"Or...you could have a homemade turkey dinner at your boyfriend's house. Come on, Amber. It's just dinner. You're not announcing your engagement."
"I might as well be. Showing up for Thanksgiving is serious, Kira. You admitted it just a minute ago and now you're acting like it's no big deal."
"Because I thought about it and decided it's not that big a deal. If you were flying home with him to attend Thanksgiving, then yeah, his family might read something into that, but since they live in town, it'll be seen as more of a polite gesture on Dylan's part. You weren't able to go home to Michigan so Dylan invited you over. College students do that all the time. They can't go home and end up spending the holiday with whatever friend lives close by."
"I guess, but I'm more than just a friend."
"They don't have to know that. If you really don't want his family to know the truth, you and Dylan could say you're just friends."
"I suppose we could do that."
"There you go." She stands up. "Problem solved. I gotta get going. See you tonight for dinner?"
"Maybe. I have to work at the hospital until five and then I might have dinner with Dylan."
"Tell him yes. I don't want you sitting here alone again on Thanksgiving. It's depressing."
She leaves and I look at the invitation again. Part of me really does want to go, but going means fast forwarding our relationship to a place I'm not ready for. I'm not supposed to meet Dylan's family. Not yet. Not until I know where this is going, and right now, I have no idea where we're headed. My feelings for him are intense, and I still don't trust that they're real. It all goes back to that night. That magical, hot, perfect night. It messed with my emotions, made me feel things I've never felt. I was on a high, and with Dylan back in my life, I feel like I'm on it again. Back living in the clouds, but knowing full well that at any moment, it could all end and I could come crashing back down to Earth. I've seen it happen with my parents and I don't want it happening to me. It's that fear that makes me afraid to be with Dylan.
"Got a boyfriend yet?" Emily asks as I turn the page on the book we're reading. I just started and she's already distracted.
"Emily, come on. We need to finish the book. We didn't even finish the one we read last week."
"Because it was boring." She folds her arms over the table and lays her head on them.
"Then you pick the book," I tell her. "Next week you bring whatever you want me to read."
"Can't you just tell me a story instead?"
"The book is a story but you won't let me read it."
She pops upright again, her eyes wide with excitement. "Tell me about a pretty princess and how she meets a boy on a horse and finds out he's a prince and they fall in love and live happily ever after."
Why do we keep telling these stories to girls? Princesses meeting their prince? Living these fairy tale lives? I bought into all that back when I was Emily's age and part of me still believes it. It's not like I'm waiting around for a prince but I still believe in the fairy tale. But why? Was I so brainwashed by these stories as a kid that it makes me still believe that stuff?
"You know those stories aren't real, right?"
She shrugs. "Maybe they are." She smiles really wide. "My daddy was a prince. He had to leave to fight the bad guys."
Does she really think that? Did her mom tell her that? Or did she just make it up? Either way, I'm not going to break her heart and tell her her dad is a loser who took off. If she'd rather believe he's a prince, then so be it.
"Let's finish the story." I point to the book. "What's this say?"
She sighs, annoyed that I'm making her read. "The. Ma...man. Ssss..."
"Said," I say slowly.
"Said. To. The. Li..." She bounces in her chair, frustration on her face.
"You're almost there. Just sound it out."
"I don't want to." She pouts.
"But you almost had it."
"I said I don't want to!" She jumps up and runs out of the room.
I pushed her too far but that was the most she's ever read and I wanted her to keep going. Getting up to go find her, I stop when she runs back into the room.
"I'm sorry," she says, hugging my legs. She's short for her age, and tiny. She looks more like a five-year-old than a seven-year-old. "Please come back."
"Come back? What do you mean?"
"I got mad and now you won't come back."
I bend down to her level. "I'll come back. I promise."
She frowns and looks at the floor. "Daddy didn't come back. Mommy got mad and he didn't come back."
So that's what happened. Her parents fought and her dad took off and never came back. And she made up that story about him to make herself feel better.
I hug her. "I'm sorry your daddy left. But you need to know that getting mad doesn't mean people will leave you and not come back. Just because your daddy did doesn't mean everyone else will." I let her go. "I'll be back next week, just like always, okay?"
She nods, then smiles. "This week is Thanksgiving!"
"That's right. It's Thursday. Are you gonna have turkey?"
She nods again. "And stuffing and mashed potatoes."
"Sounds yummy." I hear the door open and see the teacher standing there. "Looks like our time is up. I'll see you next week."
"Bye!" She runs off.
My mind is still on Emily when I arrive at the hospital. I've been reading to her for months now and she still struggles with even the simplest words.
"Good afternoon, Amber," Dylan says as I take my seat across from him. "How have you been?" He's so serious I want to laugh, but I don't because we share this room with three full-time workers, who are currently all sitting at their desks. One of them, Mary, an uptight old lady, is always watching us, like we're kids that need babysitting.
"Fine," I say, keeping my eyes on my computer as I take my coat off and hide my purse in the drawer. I caught a glimpse of Dylan when I walked in and he's looking especially hot today. If I look over at him, I may never look away. "How about you? Did you have a good weekend?"
"I did. Spent it with my girlfriend."
"Oh yeah? What's she like?" I type my password in, unlocking the screen.
"She's gorgeous. Most gorgeous girl I've ever seen."
"So you just like her for her looks?" I scroll through the list of attendees for the fundraiser. We're sending reminder emails out today, confirming the details of the event.
"She's also funny," Dylan says. "Intelligent. Talented. She's a kick-ass gymnast. You should see this girl flipping in the air. She could've been in the Olympics. She's also a hard worker, although I keep telling her to work less. With her schedule, I barely have time to see her."
"She shouldn't spend all her time with you. She needs other interests."
"I agree, but there has to be some balance. You know what they say, all work and no play."
"So are you seeing her tonight?"
"I'd like to, but I have a feeling she'll tell me no."
"I bet she'd say yes." I type on the keyboard, but I'm not actually typing anything. I'm just trying to look busy because nosy Mary has her eyes on me.
"I don't know about that." Dylan's also pretending to type, or maybe he's really typing. I can't tell. "She keeps telling me how busy she is."
"Guess you'll never know unless you ask." I glance up at him and our eyes lock. His are dark, heated, and causing a shiver of pleasure to run down my core.
"Donna asked me to get some supplies from downstairs," he says. "Would you mind helping?"
"No, I don't mind." I glance back at Mary and catch her staring. She quickly looks back at her computer.
Dylan and I go out in the hall.
"Where are you going?" I ask as he takes off down the hall.
"To get supplies."
"What? We're really getting supplies?"
"Yeah. What'd you think we were doing?"
"Um, nothing. Never mind."
Last week we snuck downstairs and found a
quiet hallway and he kissed me. I thought maybe we were going to do the same thing today, but I guess not.
"It's right here," he says, opening the door of a room that actually does say 'supply closet'. We go inside and I see that it's not filled with office supplies, but cleaning supplies.
He shuts the door and locks it.
"What are you—"
His mouth covers mine as he pulls me against him, his other hand tangling in my hair. It isn't a slow, gentle, hello kiss, but a hot, sexy, I-want-you kiss. And even though I know we shouldn't be doing this, I can't make myself tell him to stop. Because I don't want to stop. This is thrilling, exciting, and so unexpected. He had me convinced we were going to find supplies.
I'm so aroused, I don't even consider stopping his hand as it unbuttons my blouse and pops open the clasp on the front of my bra. He breaks from the kiss and slides his lips down my neck as his hand shoves my bra aside and cups my breast, rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Pleasure ripples through me. I'm addicted, wanting more. His mouth lowers to my breast as his hand goes under my skirt, right where I want it.
I moan out his name, a little too loud, and hear him chuckle.
"Quiet," he demands but in a kidding tone.
"I can't," I whisper, my head falling back as his hand moves faster under my skirt. "Unless you stop what you're doing."
"You want me to stop?" His hand stills, leaving me aching, throbbing.
"No. Please. Don't stop."
He chuckles again, and moments later, he finishes what he started, leaving me completely spent, my legs struggling to hold me, my chest glistening with sweat.
"Fuck, that was hot," he says as he kisses me. His hand is still under my skirt but now on my ass, supporting me, keeping me pressed against him. Feeling his erection, I grind my hips into him.
"Amber," he moans.
My heart is thundering in my chest, fearing we'll get caught. And yet I love the feeling. It's a rush, and makes me feel alive. Like when I used to do gymnastics. When I'd do a really tough routine, one that pushed my skill level to the max, I'd always get a rush. And when it was over, I craved to do it again.
"We can't do this," Dylan says, but he's still kissing me, still gripping my ass. "Not here. Unless..." He presses into me and I feel his erection, hard and ready. "Unless you really want to. I'm not against the idea. I just..."
"You're right. We can't. I'm not really thinking clearly right now."
He smiles. "And why is that?"
I laugh. "You know why." I finally get control of my brain and push him back. "We have to get out of here." I quickly button my blouse and notice him watching me. "Did you plan this?"
"Getting you off in the supply closet?" He smiles. "Not really. I mean, it wasn't my initial thought. I walked past here earlier and saw the janitor getting supplies. And then you got here and I was looking across the desk at you and suddenly all kinds of dirty thoughts ran through my head, of us, in this closet." He shrugs. "What can I say? I'm a guy. I think about sex every six minutes."
"Every six minutes? Seriously?"
"Not sure. I've never timed it. The number came from a show I was watching on men's health. Apparently there's research to support the claim."
"How do guys get anything done?" I tuck my shirt in. "Okay I think I'm ready."
"You're not buttoned right." He points to the middle of my shirt where the fabric is bunched up.
"Crap." I quickly yank my shirt out from my skirt and start fixing the buttons.
He leans against the door. "How often do girls think about sex?"
"I don't know. I don't think there's any statistics on that."
"What about you?" He comes up to me and buttons the last button. "How often?"
"I have no idea. Depends on the day."
"How about today?" He tucks my shirt in, his hands slipping under the waistband of my skirt. I'm already feeling aroused again. "How often did you think about it today?"
His eyes are on mine and I can't seem to look away. "A few times."
"What's a few?"
"I don't know. I didn't count."
"More than normal?"
"A lot more." I feel my face heating up. I'm embarrassed to admit this, but since dating Dylan, I feel like I think about sex constantly. And after what he just did to me, I'll be thinking about it even more.
Instead of continuing his line of questioning, he just gives me his sexy smile.
"Ready to go?"
I take a deep breath. "Yeah."
"You go first. Tell me if anyone's out there."
I open the door a crack and say, "Coast is clear." I go out in the hall and wait for him.
He comes out, acting completely casual, as if nothing happened.
I turn to him. "What about the supplies? People are going to ask why we didn't come back with anything."
"We'll tell them they were out of whatever we needed."
"What did we need?"
"Printer paper? Staples? I don't know. I'll make something up."
"This is so bad," I whisper as we walk back. "They're totally going to know."
"Only if you give us away."
"ME? What about YOU?"
"I can keep a secret. You're still blushing. You need to stop that."
"I can't control it."
"Then we'll have to come up with an excuse for why you're blushing. We'll tell them you tripped. In front of a group of doctors. Who were really hot." He laughs.
"Yeah. Real funny. Let's just go in there and not say anything. We don't need to explain where we were. We work for Donna, not them."
And yet when we get back in the room, I feel like we have to explain ourselves because I can tell that nosy Mary is suspicious of us. As soon as we walked in, she was eyeing us, and now, ten minutes later, she keeps looking over here.
Dylan and I shouldn't have done that. But damn, it was fun.
Chapter Eighteen
Dylan
"You've gotta come on Thursday," I say to Amber as we sit at our favorite booth at Patty's Pizza Palace. We've only been here twice so I guess the booth couldn't technically be considered a favorite, but I'm officially naming it that because it's private, tucked way in the back, allowing us to make out all we want without people bothering us.
"I'd feel weird being there," Amber says, picking up a slice of pizza, the cheese strings hanging down. She swipes them up and takes a bite. I like that she doesn't get all uptight when eating in front of me. I've been out with girls who will only eat pizza with a knife and fork, fearing the mess it might make if they picked it up.
"Why would you feel weird? Because you think it's too soon?" I assume she's worried about that. I'm worried about it too. I never bring girls home to meet my family but I don't want Amber sitting home alone on Thanksgiving, eating some shitty frozen dinner.
"Exactly." She wipes her mouth with her napkin. "It's too soon."
"Then we'll tell them we met last May. It's the truth and it'll make it less weird that I invited you to dinner."
"You can't tell your family how we met! Are you kidding?" She tries to swat at me but I catch her hand and kiss it, then lean in to kiss her lips.
"I won't tell them how we met, or at least what we did when we met. I'll just say I met you at a party and we've been friends ever since."
"So you won't tell them we're dating." She turns back to her pizza. "I was thinking the same thing. It'd be better if we told them we're just friends."
"My mom already knows we're dating." I pick up my glass of pop and take a swig.
"You told her?"
"She assumed we were. She could tell by the way I talked about you. My mom's very perceptive. She picks up on things, especially with her kids. When I was living at home, I never got away with anything. She always knew if I was lying. Same with my little brother."
"Does she know how long we've been dating?"
"No. I ended the call before she could ask. But she'll ask on Thursday so be prepared with an a
nswer." I take a bite of my pizza.
"ME? You should be the one answering questions, not me."
"I just told you she can tell when I'm lying, so if we decide to tell them we've been dating for months, and I'm the one who tells them, my mom will know it's not true. She doesn't know you so you've got a better chance of selling the lie."
"Is that what we're telling them? That we've been dating for months?"
"It's up to you. Tell them whatever you want. I don't care." I take another drink of my pop, then turn to her. "You do realize that you just agreed to go on Thursday."
"No I didn't."
"This whole time, you've been talking as if you're going. I'm taking that to mean you're going." I get my phone out and text my mom, then show Amber the text, which reads, Amber's coming on Thursday.
Her jaw drops, then snaps shut. "Dylan! Why did you do that?"
"Because you want to come. And I want you there."
She sighs. "I never agreed to it."
"You really want to sit at home all alone when you could be eating a delicious homemade turkey dinner and be entertained by my family? I told you about my brother making fart noises at the table, right?"
I laugh. "Yes."
"My grandpa does it too, except his aren't just noise. They're real, so you better hope you're not seated next to him."
She laughs again. "I can't wait to meet him."
I kiss her. "And I can't wait for them to meet you. They're gonna love you."
It's the first and only time I've ever wanted my family to meet a girl I'm dating. I'm actually excited about it. I want to show her off. Show everyone how great she is.
***
The next day, Austin stops over to hear the new song I wrote.
"Holy shit, that's awesome," he says.
"You really like it or are you just saying that?"
"You know I always tell you the truth. I think it's great, and you know I normally don't like ballads, so that's saying a lot. Did Van hear it yet?"
"Yeah. He liked it. Thinks we should add it to our set list."
"Definitely. Girls are gonna go crazy over this."
"The thing is, I'm not sure if I want to perform it."
"Why not? It's a follow up to One Night. A conclusion to the story. This song's gonna be huge."
One Night Page 17
