by Dakota Chase
Dylan nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t pleased with my lack of enthusiasm. “Here we are,” he said, pulling into the hospital parking lot. “Any idea of what you’re going to say to Billy?”
“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out when we get up there,” I said. I really didn’t know which end was up at that point. My mind was whirling with Dylan’s offer to take me to the prom, and his remarks about coming out. Worrying about what I was going to say to Billy had taken a back seat. When I tried to think about it, I went blank. I only hoped he’d talk to me and not kick me out again.
AS IT turned out, I didn’t need a rehearsed speech because Billy wasn’t there. He’d been released from the hospital that morning. His bed was filled by an overweight man in his fifties, who looked at us curiously when we poked our heads into the room. The nurses wouldn’t give me any information other than to say someone had come to pick him up. I wondered if that someone was his father or Robbie.
I sincerely hoped it was Billy’s dad. I hated the thought that he might have gone home with Robbie. More than anything, I wanted whatever their relationship was to be over.
I wanted Billy to be happy. I didn’t want him to be dead, and Robbie sure didn’t seem to care about him at all. It looked to me like there’d be no hope of a happy ending for Billy if he stayed with Robbie.
“What now?” Dylan asked as we exited the elevator and walked out through the main doors.
“I don’t know. He might be home, but he might not.” I fished my cell phone out of my pocket, dialing Billy’s number. I didn’t expect him to pick up, not after the argument we’d had the day before, and I was right. I got his voice mail and left him a message to call me.
I doubted he would.
“Well, in that case, now’s as good a time as any, I guess,” Dylan said, smiling at me. He grabbed my hand, tucking it under his arm as we walked toward the car.
“A good time for what?” I asked. I couldn’t see anything good about a wasted trip to the hospital and Billy having gone MIA again.
“Our first date. I’m thinking dinner and a movie.”
“No, but thanks,” I said, pulling my arm away when we reached the car. “I’m broke.”
“I don’t know about the guys you’ve gone out with before, but my dates don’t pay,” Dylan growled, arching an eyebrow at me.
“The only guys I’ve gone out with are—let me think a minute—oh, yeah! Billy, and we didn’t date. We just hung out together.”
“Good. It’s settled, then. Any place in particular you want to go to eat?”
I didn’t remember settling anything, other than the sad fact of my lack of experience, but I was hungry and I didn’t want to say good-bye to Dylan so soon. “Wherever you want—you’re paying.”
“Great! I want Italian. How about Guido’s over on Harrison Avenue? They have good linguini.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “Dylan, I thought you meant fast food. We can’t go into a restaurant!”
“Why not?”
“Because people will know, that’s why.”
“What are they going to know? We’ll just be two guys hanging out, like you and Billy.”
I sighed. “Okay. But you have to remember we are two guys. I’m not some chick. You don’t get to hold my hand, you don’t open doors for me or pull out my chair, you don’t order for me, and you definitely don’t play footsies with me under the table.”
“Play footsies? Are you kidding?” Dylan snorted, starting up the engine. “Who does that?”
“Never mind,” I huffed, blushing. I kind of liked the thought of his foot sliding up along my leg under the table at an intimate restaurant. Evidently, he didn’t share the same fantasy. “Just don’t do it.”
“Gotcha. No being a gentleman and no foot fetishes.” He managed to keep a straight face for all of five seconds before laughing.
“Very funny,” I said, chuckling. Well, if nothing else, it was going to be interesting. I was about to go on my very first official date with the guy of my dreams. I might not know a whole lot about dating protocol, but I knew this much: dates usually ended with a good-night kiss, and I found myself wishing the night was over just so we could get to that part of it.
Chapter Thirteen
DYLAN DROVE us to Guido’s, a fairly inexpensive restaurant specializing in Italian food. The outside of the restaurant wasn’t much, just a long green awning and a couple of neat shrubs lining the front walkway. A small white fountain set to the left of the entrance was lit by a blue spotlight.
The inside of the place was dim, the tables lit by wine bottle candles and low, recessed lighting. On the far wall of the restaurant was a mural of what I guessed was Mount Vesuvius, the Coliseum, and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The ceiling had been painted to resemble the Sistine Chapel. All other available wall space was crowded with photographs of Italy, plaster cherubs, Frank Sinatra album covers, and plastic grapes. Life-sized white plastic statues guarded the restrooms.
“Feel like you’re in Italy?” Dylan whispered as we waited our turn to be seated. I could hear the sarcasm in his voice and had to swallow a laugh.
“More like I’m in a tacky souvenir shop. Did they really have to paint a bra on the Venus de Milo?”
“I’m more impressed with the G-string on the statue of David.”
“All it needs is sequins and he could get a job as a stripper,” I snickered, giving in to the urge to laugh. I tried to keep it down, since I caught the maître d’ glaring at us a couple of times.
We were shown to a table a short time later, and served menus and breadsticks by our waitress Maria. She was a pretty girl who didn’t look much older than us, although she had to be twenty-one if she could serve alcohol. She wore her long blonde hair down and an apron printed with colorful illustrations of pizzas, spaghetti, and meatballs.
“You guys want something to drink before you order? I’ll need to see some IDs,” she said quickly, as if she’d expected us to order the entire bar served up on ice.
“I’ll have a Coke,” Dylan said, giving her his best dimpled smile. She softened toward us immediately—or at least toward Dylan. I had suddenly become a chameleon, blending in seamlessly with the checkered tablecloth and tacky map-of-Italy placemats, no longer noticeable. Her eyes never left his face once, even when she was speaking to me.
“I’ll have the same,” I said sharply, rolling my eyes. Honestly. All she needed to do was the hair-flip thing to make the flirting complete.
She did. She tossed her head like a freaking horse, her mane of bottle-dyed hair swinging. I half expected her to neigh.
“Be right back with your drink,” she said to Dylan.
“You get that a lot?” I asked as soon as she was out of ear range.
“Get what?”
“Flirted with, you doof. She practically jumped into your pants.” I wondered if she knew Dylan was jailbait. He could easily have passed for college age. I was also a little bit jealous, although I wasn’t about to admit it.
“You’re crazy. She was just being nice, that’s all,” Dylan said, reaching for a breadstick and biting off half of it. He suddenly looked very serious, lowering the other half of the breadstick, tapping it on the table. I was instantly reminded of the clicking pen and of his fingers tapping on the keys of the guitar. I suddenly realized he tapped things when he got nervous. “Okay, so she flirted. Big deal. I’m here with you, Jamie. Not her.”
Did he think I was serious? I wasn’t… well, maybe I was, a little. “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this, you know. I half expect you to run to the men’s room and not come back.”
“Why would I do that? I’ve got the best-looking guy at school here with me. Let’s face it, Jamie. You’re stuck with me.”
My lips quirked a smile, and I was glad the lighting was dim so Dylan couldn’t see me blush. I didn’t believe a word of it, of course, but it was really nice to hear. “Okay, sorry. Are you going to eat that breadstick or pound it back into flour?” I ask
ed, pointing at it. Dylan smiled and lifted it toward me.
Without thinking, I opened my mouth and took it from his fingers. I chewed and swallowed before I realized what I’d done.
My face suddenly felt hot as I scanned the nearby tables to see if anyone had noticed.
“What’s wrong?” Dylan asked, cocking his head at me.
I leaned in over the table. “Guys don’t feed other guys breadsticks,” I hissed. “Did you ever hand-feed one of the other team members? No. I almost gave us away.”
“Jamie, nobody’s paying attention to us. It’s dark in here, and everyone’s busy eating or trying to read the menus by candlelight. Nobody cares,” Dylan said, gesturing toward the other diners.
He was right. No one was paying us any mind. I felt better but reminded myself to stay alert. I mentally added hand-feeding to the list of things we absolutely could not do in a restaurant.
Maria arrived with our Cokes and a fresh basket of breadsticks, which she reached around Dylan to place on the table. I noticed her arm brush across his back but bit my tongue. Verbally flaying the waitress would definitely draw attention to us.
“Have you decided?” she asked. Funny, but I didn’t remember her voice being quite so husky before.
“Yeah. I’ll have the ziti and sausage, and a side salad,” Dylan said, handing her his menu. He looked at me. “Jamie? What do you want?”
“The same,” I said, snapping the menu closed and handing it to Maria. She took it without ever once looking in my direction.
There was a lesson here, I realized. Women liked Dylan, and for all the same reasons I did. He was handsome, tall, broad-shouldered, and nice. I realized I was going to have to get used to girls flirting with him if I was going to date him.
If I’d been another female, Maria probably wouldn’t have flirted so openly, but I wasn’t. I was a guy and therefore not the competition. As far as Maria was concerned, it was the same as if he’d been there alone. It was open season on Dylan, and she was bringing out the big guns.
I almost felt bad for her. She didn’t have a chance with Dylan. Not if I could help it, anyway. Let her flirt. Let her dream. I was the one sitting at the table with him eating breadsticks from his fingers. I smiled, feeling smug.
The ziti and sausage were good, served with thick tomato sauce and a ton of grated Parmesan cheese. We each had two refills of Cokes and shared a tiramisu for dessert, and by the time Dylan paid the check, I was feeling stuffed to the gills. I didn’t even mind that Maria had written her phone number on Dylan’s receipt.
Especially since he purposely tossed it into the trash can on our way out.
“Wait a minute,” Dylan said, putting a warm hand on my arm just after we’d left the restaurant. “I need to use the can. I’ll be right back, okay?”
I nodded. “I’ll meet you at the car.” Dylan tossed me the keys.
The car was near the back of the small lot, within view of the front door. I reached the Mustang and was fumbling for the key when I felt someone walk up behind me. Thinking it was Dylan, I turned, holding out the keys.
It wasn’t him. It was Robbie-the-A-hole.
“I thought it was you in the restaurant. Where’s your pretty boy?” he asked, standing so close he practically had me pinned to the side of the car.
“He’ll be right back. What do you want?” I growled. Robbie was the last person on the face of the earth I wanted to talk to, and the fact that he was crowding my personal space was seriously pissing me off.
“Have you talked to Billy?”
“No,” I lied. Whether I had or not was none of his business.
“He said you did. He said you got on his case about me. When I saw you inside, I thought it might be a good time to explain a few things.”
“I really don’t want to hear anything you’ve got to say,” I countered, trying to sidle away from him. He moved with me, keeping me pinned.
“Listen up, you little jerk-off. What Billy and I do is our business. It’s his right to decide what to do with his body. He wanted the bug. Wanted it. I didn’t force it on him.”
“H-he’s positive?” I felt the world suddenly shift, as if an earthquake had just rippled under my feet.
“If he’s lucky, he is.”
Then Billy didn’t know if he’d tested positive yet, I thought. There was still a chance. “Lucky? Is that what you call it?”
“Yeah. He’ll never have to worry about getting infected again. He can just kick back and have fun.”
“That’s the saddest excuse I’ve ever heard! A person isn’t free to inject himself with the Ebola virus just because he wants to, Robbie. He isn’t free to pass it on to other people either, just because some poor schmuck thinks he wants it. Billy only thinks that way because he wants you to like him.”
“He’s part of the club now. Or he will be once he’s positive. There will be plenty of guys for him.”
“He loves you!”
Robbie snorted. “He was fun, but we’re done. I did what I had to do for him.”
“Get away from me, Robbie,” I warned. I was sick to death of looking at him.
“What’s the matter, baby? Don’t you want to be part of the club?” Robbie asked, his voice lowering to a deep rumble. He placed one hand on either side of me, leaning in, trapping me against the car, his face inches from mine. I could smell something strong and alcoholic on his breath, and it made my stomach turn. “It’s fun. I’ll initiate you, and if it doesn’t work, we’ll have a party. You’ll get the Gift for sure, just like Billy.”
“The ‘Gift’ is a lie!” I screamed, pushing hard at him. I caught Robbie off-balance and he staggered, giving me the opportunity to slip by him. I hadn’t run two feet before he grabbed my arm and swung me around to face him.
“If you don’t want the Gift, that’s fine, but you’d better keep your trap shut about what you know. Understand?” he snarled, getting in my face. His fingers dug into my arm, and it took all of my strength to pull away. Robbie looked over my shoulder for a minute, then turned on his heel and stalked away into the darkness.
By the time Dylan reached me, I was shaking like a leaf—not in fear, but in anger.
“Was that Robbie? What did he want? What did he say? Are you okay?” Dylan asked in quick succession. He took the keys from my hand and put an arm around my shoulder, leading me toward the car door.
“He wanted to give me a warning, I guess. I don’t think he wants us talking about what we know—about him trying to infect Billy.”
Dylan opened the door for me and I gratefully fell into the seat. He got in but didn’t start the car, turning toward me instead. “Why? What’s he afraid of?”
I shrugged. “Billy’s underage. Even with consent, that could mean problems for Robbie, especially if they can prove he purposely gave Billy the virus. If Billy or Billy’s parents wanted to, they could get Robbie in a whole world of trouble.” I leaned my head back, trying to get control of myself. I was so angry that I wanted to hit something. It had been a perfect evening, but Robbie-the-A-hole had ruined it.
“I guess you don’t feel like going to a movie now, huh?” Dylan asked, taking my hand. He held it in his, his thumb smoothing over my skin.
“Not really,” I said, shaking my head. “He shook me up pretty badly, Dylan.”
“I know. What do you want to do?”
“Go home, I guess. I’m sorry, Dylan.”
“Hey, it’s not your fault. Maybe we can try this again on Saturday, after we get back from the meet.”
Oh, man, I’d almost forgotten about the track meet with South Westfield. I’d had a lot more serious things on my mind than running. “Sure. That’d be good,” I said.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
Dylan looked out the back window, then at me. He lifted his fingers to my face, lightly tracing the contour of my jaw. “Can I have a good-night kiss before I drive you home? I know you won’t want me to kiss you in fro
nt of your house.”
I smiled softly and nodded, leaning in toward him.
It wasn’t just one kiss this time, or if it was, it was the longest kiss on record. He didn’t push for anything more and neither did I. We both knew we weren’t ready for it. Hell, we were confused enough as it was.
He dropped me off with a quick peck, just as he had the night before. The porch light was on, and my mom’s car was in the driveway. It was early, which meant she’d be waiting for me.
“Thanks again, Dylan. Talk to you tomorrow at school,” I said, climbing out of the car. Dylan waited with the motor idling until I’d safely reached the front door. I guess Robbie’s little visit had shook him up too.
I’d been right. Mom was waiting for me and with a look on her face that told me she wasn’t happy.
“Billy’s mother called. Come and sit down. We have to talk.”
Chapter Fourteen
THERE WAS no sign of Doug in the house, which I chalked up to pure dumb luck. Hearing his mouth was the last thing I needed that night, and I was grateful I wouldn’t have to deal with him on top of everything else.
Mom led me into the kitchen and pointed to a chair, mom speak for “sit down, shut up, and listen.”
I sat. You didn’t argue with my mother when she had that look on her face, the one that said she meant business. The last time I’d seen that look was when I was in grade school and got caught swiping a comic book from the drugstore. Believe me, it was the first and last thing I ever took that didn’t belong to me. Mom was small and delicate looking, even at forty-five, but she was wiry and as tough as a Marine when she wanted to be.
“Mom,” I began, not sure how much she knew. Did she know about Billy? About me? Oh, God, did she know about me and Dylan? “I—”
“Exactly when were you going to tell me about Billy?”
“T-tell you what?”
“That he’s missing! Where is he, Jamie? You must know; you and Billy are thicker than peanut butter. His mother called because he’d slipped out of the house this morning after being released from the hospital and hasn’t come back yet. She thought he might be here.”
