Dylan (Wild Men)

by Melissa Belle

  He locks eyes with me when he says, “Annabella had tried to commit suicide.”

  “Oh, God. Oh, Dylan…” I reach for him, but he holds up his hand like he has to finish the story. “She didn’t succeed, thank God. A friend found her at her apartment in time. I’ll always thank the Lord for that blessing. Because she’s a good person, Annabella. She was sick, though, and nobody knew. She’d been on medication before for depression, but the doctors learned after her attempt that she’s bipolar, and the meds she was on weren’t hitting the right buttons to help her.”

  “How awful. Is she…” I trail off, afraid to continue the question.

  “She’s alive,” Dylan confirms, his dark eyes filled with a thousand different emotions, all of them pain. “The one good thing I did was I was able to cover it up with the press. It never got out that she was mentally ill, and she was able to leave L.A. quietly and go home to Iowa to heal in peace. And she’s healthier now. I check in with her mom now and again. I haven’t seen or spoken to Annabella in years. Her family agreed that was what was best for her.”

  My heart breaks for him. He actually thinks it’s his fault.

  “What happened is not because of you or your career, Dylan,” I say firmly. “You know that right?”

  He shrugs. “Colt’s tried to tell me a million times. I just think that if my job hadn’t been so overwhelming, it might not have pushed her to do something so drastic. Or if I’d ended things with her sooner, before the gossip really got to her…”

  “No,” I say as I reach over and lace his fingers with mine. “She was sick. She needed help. And yes, people, especially online assholes who can hide behind a computer screen, can be incredibly callous and cold-hearted. Brutal, really. I get it. I do, but none of that is your fault. She could have dated anybody in the public eye and been faced with the same scrutiny. And to try to take her…” I inhale. “She must have been in a great deal of pain, a pain that you couldn’t have saved her from.”

  He runs his thumb over the top of my hand. “I didn’t want to ruin our time here. I wasn’t going to tell you. But…”

  I lean closer to him. “But what?”

  “I trust you.” He brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “You’re the only person I’ve told simply because I wanted to. And I guess I felt like I needed to because…”

  “You wanted to warn me.”

  My words hit their mark.

  “Yes.” Dylan’s voice is so low I have to strain to hear it. “Because I’m not sure I can let you go tomorrow. And I want you to know what you’re getting into if we decide to continue our relationship.”

  My heart’s in my throat. “Dylan. It’s okay. Let’s just enjoy tonight together.”

  The idea of taking our relationship past Arizona overwhelms me, but not because of what Dylan just shared with me. It’s because a big reason why I’ve allowed myself to get close to him is that I was counting on an end point. If I know when it’s ending, then I can’t get hurt.

  But right now, all I want to do is try to make him hurt a little bit less.

  I walk over to my covered sculptures. “Hey, I want to show you something,” I say as I bring the sculpture over to the bed. “You want to see?”

  Dylan’s eyes brighten. “You sure you don’t mind?”

  “Sure. Go ahead and take a look.” I know he won’t recognize himself, but I still want to share with him how much he means to me. “It’s not fired, obviously, or painted. I have to wait until I get back to L.A. to do all of that.”

  I inhale quickly as his hand reaches for the cover.

  “It’s rough,” I say quickly. “Very rough.”

  He nods seriously, then carefully removes the paper towel layers until he can see the sculpture.

  I hover over him nervously. For several long moments, he doesn’t say anything. He just sits on the bed and looks at the sculpture.

  “Well?” I finally say. “You hate it?”

  He reaches out and touches it with one finger. “I love it. It’s amazing.” He looks up at me as I stand next to him. “Who is this?”

  “Um…” My face goes nuclear. “No one?”

  “Is that a question or a statement?” he asks me. “Seriously, it’s someone right?”

  “Yes. It’s someone.”

  “Well, who is it? It’s not like I know your life—I’m just curious.”

  “Dylan.”

  I sink down onto the bed, curl up my legs, and cross my arms over them. He leans forward to see my face.

  “Shit,” he says in a tone of absolute shock.

  Good Lord. I’ve freaked him out. I’ve totally and completely freaked him out. He’s going to burst out the door any second, and all I’ll see is his carved-out shape in the broken wood.

  This is so much worse than telling him I love him. Because he already told me that, so the L-word must not freak him out as much as this clearly has. Maybe he thinks I’m some sort of stalker type who sculpts her victims first. Maybe he thinks I’m head over heels obsessed with him. He wouldn’t be all wrong there.

  Oh, no. What possessed me to show him this sculpture?

  “Jasalie, I don’t know what to say,” he says quietly.

  If I get up real fast and just start running, he won’t notice I’m gone until it’s too late. The person who starts first always has the advantage.

  I get one foot on the ground but before I can make my dash, Dylan grabs my arm. “Hey. What are you doing?”

  “Making a quick getaway,” I say with a laugh.

  “To where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “Okay, I think this started all wrong.” He takes both my hands in his and looks straight at me. “I love it. You’re incredibly talented.”

  I try to wave off the compliment.

  “I’m completely serious, Jasalie. You really should do something with this gift of yours.”

  “I’d like to. But the few galleries I tried rejected whatever I showed them, so I’m not sure where to go from there.”

  “Ignore them, and keep trying. You can definitely sell your work.”

  “How do you know? You’ve seen one thing.”

  “This one thing is damn good.”

  He leans in and kisses me hard and long, taking my breath away. When he shifts back, he whispers, “What you did—sculpting this—is sexy as anything.”

  “I wanted to show you because when I sculpt,” I say. “I’m not going for perfection. I’m looking for the essence, whether it’s a person, an event, whatever it is.”

  Dylan looks at me. “What’s mine?”

  I touch his cheek. “Your essence is the passion of love.”

  He pulls me into his chest.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and straddle him. He’s not expecting that, and I knock him off-balance. We fall off the bed and onto the ground with him cradling me so that he takes the full brunt of the fall.

  “Sorry,” I mutter into his neck. “Not really what I planned on.”

  Then again, nothing is so far today.

  “I think we can make this turn out all right,” he says as he grabs my ass. “Don’t you?”

  I start kissing his chest. “I think so, yes.”

  Dylan

  She sculpted me.

  That has to mean something important. I know how much sculpting means to Jasalie, so if she decided I was worth taking the time and energy and clay, then she must care more than she will admit. She’s the most guarded woman I’ve ever met, and even after all this intense time together the last few days, I feel like I’m just scratching the surface. So, yeah—I don’t know exactly where I stand with her.

  And my decision to tell her about what happened five years ago…God, I wasn’t planning to do that. Ever.

  But I needed to.

  Because it wasn’t fair to Jasalie to keep it from her. She has the right to know just how toxic my world can be. In some ways, it’s worse for the partner—they have to hear all the gossip and all the attacks, but they don’
t have an outlet on Sundays to release their anger. I can go out and pour my frustrations into the game, ignoring everything else. Your partner is the one listening to the TV announcers or the fans in the stands, and I know how critical those voices can be.

  This is the first time I’ve truly thought of us in any real sense past this hotel. Being here has been like a suspension of reality, and I’ve enjoyed every fucking minute of Jasalie and me alone in a bubble.

  It’s made every moment we spend together all the more intense, and if I’m honest, all the more erotic. Her mysteriousness turns me on like I wouldn’t have believed, and I want her so much I get hard just hearing her voice.

  But telling her I loved her was not in my plans today. I didn’t know when—or if—I’d do that. Hell, I’m not even sure what I’m going to do when our time in Arizona is up tomorrow morning.

  Right now, in this room, all I want is to make love to Jasalie. Over and over again.

  I run my hands underneath the hem of her shirt until I reach her soft, warm skin. Jasalie moans as I move one hand up to her bra strap and the other down inside the band of her jeans.

  Within seconds, she’s naked and beneath me. I push off my jeans and boxers hurriedly and gently press one finger inside her hot sweetness.

  “Sweetheart, you feel so fucking good.”

  Another long moan from her as I keep touching her.

  Then her hand goes to my erection. She’s stroking me so hard I have to stop her.

  “I want to make love to you, Jasalie.” I look into her gray eyes that are already unfocused and glazed over. “Do you want that?”

  “I always want that, Dylan.” She puts her hands around my neck and brings my face down to hers. “Come inside me. Please.”

  Tonight, we go slowly. So slowly that I can hear every sigh she makes and feel every buck of her hips against mine. I brace my arms on either side of her head and kiss her senseless while I move all the way in, and then draw myself out.

  Each time I pull out, she thrashes her head from side to side, begging me to come back. Every time I push in, she moans like she’s in euphoric bliss.

  Just like me. I detest being apart from her, but the joy of reuniting is fucking heaven. Her nails are scratching my ass as she urges me closer.

  I’m going to lose my mind any second. The coiling of an orgasm is building and building, and then Jasalie goes over the edge, and I’m done for. White lights cross my eyes, and I bury my head in her neck as I groan out her name.

  “You’ve shattered me,” I whisper into her sweat-covered skin. “Fully and completely shattered me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Jasalie

  When I wake up the next morning, my head is on Dylan’s chest, and his arms are around me.

  I slept like a rock. The first time I’ve slept soundly next to a man, and we’re about to break up.

  I ignore the thickness in my throat and head for the shower. I have to leave Dylan and then drive to the home of the woman who left me over two decades ago. Getting my heart broken once today feels like too much, but potentially twice? I don’t think I can take it.

  “So, our last day is up today.” Dylan glances up from his plate of eggs and toast as we sit together in a private corner table at the hotel restaurant. “We managed to extend it, but even the extension has run out.”

  “It has.” All good things run out eventually. At least this one has a clean break and can’t sneak up on me.

  Dylan runs both hands through his hair, his expression agitated. “I’ve been thinking how we can—can you take a sick day?”

  Sick day. I hadn’t thought about that. I don’t think I’ve ever taken a sick day in my life. Even if I’ve been ill, I’ve gone to work. Nothing to stay home for.

  “I’ve never had any reason to take one before,” I tell him. “But I could definitely use one of them up for you.”

  “Wait, how many sick days do you have?”

  “Tons. This company’s policy is to never expunge your time off even when the year ends, and I’ve never taken a vacation, either.”

  “Never taken a vaca…” His eyes widen. “Baby, you need a rest.”

  Once Dylan mentions it, I realize I am tired. From running, from pressing, from driving.

  I put my head on my hand and look at him. “I guess I do.”

  “So I have an idea.” His eyes light up. “Let’s spend this whole week together. Just you and me.”

  I swallow hard as I meet his eyes. I could either sink or swim in them, but it looks like I’m past the point of forfeiting. Looks like I’m going to find out what I’m made of.

  I reach across the table and take his hand in mine. “Yes. Let’s spend the week together. Just you and me.”

  He gets up and comes over to my side of the booth so he can plant little kisses all over my face. I laugh and hug him tightly to me. Behind him, I notice Dante and Harlow standing by the bar. They’re fighting, and Dante’s already got a drink in his hand. Harlow slaps him and storms out.

  “Something wrong?” Dylan pulls back as he feels my body stiffen.

  I compose myself and force a smile. “Nope. Everything’s great.”

  I put my arms around him again and hope I’m not being as naïve as Harlow. I hope Dylan really is as different from Dante as he seems and that I’m not completely over my head in a world I don’t understand.

  I call Bill about my week off.

  When he threatens to fire me, his usual retort to any request, I respond with the only comeback I can think of. “It’s illegal to disallow me to use personal time. I’ve never once taken even one day off. Are you going to give it to me, or do I need to take this to your supervisor?”

  Bill gives me the time off, and then he abruptly thanks me for my work on the Cougars’ event.

  “I think we’re going to get the contract. But I’m frustrated because damn Hal Cotton hasn’t called me yet.”

  So that explains his testy mood.

  “But if we do, Ms. Gordon, I’ll tell you right now that the promotion is yours. I’ll send you a text when the account is a go.”

  I thank him and hang up.

  Then I send Rosita a text.

  Can you take care of the kitties for one more week?

  Her answer comes immediately.

  Of course! But what are you doing?

  I hate not telling her about Dylan. But I feel like I’ll jinx myself if I put it into writing.

  Just a small change of plans. Going to be delayed in Arizona for one week. But I’ll be home after that. I promise, and I’ll tell you everything! I’ll text you tomorrow.

  I tap the screen on my phone and pull up my bank account. As I stare at the recent deposits, I admit the truth. I’m not ready to see my mother. I’m still working up the courage to approach her. And that sucks because I know she needs the money soon. But maybe staying in Tucson for the rest of the week will give me the strength I need to follow through on my plan. I just need a few days to figure out what I’m going to say to her. Here’s your money, and by the way, where have you been the last twenty-plus years? doesn’t sound like a great opener.

  “All set?” Dylan asks me as I meet him in the lobby.

  “All set.” I give him a kiss. “What do you want to do today?”

  He kisses me back. “How about we go for a drive into the mountains? Do you want to?”

  “Yes, I love the mountains. We can bring a picnic lunch maybe.”

  “Definitely,” he says. “We’ll stop at the store down the street.”

  “I’m going to get an orange,” I tell Dylan when we’re in the bread aisle. “You want one?”

  “Sure, baby.” He leans down and kisses me, right there in the aisle.

  I laugh as Dylan blows on my neck. “I’ll be right back. Try to control yourself while I’m gone.”

  “Not possible!” he calls after me.

  I head for the produce aisle. The first orange I pick up is perfect, still firm, but I can tell it’s juicy under
neath. It takes me a while to find a match for it, though.

  But I finally get what I want.

  As I round the corner into the bread aisle, juggling the two oranges as a way to surprise Dylan, I halt.

  Dante and Harlow are with Dylan.

  I straighten my spine as I get closer.

  “Hey, Jasalie!” Harlow calls out as I reach them.

  “Hi, Harlow.” I nod at her. “Hi, Dante,” I say as I drop the oranges into the cart.

  “Hey, girl.” He holds out his hand, almost like he’s making some sort of peace offering.

  I don’t want to take it. I think he’s a prick. But I look up at Dylan, and he’s smiling at me.

  And so I take Dante’s extended hand. But as soon as I do, Dante squeezes my hand in a way I don’t like, and I wish I hadn’t accepted his obviously false overture.

  Dylan frowns and says we need to go. But Dante reaches out to hug him.

  “You looked like such a pretty boy in that Football Forever story.” Dante punches Dylan’s arm. “What kind of hair product was that anyway? I think I’m gonna tape a copy of it to your locker and let the media have a field day for the season opener.”

  Dylan laughs it off, but Dante keeps going.

  “Seriously, man. You haven’t gone Hollywood on me have you? Mr. MVP? ’Cause then I might have to kick your ass.”

  “Man, you just don’t know when to let up.” Dylan says this last part with a bare hint of a chuckle.

  “So, you’ve come round on Dylan here, huh?” Dante says as he turns on me. “You finally realized you had a good thing going?”

  “I always realized that, Dante,” I say.

  “Didn’t seem like it to me.” He laughs loudly and elbows Dylan in the side. “Dy-boy, you’d better watch this one. I think she lies.”

  “Hey.” Dylan gets up in Dante’s face so fast Harlow jumps. “Keep any crap between us. Jasalie doesn’t lie, has never lied, and none of that is any of your damn business—got it?”

  Dante steps back and mumbles an apology in my direction.

  But there’s still a woman around he can mess with. And he does.

  “Fine, your girl’s off-limits. But mine?” Dante puts his arm around Harlow. “She’s always up for my harmless teasing. Aren’t you, baby?”