,” he admonished, mock disapproval written all over his face.

  A look of surprise crossed her features before her lips curved into a sly smile. “Dylan Walker,” she mimicked, flinging the fry back at him.

  Dylan winked and slouched down in his chair with his hands threaded behind his head. He tried to keep his posture casual, but up close, she was even prettier. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Uneasy about what he was going to do, Dylan fell into the comfort of their normal banter.

  “I’m disappointed in you. I’ve been single almost two weeks, and you haven’t bothered to make one inappropriate comment about offering a helping hand to stroke my ego.”

  A laugh burst from Presley’s chest, the abrupt sound attracting the attention of their classmates. She covered her mouth, her eyes wide. Dylan chuckled when she dropped her hands and let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve only been home for a week, and today is the first time I’ve seen you
. Also, in case you didn’t get the memo, stroking your ego was so last breakup.”

  Presley popped a fry in her mouth and rolled her eyes. She looked bored, but this wasn’t a new game for Dylan. He knew she was enjoying their repartee as much as he was.

  “You’re right.” He nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. “That was so last breakup. You wanna know what the new rage is for getting over a breakup?”

  Presley grinned. “What’s that?”

  “A new girlfriend.”

  Presley lifted her brow and cocked her head to the side. “You want me to help you find a girlfriend? I’ve got to say, I’m not sure how I feel about this new trend. From hand job to handmaid? I feel gypped.”

  “Oh, Presley,” Dylan tsked, his smile widening even as his heart pounded in his chest. “I don’t need you to help me find a girlfriend. I think you should be my girlfriend.”

  “I see,” she hummed, tapping a finger to her chin. “You want me to be the next ex-girlfriend. I still don’t see how I’m benefitting from this.”

  “Shut up,” Dylan joked, pushing his chair back and walking around the table, completely ignoring the murmurs of their friends. He bent down until they were at eye level and tugged the ends of her hair, his mouth lifting into a one-sided smile and causing his single dimple to deepen. “Let’s just focus on the part about you becoming my girlfriend first. We’ll worry about the rest later.”

  The murmurs turned to not so subtle whispers. Pink crept over Presley’s skin, and her grip tightened on the back of her chair. She stared at him for what felt like an eternity before a nervous smile turned up the corners of her mouth. Her voice shook when she spoke. “Are you serious?”

  Dylan swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah, I’m serious. Why not? You got somebody else in mind?” His jaw tightened, and his eyes involuntarily drifted to Chris, who was watching their exchange with narrowed eyes.

  “No,” Presley replied softly. “No one else.”

  “Come on, then. Be my girl.”

  Presley let out a shaky laugh. “You’re crazy.”

  Dylan shrugged and pulled her to her feet. “Maybe. So what? Say you’ll be my girl.”

  Presley hesitated, her eyes darting to Sunny, who stared at the two of them with wide eyes. The slight pause caused Dylan’s heart to lodge in his throat. “Don’t you think we should have a date first? Jumping into a relationship without knowing if you have any gross habits seems irresponsible.”

  Dylan ran his hand through his dark blond hair and shook his head, his wide grin hollowing his dimple. “You know I don’t have any gross habits.” When her only response was a slight lift of her brow, he relented. “Will you go on a date with me, Presley?”

  Presley studied his face. He felt his entire body heat from the intensity of her gaze. A smile broke across her face, and Dylan felt his expression mimicking hers as she grabbed his hand and laughed. “Fuck it. Why not?”

  Dylan flung Presley’s bag over his shoulder, his body thrumming with energy. “Let’s get out of here, Elvis.”

  Presley giggled and followed Dylan out of the cafeteria, leaving their friends in stunned silence and with gaping mouths. Once they reached a private spot down the hall, Presley bumped his shoulder. “So, what’s the plan? Did you drag me out here to make out or what? I swear to God, this better not be awkward after your dramatic ‘be my girl’ speech in there, or I’m demanding a refund.”

  Dylan smirked. As nervous as he’d been, she’d said yes. That had to count for something. Now he just had to keep from fucking it all up. “Your lack of confidence wounds me. I don’t have an awkward bone in my body. I’m going to romance the shit out of you, baby.”

  He started laughing before he finished speaking, and Presley joined him. She pressed her hand to her chest and used the other to wipe the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “Oh my God,” she gasped. “Only you could say something so completely ridiculous and manage to make everything feel normal.”

  Dylan nodded and reached for her hand. Tugging her forward, his laugh trailed off into a soft smile. He wanted to see her laugh like that every day. “I told you. I’ve got this romance shit locked down.”

  Presley hummed and tightened her hand around his. “So it would seem.”

  “You look really pretty today,” he whispered, his eyes moving over her face.

  Presley ducked her chin and pulled her shoulders forward. Her sudden shyness was more of a turn-on than Dylan expected. He liked that he wasn’t the only one freaking out. “Thanks. Hey, Dylan? Why did you do it?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Do what?”

  Presley motioned between them. “This.”

  Dylan smiled and rocked back on his heels. How could she be so oblivious? “I was tired of waiting.”

  Presley’s brows drew together in confusion, but Dylan shook his head. That wasn’t a conversation he was ready for. One step at a time. “Later. Why don’t we hang out after school today? We can grab dinner, and you can tell me all about Italy.”

  Presley nodded. “That sounds normal enough. Totally not awkward.”

  “See? I—”

  “I don’t know about romancing the shit out of me,” she continued, grinning. “It seems kind of weak, to be honest, but you got that not-awkward thing down pat.”

  Dylan wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a hug. Chuckling, he dropped his forehead to her shoulder and flexed his arms as she threaded her hands behind his back. It was like one of the many hugs they’d shared over the years. But this time, it felt different, and Dylan was certain she felt it too. “I’m just getting started.”

  With her cheek still resting against his chest, she nodded. “Good to know.”

  When the bell rang moments later, they untangled themselves and moved to avoid the groups of students filing out of the dining hall. Dylan winked at Presley when she rolled her eyes at a group of girls scowling as they walked by. Once the crowd passed, they fell into step beside one another.

  “I see your fan club is going to be loads of fun.”

  Dylan threw his arm over her shoulders and smiled down at her. “Don’t let them get to you. You know that’s not my style.”

  “I know,” she sighed before a mischievous gleam flashed in her eyes. “Just remember that when the roles are reversed.” Presley laughed when Dylan’s smile slipped into a scowl. “Don’t let them get to you. You know that’s not my style.”

  “I’m going to class before you force me to start a hit list. Do you want me to take you home or come over later?”

  “I’m meeting my mom at Kurumazushi after school for a first day of school debriefing. Which basically means she wants to be seen as a superinvested mom who spends quality time with her daughter.”

  “God,” Dylan groaned. “Your mom is ridiculous.”

  Presley gave Dylan a tight smile. “Appearance is everything!” she said, her voice strained.

  Dylan cupped her jaw. “We’ll work it out. How about I come over at seven?”

  Presley nodded. “That’s perfect. My parents have a dinner meeting to discuss his campaign strategy tonight, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

  Dylan lifted his brow and gave her a cocky half smile, wanting to change the subject from her douchebag parents. “Trying to get me alone already? I would’ve asked you to be my girl a long time ago if I’d known you were so eager.”

  Presley smacked his arm. “Your prophylactics will not be required tonight, Casanova. I’m just not ready to deal with the interrogation from my parents. You know they are going to have reservations about this,” she said, waving her hand between them.

  “Ah, yes, his plans to run for governor. Dear old dad can’t afford a scandal. Don’t worry, we can tell them when you’re ready. And if he balks, I’ll have Grandmother offer a contribution to his campaign. She loves you.”

  “You have a plan for everything.”

  “It’s all part of my charm.” He grinned. Leaning down, he pressed hi
s lips to her cheek and pulled in a deep breath. “See you tonight.”

  “Later, Casanova.”

  Later that afternoon, Dylan pushed open the wrought-iron gate to his grandmother’s townhouse on 79th Street. He dropped his bag at the front door and looked around the foyer. The marble floors, a rich honey color, gleamed in the soft light, the dark wooden furniture giving the large, open space a feeling of warmth. He moved past the winding wrought-iron and wooden staircase, shaking his head when he spotted what he assumed were new plants his grandmother had purchased. Every free corner and alcove housed one of her many plants. Plants that he was tasked with watering when she stayed at her beach house in the Hamptons.

  “Grandmother,” he called, moving toward the back terrace. It was where she spent most of her time. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to the fourth or fifth floor of the monstrous townhouse. Sometimes, it seemed like a waste to have so much, but his great-grandfather had built the house in 1903, and Dylan was certain it would stay in their family until the end of time.

  Just as he was about to call her name one more, a voice rang out from the garden kitchen. “Good afternoon, Dylan,” Cathy, his grandmother’s caretaker, called. Grandmother hated when he called Cathy a caretaker, but she hated even more when he called Cathy a cook, maid, or housekeeper. For more than forty years, Cathy had worked in that house. She was more like family than an employee. Because of that, they were all on a first-name basis. It didn’t matter that his grandmother had grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth; she was stubbornly independent.

  “Hi, Cathy. Where’s Grandmother?”

  “On the garden patio, as usual,” she said with a knowing smile, her fiery red hair pulled away from her face. Even though she was pushing sixty, her fair, freckled skin and plump build gave her a look of youthfulness. “Are you hungry? I can fix you a plate.”

  Dylan shook his head, a beaming smile suddenly crossing his face. “No, I’m good. I have plans.”

  Cathy lifted her brow and nodded, the same knowing smile in place. “Very well, then. You’ll let me know if you change your mind.”