The Seduction of Dylan Acosta

by Nia Forrester

  was a shock to discover that what she really wanted wasn’t a job, but a career. And more shocking still

  was that Grant thought she was more than capable of going to a top tier law school. Over time, he had

  become a mentor and a friend.

  Dylan wondered now whether she could impose on that friendship now and confide in him about

  Mark. But it wasn’t as though there was anything to confide. After all, she and Mark weren’t even

  really dating. Right now, all they were was telephone buddies. And if his life took off at the rocket

  speed it appeared to have assumed, they might not even be that much for long. Soon enough he would

  probably be going to the ESPYs with a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. That thought alone caused her

  mood to sour even further.

  “Go grab an early lunch,” Grant suggested. “Have a cappuccino or something, and then come back

  prepared to work.”

  Dylan nodded. “Okay. I’ll pull it together and come back around two or so?”

  “Good,” Grant said. “That’ll be fine. And look, don’t sweat the LSATs, okay?”

  Dylan left his office and went to the ladies room. She looked in the mirror, taking herself apart

  critically; first of all, she was short—only five foot four inches tall; and while she kept in great shape by

  running and working the elliptical machine at the gym, she had no room for error to maintain her

  precarious hold on a size six. And then there was the hair; it was long and untamed, wiry, curly and

  constantly all over the place. She kept it out of the way with a variety of scarves and headbands but did

  little more than that.

  Her complexion she was proud of however; it was smooth and flawless polished ochre,

  unblemished probably because of her obsessive drinking of water. And she had high cheekbones and full lips which Ava kept trying to get her to accentuate. But there was no getting around the fact that she was more accurately described as “cute” than beautiful, or even pretty. There was nothing in this mirror that would hold the interest of someone about the live the life Mark was about to live. There were women out there who had made it their life’s mission to land a man like him, who knew just how to dress, talk, act just so they would be irresistible to men like Mark. If she never heard from him again, it should come as no surprise.

  After lunch she managed to regain her focus and get the work done that Grant wanted and back in her office, she tried to ignore her phone, which sat silent on a stack of papers, within easy reach if it should ring.

  But it didn’t. So Dylan buried herself in her task and even finished it early, and was able to make plans to meet up with Ava for dinner.

  Ava didn’t have a doorman, so when she got to her building, Dylan went right up. It felt like going home whenever she visited; she was almost as comfortable in Ava’s apartment as her own. When Dylan banged on the door Ava opened it barefoot, wearing sweatpants and a white tank. She was on the phone, and had it cradled between her shoulder and head while she looked through a tattered delivery menu.

  “. . . last time was spicier than even a native Thai person could stand, so easy on the pepper. And spring rolls. Oh, and Dylan, what do you want?”

  “Just Shrimp pad thai,” she said, dumping her bags near the door.

  “Shrimp pad thai,” Ava repeated. “For two. Great. Thirty minutes? Thanks.”

  She hung up and hugged Dylan briefly before returning to her favored spot on the bed. Ava had a large studio apartment with a mini-fridge of the type usually found in hotels, so she rarely cooked. The floors were oak and the walls exposed brick. There were wonderful large windows through which you could just spot the sunrise across the bridge each morning. The shabbiness of the building’s exterior belied the fact that inside it had been newly renovated and cost a pretty penny to live there. Ava’s job as a television producer meant so she could easily afford the $2,500 monthly rent. She was thinking of buying it when it went co-op in the next few months.

  The most dominant piece in the room was an immense bed which, like a futon was low to the ground. Ava kept it covered with pillows of all sizes, in lush greens and gold and it doubled as a place to sit when she had people over. It was Dylan’s favorite place in the apartment, apart from the breakfast bar where, sitting on the tall art deco stools, she’d consumed many a glass of wine and cup of coffee while trying to figure her life out.

  “I thought we were going out for dinner,” she said.

  “I got too hungry,” Ava explained. “Why? Did you have your heart set on going someplace?” And then a non-sequitur: “Did you see how much money they’re paying him? How crazy is that? You have a rich boyfriend, Dylan.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend. We’ve never even been on a date.”

  “He calls you three hundred times a day. I’d say that makes you a little more than friends.”

  “No, all we are is friends.”

  “For now. I don’t know a guy who would call you every single day, for three weeks without being romantically interested. And besides, he already has a sister. So we know that’s not what this is.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Dylan said, testily.

  Ava looked at her. “Why? What happened? Did you two have a fight or something?”

  “No, he’s been exactly the same.”

  “Then what’re you so cranky about?”

  “Well,” Dylan sat at the breakfast bar. “Let’s face it, he can have anyone now . . .”

  Ava groaned. “Let’s not have this conversation again, please. You are so insecure, and I mean, look at you! You have a body most women would kill for. The legs of a dancer, the tits and ass of a lingerie model and the cutest face.”

  “Yeah. Cute.” Dylan said.

  “Dylan, he chose you. Out of all the women at that party, he decided he would stand out on that cold-ass fire escape and talk to you. That has to count for something. And he calls you so often, he’s practically a stalker.”

  Dylan laughed in spite of herself.

  “Settle down, will you? Just let it happen. He likes you.”

  Dylan shrugged. “I haven’t heard from him today.”

  “Are you going through Mark withdrawal?” Ava came over to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “I’d imagine he’s a little busy today,” she said, “wouldn’t you?”

  But Mark still hadn’t called two days later, and Dylan had just begun trying to resign herself to not hearing from him again when she heard the welcome sound of his ringtone. It was muffled because her phone was in her purse as she was sitting in an early morning staff meeting. She considered, but only for a fraction of a second, not answering but couldn’t do it and finally grabbed her bag, dashing out of the conference room, followed by the disapproving stare of the legal assistant coordinator.

  “Hello?” she said, walking quickly toward the privacy of her office.

  “Hey.”

  He sounded so casual, it almost made her angry at him, but in fairness, he had warned her that he

  was going to be busy. She had no reason to be annoyed, but she honestly hadn’t anticipated just how agitated it would make her to not hear from him for so long.

  “How are you?” she asked, shutting the door to her office.

  “I’m good,” he said, sounding rushed. “But I have to go in a second. I know it’s not cool to ask you to go out with me at the last minute,” he said. “But I swear I didn’t have a spare moment to myself this entire week.”

  Dylan admitted to herself grudgingly that it was probably true. He was all over TV, sitting through countless interviews as sports reporters rehashed his road to signing with a major league baseball team. She’d been trying not to pay attention to the details, but only because it made her stomach twist with longing when she saw him on television. She swallowed pointless envy for every single person who’d gotten to be with him this week.


  “There’s this thing I have to go to tonight. I want you to come with me. If you’re free,” he said.

  “I can’t. It’s the night before the LSATs, Mark,” she reminded him. “Can we have a rain check?”

  She couldn’t believe she was turning him down, but it was true—she was going to need to be wellrested for the marathon exam on Saturday.

  “What if I promise to get you home before midnight?”

  “Even midnight is kind of late. I don’t think I . . .”

  “Eleven?”

  Dylan sighed. She did want to see him. And not talking to him had definitely disrupted her concentration. Seeing him would set her right again, she rationalized. It would put her in a positive headspace for the exam on Saturday.

  “Okay, but for sure, you have to get me home by eleven. No later.”

  “Text me your address. I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something really nice.”

  “What kind of nice? Like cocktail party nice?”

  “Fancy dinner nice, I guess? Look, I have to go, okay? Don’t forget to text me your address.”

  When he hung up Dylan was left looking at the phone wondering whether she’d imagined the entire conversation.

  Promptly at seven that evening, Mark was standing at her apartment door, dressed in a pale gray suit and blue tie, and even better looking than she’d remembered. Dylan was glad she’d chosen her best little black dress and tamed her wild hair into a chignon. Mark’s only guidance that it would be “someplace really nice” didn’t give her too much to work with, so she decided that the classic look was probably the best option. She’d even bothered to dig out her jeweled clutch and put on make-up for the occasion.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, looking her over.

  “Thank you. D’you want to come in for a little bit?”

  The apartment was a mess, so she was relieved when he said he would rather do that some other evening if the invitation was still open.

  “There’s kind of a time crunch for this thing,” he explained. “Don’t want to be late. And I only have you till eleven, so we should probably go.”

  When she locked her apartment door, she turned to find Mark holding out a hand to her. She didn’t hesitate for a second before taking it. This was only the third time they’d laid eyes on each other, and yet it felt so natural for him to extend his hand, and even more natural for her to take it.

  Downstairs a car was waiting and they got in. During the drive, Dylan didn’t think to ask where they were going and it was only when they pulled up in front of the Waldorf Astoria and she saw the cameras, banners and Mets colors that she realized where they were. The “thing” Mark mentioned was his signing ceremony and dinner.

  She turned in her seat to look at him with raised eyebrows as the car came to a stop.

  “Are you kidding?” she laughed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want you to over-think it and say no,” he admitted, smiling.

  “Of course I would’ve said no,” Dylan said. “Isn’t this something you should be doing with your family?”

  “Oh, they’ll be here too,” he nodded. “My brothers, my sister, my Mom and Dad, my uncles and a couple cousins. Everyone should be inside by now.”

  “Mark,” Dylan leaned back in the seat. “That’s a lot of pressure for a first date.”

  “I feel like this is our second date,” he said. “Since that party I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  Dylan looked at him and couldn’t come up with a single coherent thing to say. She was overwhelmed by this man, in just about every sense of the word.

  The driver got out of the car and was walking around to open their door. Outside, the camera flashes were blinding, photographers going wild in anticipation of The Rookie’s emergence from the car but Mark didn’t seem to care.

  “Have you been thinking about me?” he asked, lowering his voice. His willingness to put himself out there and say things as frank as that got her, every single time. Dylan was pretty damn sure she had never met anyone like Mark Acosta before, and may never again.

  Of course she had been thinking about him—the way everything between them so seemed to fit together so effortlessly. She’d been hoping she wasn’t imagining it, this mutual pull she felt between them, this strange connection as though they’d known each other for years. She’d also been thinking about the way he’d smelled that night at the party, the way he looked at her, and the way he’d once slid his hand toward hers on the railing, the tips of his fingers just barely brushing hers, she’d thought accidentally at the time, but now was no longer certain hadn’t been on purpose. So yes, she had been thinking about him and didn’t mind if he knew it.

  Dylan nodded.

  “Good,” he said.

  Then he leaned in to kiss her, and it was perfect.

  2

  Dylan opened her eyes without sitting up in bed, testing how she felt. Last night had been intense. Being at the signing ceremony, sitting at the table with both Mark’s parents, his brothers and his sister, watching as he was handed his team numbers and colors, getting his picture taken with the owners and general manager and Corey, his agent; it had all been surreal. Even more so because now she had to get the heck out of bed and get ready to take the subway uptown to sit her LSATs. Talk about parallel universes. She rubbed her eyes and stretched. As much as she wanted to spend the next twenty minutes thinking about last night, she didn’t have time. She had to focus for this exam.

  As she left the apartment, she realized she’d left behind her cell phone, but there was no time to go back and get it; she had to be seated no later than eight a.m. and it was already seven-fifteen. Dylan took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator and dashed the five blocks to the subway. On the ride she tried to calm down, clearing her mind of everything except her goal of getting into NYU. But despite her best efforts, her thoughts drifted to the previous evening and the way Mark had kissed her. There had only been the one kiss, when they got to the dinner. But god, what an amazing kiss. Still it felt like he was restraining himself, trying to be respectful, but at the same time, the way he’d pressed his mouth against hers, his tongue . . .

  “ Stop it,” she scolded herself out loud.

  No one even looked up. People were always talking to themselves on the New York City subway. When she got to the testing location and signed in, looking around at all the other nervous testtakers, Dylan actually felt a wave of calm. She had worked hard, studied and practiced for months. There was no reason to be afraid of this: she was ready.

  It was early afternoon when she was done, and all she had energy to do was take the train back home and crash. The anticipation and tension of the last few months seemed to have bled right out of her onto the page and now all that was left was a sense of depletion. She crawled under the covers and slept with her clothes on, and when she awoke it was dark outside, her apartment was chilly and she was incredibly hungry.

  As Dylan pulled on her tennis shoes, she caught sight of her phone and unplugged it. She’d missed five calls and hadn’t even heard it ring. Her mother had called from Arizona to wish her luck, Ava had called twice, once in the morning and then again in the afternoon, as had Mark. In his second message, he asked her to call her back. As she was listening to his voice, smiling at just the sound of him, a call came through and she answered.

  “Hey there! How was it?”

  “Grant,” Dylan said surprised. “Hi! It was fine. I feel okay about it.”

  “I knew you would. I told Jenn you were taking it today and she said I should call you.” “Thank you for checking in, Grant. And thank Jenn as well.”

  Jenn was Grant’s wife, who was herself an attorney at another firm. Every once in awhile when

  Grant and Dylan had to work late on something Jenn would stop by with dinner for them both, and even help out a little with collating and copying documents they had to produce to opposing counsel. Like Grant, she’d been a huge cheerleade
r for Dylan’s plans to apply to law school.

  “We were talking about how stressful we remember it being, taking that damned test,” Grant went on. “So she told me to make sure you took Monday off.”

  “Oh, Grant you don’t have to . . .”

  “Not taking no for an answer. I’ll clear it. I don’t want to see you until Tuesday, I mean it.”

  Dylan’s phone beeped and she glanced at the console.

  “Thank you, Grant. I appreciate it.”

  “Alright, kiddo, go get some rest.”

  “Thank . . .”

  “And stop thanking me. G’bye.”

  Dylan smiled and clicked over to her other call.

  “Hey there,” she said, still smiling.

  “Is that smile for me?” Mark asked.

  “I was talking to Grant,” she explained.

  “Your boss calls you on your cell phone on a Saturday? And makes you smile?”

  “He wanted to see how the test went. And he gave me Monday off. Hence the smile.”

  There was a long pause, long enough for Dylan to look at the face of her phone to see whether they’d been disconnected.

  “I called you this morning,” Mark said finally. “But I guess I missed you.”

  “I left my phone. But I got your message when I got back. Thank you for the good wishes. It went well, I think.”

  “Great. How’re you feeling? Are you tired?”

  “No. I had a long nap. I feel like I slept for the first time in six months.”

  “You hungry?”

  “As a matter of fact I’m starving. I was about to go grab something when Grant called.”

  “Don’t. I’m coming to get you,” Mark said. “There’s this thing I want to take you to. Wear comfortable shoes.”

  “The last time you said you wanted to take me to a ‘thing’ we wound up at the Waldorf Astoria. So you’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “No.”

  “Mark.”

  “Jeans and a t-shirt and sneakers are fine, that’s all I’m saying. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”