by Zoey Derrick
No matter the time or the distance, when the time is right, I’ll be waiting.
This card came with the roses so how would he even know what would happen between us last night? The truth is, he already knew. He knew I was going to need time and my heart swells a little more at that idea. The idea he’s willing to give me some time.
By mid-afternoon Tuesday, I’m going stir crazy again in the apartment, but I have nothing else to do. The kitchen is cleaned up, I have food in the crockpot for dinner tonight, I moved around some roses, combined some and even though I cried doing it, I set mom’s roses to dry upside down in my closet. I want to be able to keep them as long as possible and that seemed like the best plan.
Unable to resist any longer, with no more busy-work to do, I pull out my phone and find Dyson’s card.
Ireland: Why Tigress?
That’s all I text him and I wait for his response. It comes quickly in the form of bouncing dots and I wait, and wait, for what seems like forever before I finally get a reply.
Dyson: Have dinner with me, tonight?
I roll my eyes.
Ireland: too soon, need some answers first.
Dyson: Some answers are better explained in person. Dinner?
Ireland: Lunch, Thursday?
Dyson: Can’t wait that long to see you. Tomorrow, lunch?
Ireland: Can’t, plans.
For some strange reason I can picture him glowering at the phone as I counter everything he says with a new term.
Dyson: Feisty tigress today aren’t we?
I smile.
Ireland: Always.
Dyson: Fine, Thursday, Noon, meet me in the lobby.
I shake my head despite the fact he can’t see me.
Dyson: Before you argue, we’re not going to eat downtown. It will be faster if I drive us.
Ireland: Where are we going?
Dyson: Fajitas
I smile wider. Fajitas is one of the rare dishes I loved that his mother made when we were kids. I don’t know what it was but she had a true knack for it and it always seemed to bring us closer together. My mom would join us on those nights and they were some of the best nights I can remember as a kid.
Ireland: Noon, Thursday, Lobby – see you then.
Dyson: Ireland?
Ireland: Yes?
Dyson: thank you.
I stow my phone but don’t get the shit eating’ grin off my face before Becca walks in the door. I watch as she breathes in deep. “You made chili?” she asks, slightly confused. Chili is something I make for comfort food. Thankfully it’s cooler outside today, at least that was the excuse for making it, but she sees right through me.
I smile wide at her hopeful expression and give her the four words she so desperately wants to hear. “We need to talk.”
“Kill A Word” - Eric Church
Dyson: What are you wearing?
I roll my eyes at my phone while I’m standing in the middle of a dressing room in Saks Fifth Avenue’s Off 5th store at the outlet mall where Becca and I are shopping. Finding a moment of courage, I respond to him.
Ireland: Nothing at the moment…
Let that one sink in, Mr. Cocky-Stuck-Up-Three-Piece-Wearing-Suit.
Becca and I talked over dinner last night. I confessed to her what happened when I was fifteen and then explained to her how I ran into him again; spilling coffee on him. Then I launched into what happened Friday night at Blu and finally why all the roses.
She couldn’t understand why I couldn’t just forgive him and move on. She seemed to think it would be easy and there is definitely a reason behind why she thinks that, but she won’t elaborate on it. I didn’t expect her to. She’s not one for talking and I came to accept that about her a very long time ago.
Though one thing she said was quite poignant and it’s stuck with me all night and into this morning.
“You can’t live life in the past. If he is so obviously what you want and he wants you, then somehow you need to find a way to forgive him.”
That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, but I still need answers before I can do that. I need to understand where his mind has been these last ten years.
Dyson: I’m coming over.
I laugh out loud as I type my reply.
Ireland: Lucky for me, I’m not home.
Dyson: Where are you?
Ireland: Shopping
Dyson: Fine, but I want proof.
I laugh again. “What are you laughing at?” Becca says from the other side of the door. She’s been irritable all day and I don’t understand why. She loves shopping and she especially loves any chance she gets to doll me up. Hence why we’re here and not at a hand-me-down shop, which is where I like to buy a lot of my clothes. They’re cheaper and more my style.
I sober a little. “Him.”
“Him, who?”
I roll my eyes again as I look in the mirror. Hmm, I wonder.
I open the camera feature on my phone. “Dyson,” I tell her as I hold the phone up to snap a picture for him. I have no idea where I’ve gotten so brave all of a sudden. I’ve never even so much as let another man see my tits before. Why am I so willing to send him a picture of me, in a bra and panties, in a dressing room?
Instead of snapping a picture of myself directly, I’m able to angle the camera just enough to capture all the clothes on the hooks and the curve of my nearly naked hip and I hit send before I chicken out.
I set my phone down and start trying on clothes, but it only takes a second for Dyson’s reply to chime on my phone. Embarrassed by my brazenness, I ignore it and try on a couple of outfits before it chimes again and I can’t take it anymore.
I look at my phone:
Dyson: What I wouldn’t give to have those hips in my hands right now.
I feel my cheeks warm as the blush spreads. His lack of filter when it comes to me and my body is something I’m not used to from anyone. Becca and Dyson are the only two people, besides my brother, who know I wasn’t always this skinny. But I’m surprised by the confidence or maybe the desire I feed off of him knowing that a simple little picture means more to him because it’s me and my body. It makes me smile. All it takes is a tiny glimpse of my nakedness and his filter breaks. It makes me giggle with happiness to know that I’m doing that to him.
I read his other text:
Dyson: What are you shopping for?
I reply to him, ignoring the hip comment altogether because honestly, I don’t know how to handle that much forwardness.
Ireland: Work clothes. I’m pretty sure Wellington frowns upon band t-shirts, chucks and jeans.
Dyson’s reply is quicker than I expected it to be
Dyson: you looked fabulous when you came for your interview.
Ireland: so you did actually notice me?
Dyson: Of course I did. It wasn’t until you said your name that I knew I was looking at YOU.
Ireland: well that answers one question.
Dyson: I know I knew you from somewhere, but Ireland, you’re a gorgeous woman. I’d be a fool not to notice.
I blush again and set my phone back down, trying to focus on the shopping task at hand. I can’t possibly get this done fast enough. I hate shopping.
I’m finally done with the second load of clothes we carried into the fitting room and I’m settling on six different outfits. I try not to get too crazy about the price tags because I really need the clothes. I’d had to dress up when I worked a Stauffer, but those were summer clothes and this is still winter-spring in Phoenix, so sleeveless dress shirts and short, flowy skirts won’t work for a couple more months. With this stuff and what I already have, I should be able to make it a couple weeks without having to wear the same thing twice until I get my first paycheck and then I can do this all over again. I make a mental note of the stuff I really liked so when I have to come back, I know where to start and save myself an assload of time and headache shopping.
Becca and I plan to have lunch at Fired Pie when we’re done
here and she said she needs to run into a couple different stores. She drove, so I’m cool to hang out with her and do whatever.
I’m about to pull my jeans back on when there’s a knock on my door. “Yeah?”
“Try these on,” Becca says from the other side of the door.
“I already have enough clothes,” I argue.
She flips whatever she has in her hand over the top of the dressing room door. “These aren’t for work.”
“Oh.” I squeak as I look at what she flung over the door. “What exactly do I need these for?” I take them from her and hold them up. She’s handed me a bunch of bra and panty sets that match perfectly to each other, unlike all the other stuff I have at home which is color coordinated but hardly matching.
“The big D,” she says and she laughs out loud. I don’t catch on to her little joke and I crack open the door.
“What’s so funny?” I whisper.
She blinks at me. “Dyson…dick…the big D?” I still don’t get it and she leans into me. “You really only ever slept with one man your whole freakin’ life?”
I sigh. “So? What’s wrong with that?”
She shrugs and starts to walk away. I pull her by the arm and drag her into the dressing room with me. “Let me go,” she argues and tries to pull away from me.
“No,” I whisper. “I spilled my beans, now it’s your turn. Why? Why do you throw yourself at men the way you do?”
She takes a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Why? Because I’m more or less a virgin?”
She stares at me before answering, “No, because I’m pretty sure you’ve never had to grow up around what I had to, let alone, understand.” She stands up but turns on me again. “I’m not the one who’s spent the last ten years pining over a man who left me naked in a barn.” Her words sting and I let her go as she storms out of the dressing room, leaving the door wide open and me staring blankly at her.
God, she seriously has a point. Without even meaning to do it, I’ve done exactly what it is she says. I can’t deny that. I never looked at another man the way I look at Dyson. Sure, I made friends, that was easy, but anytime something got close to being more than that, I shoved them away. Whether I was conscious of the choice I was making or not. God dammit.
Becca is seriously obnoxious and sometimes demanding when it comes to what’s going on with me. I have a light bulb moment in the middle of the dressing room as it dawns on me that Becca has never once been forthcoming with me about her past, about her boyfriends, about…anything. This isn’t about me at all. This has everything to do with the mask she’s chosen to hide behind. Getting the juicy details of my life makes her feel better, makes her feel like she can keep hiding behind her own walls.
Not bothering to look at the bras she brought me, I toss them on the pile of ‘yes’ clothes and throw my jeans, shoes and t-shirt back on. Ready to put everything back if it means I have to go chasing after her. She’s my ride and I can’t even begin to guess how long it will take me to get home on the bus from here.
One of the sales ladies stops me, asking if I found everything okay. I look at her then my pile of clothes in my arms. “Is there any way you can hold this for me?”
“Sure, we can hold it ‘til close of business.”
“Perfect,” I tell her and we walk to the counter where she takes everything in my hands and puts my name on a card. While she does that, I’m looking around the store for Becca but I don’t see her.
I reach for my phone and call her. That’s when I hear ‘Crazy Bitch’ playing and I follow the sound. She obviously doesn’t get it turned off before I’m able to find her and I hang up. That’s when I find her phone and no Becca.
“Fucking wonderful.”
I leave the store in search of her and end up in the parking lot where we parked the car and it’s gone.
“Mother fucker. I’m gonna fucking kill her.”
I scroll through my phone, looking for the cab service I like to use and call them. I let them know where I am and find out how much it will be. When she tells me the price, I tell her to forget it. I’ll find the bus and take it home.
My phone chimes with a text.
Dyson: Any luck?
I debate on not answering him. Sure, I found a shit ton of clothes I like but what’s the point when you’ve pissed off your best friend and she’s left you high and dry at a mall a good two hours away from your apartment by bus – at least.
Ireland: Clothes – yes. Becca – not so much.
Dyson: Who’s Becca?
Ireland: My pain-in-the-ass roommate – the one you were dancing with the other night – who just left me in the middle of the outlet mall with no way home but the bus.
I put my phone back in my bag and go sit on one of the chairs outside the store. Frustrated and unsure of what to do. A part of me hopes Becca will come to her senses and come back to get me. Another part of me tells me to just start walking toward the bus stop. Another part of me tells me to go inside and pay for my clothes, but then I war with carrying all that shit home. It’s going to be at least two if not more bags and I don’t want that kind of hassle. Then again, if I ditch the clothes, I can afford the cab ride home.
I reach for my phone in my bag. I didn’t hear it go off with Dyson’s text.
Dyson: Stay where you are, I’m coming to get you.
Ireland: Be my white knight?
Dyson: Always.
Ireland: you don’t even know where I am.
Dyson: Stay there.
Fuck me. I shouldn’t have said anything. I was okay with seeing him tomorrow, but not today. I’m definitely not ready and with the mood Becca’s put me in, it’s going to be all kinds of awful and he doesn’t deserve my ire over my roommate.
I go to stand and call the cab company back to have them come and get me when he steps in front of me with his shiny shoes, dress pants cuffed with a slight flare, pressed with the perfect crease in the front. I can’t stop the slow, lazy gaze up his body. I know it’s him because the hairs on the back of my neck are at attention. When I come to the slight bulge in his trousers, I lick my lips and he groans. I smirk.
He’s not wearing a jacket, but he has a matching vest on and I feel my pussy heat up. My breathing hitches and I take in the slow sexy view of Dyson Cole wearing a white dress shirt under his vest, his tie is undone and the top two buttons of his shirt are unhooked. I’m pretty sure his sleeves are rolled up and his hair is falling into his face.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Enjoying the view.”
I lick my lips again and he lifts me off of the chair. “You keep that up and I’ll bend you over right here, right now.”
My breathing hitches and my jaw goes slack. A part of me wants to argue with him that he wouldn’t, but the look in his eyes says he wouldn’t hesitate in a heartbeat.
“Now, where’s your stuff?”
I try and pull in a deep breath, to pull myself back together, but I am assaulted with the scent that is Dyson and Dyson alone and the fog gets foggier. “I put it back,” I manage.
“Why would you do that?” He steps back, giving me a little bit of space to clear my head, thank god.
“Because I can’t afford those and a cab ride home.” Realization dawns on me. “You got here really freakin’ fast.”
His eyes are riddled with guilt, “I saw the logo of the store in your picture.” He runs an unsteady hand through his hair. “I was on my way to surprise you.”
“Oh,” I breathe. I should be pissed he was stalking me, but instead I’m a little thrilled. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to see him until he was standing in front of me.
He steps closer to me, grabbing my hips and pulling me to him. “Oh? Is that all you can say?”
“I…uh… yup, oh is all I got.”
He chuckles. His eyes crinkle in the corners and I can’t help smiling at him. “Come on, let’s go get your clothes.”
“No, really, Dyson, it�
��s alright.”
Thinking about the fact that buying clothes means I couldn’t really afford a cab ride home has me thinking just because I can afford rent, I can’t really afford much else. I should have gone to Walmart or something.
“What’s wrong?” he asks me.
“Nothing,” I tell him. “Can you take me home?”
He gives me a sad smile, but nods his head. “Come on, baby girl, let’s go.” He slides his fingers between mine as he pulls me along to the parking lot.
Chapter 19
Dyson
“Words” - Skylar Grey
It takes everything I have not to take Ireland back in the store and buy everything she picked out, but I know it’s not what she wants or needs me to do for her. She obviously feels bad enough about not being able to afford clothes and a taxi ride; I don’t need to rub my wealth in her face too.
I lead her to my car, so much for not rubbing my wealth in her face. I should have brought the Nissan. I watch her carefully as her jaw drops. She’s taking in the sleek, shiny and new, deep blue metallic Tesla model S she’s about to climb into. I’m about to have this girl in my car for the first time and my nerves spike with the knowledge as I hold open the door for her. I haven’t been this close to her with nothing more to do than talk in so long. Road head certainly isn’t her style. I smirk at the thought of one day, maybe.
