"Wow, that's great," I say to Dylan.
"Where's my pie?" Gramps barks from the end of the table, wiping his face with the napkin.
"Right here." Dylan slides the dessert plate down to him.
"Are we playing football?" Owen asks Dylan.
"No. Amber and I are going to a movie."
"Can I come?" Owen asks.
Dylan smiles. "No way. It's a date. No annoying little brothers allowed."
"I'm not annoying."
I nudge Dylan. "You guys can play some football before we go. I'll stay here and help your mom clean up."
"Oh, Amber, you don't need to do that," she says.
"I don't mind. My sisters and I always help my mom clean up. I'm used to it."
"Nonsense. The dishes can wait. Let's go to the living room and see if there's anything good on TV."
Owen jumps off his chair. "So we're going outside?"
Dylan nods at Gramps. "When we're done with dessert."
Owen sighs and sits back down. But it's not a long wait. The pie is easier to eat and Gramps wolfs it down in a matter of seconds.
While Dylan plays football with his brother and dad, I talk with his mom while Gramps snores in the recliner. Even though I just met Dylan's family, I feel comfortable around them. His family is great. And it was nice to finally have a peaceful Thanksgiving without all the fighting. I miss my family, but I don't miss the screaming matches at the dinner table.
Dylan and I leave a couple hours later and go to the theater. It's packed and we end up sitting near the front, right in the middle, with people all around us.
"I was hoping for some privacy," Dylan whispers in my ear.
I was too. I've wanted to kiss him all day but didn't want to around his family, and since I still have that rule about only kissing in public places, our options are limited. Maybe I should just forget that rule and we should go make out at his house or my apartment. Except I know where that will lead.
"Let's get out of here," he whispers.
"We just got here," I whisper back. "The movie just started."
"Do you really want to watch it? Or go do something else?" He catches my eye in the darkness.
I smile. "Let's go."
We hurry out of the theater and go back to his car. Once we're inside, we bump noses in our race to kiss.
"Sorry," I say, laughing a little.
"At least I know you want to do this as much as I do."
"I've been wanting to all day."
We kiss, our tongues tangling, our bodies heating up the otherwise cold car. We don't stop until a few minutes later, when someone gets in the car next to ours.
"Guess we should leave," Dylan says.
"Yeah." I sit back and put my seatbelt on.
"Where should we go?" He starts the engine and turns the heat on.
"I don't know. There's not much open today."
"How about your apartment?"
I pause, chewing on my lip.
He turns to me. "We won't do anything. I promise. Unless you've changed your mind."
Despite my body telling me to change my mind, I shake my head and say, "Not yet. It's too soon."
"Then we'll just watch TV. If I try anything, you can kick me out." He smiles. "What do you think?"
"Okay. We'll go to my apartment." On the way there, I say, "So why didn't you tell me you were dyslexic?"
"I thought I did, but I guess it never came up. It's not something I try to hide. I'm not ashamed of it or embarrassed by it. It just takes me a little longer to read than other people. But I do all right."
"Is it hard for you to write the letters? Because we don't have to do it. If I'd known about this, I never would've asked you to do it."
"It's not hard. It may take me a little longer than other people but it's always been that way for me so I'm used to it." We're at a stop light and he looks at me and smiles. "And I know how much you like the letters. It's part of our story, remember? The romantic tale of how we met?"
"Speaking of that, I can't believe you told your parents how we met."
"I didn't tell them how. I told them when."
"Yeah, but that made them wonder why we didn't talk again until just recently."
"And you explained why. So we're good." He checks his mirror as he merges on the freeway. "Going back to the dyslexia thing, if you think that little girl you read to might have it, or if she gets diagnosed with it, I'd be happy to meet with her. Sometimes it helps to know you're not the only one that struggles with it. At least it did for me. My mom got me in a group that had other kids that struggled with reading problems and it made a big difference."
"You'd really do that? Talk to Emily?"
"Sure. If she wants me to. And if her mom's okay with it."
I smile at him. "You're really sweet."
"Not always. I have a bad boy side." He says it like he's joking, but it's kind of true. When he's rocking it out in his band, dressed in all black, playing his guitar, he seems like a bad boy. And that night we met, when he saw me across the room and came over and kissed me without even telling me his name? That was bad. Very bad. And yet I loved it.
He was also bad when he did what he did to me in the cleaning closet at work. And yet I loved that too.
"I'm not afraid of your bad boy side," I tell him.
"Then I guess it needs to come out more. But not tonight. Tonight I've gotta summon my inner angel if I'm going to survive being at your apartment as your platonic friend."
I smile. "You could just go back to your place."
"Is that what you want?" He sounds disappointed.
"No. I want you to come over. I'll just throw on some baggy sweats and put my hair in a bun so that I'm so hideous you won't even want to get near me."
"Not possible." He squeezes my hand, which he's holding. "There's nothing you could do that would make me not want to be near you."
"See? You're being sweet again."
"Told you I was summoning my inner angel. No bad boy tonight. Only good."
It's what I asked for but part of me is a little disappointed bad boy Dylan can't come out and play. But he will eventually. We just need a little more time.
My phone rings and I answer when I see it's my little sister. "Hey, how was dinner?"
"Dad almost killed Lark."
Lark. I still can't get used to that name. It sounds like a type of bird.
"Why? What happened?"
"During dessert, we were talking about school and Lark said something about how I'm really good in art and then he put his arm around me and it totally set dad off. He told Lark to leave."
"So did he leave?"
"No. Mom told Dad he was overreacting and then..." She sighs.
"They got in a fight."
"Yes. With Lark there. It was so embarrassing. You told me they wouldn't fight in front of him."
"I didn't think they would. So what did you do?"
"I told Lark we're leaving."
"And did you?"
"We went outside but I didn't leave. If I did, it would've just made Mom and Dad fight even more. I apologized to Lark and then he left."
"Britt, I'm sorry. I figured Dad would question the guy but not tell him to leave. So have you talked to Lark since he left?"
"Yeah, and he was cool with everything. But I doubt he'll come over here again. Hey, Mom wants to say hi. I'm handing you over."
My mom's voice comes through the phone. "Hi, honey. How was dinner?"
"Good." I glance over at Dylan. "Dylan's family was really nice. And they made sure I left there completely stuffed."
"You'll have to give me their address. I'd like to send them a thank-you note."
"Mom, you don't have to do that. I already thanked them."
"I know, but as your mother I'd like to thank them for inviting you. It always upsets me when you're alone on Thanksgiving."
I wouldn't be alone if you and Dad would stop fighting. I'd be home, where I should be. I think that but I don't
say it.
"So Britt said she had a friend over."
My mom sighs. "Yes, but your father overreacted when Lark put his arm around Britt. Scared the poor boy away, which I suppose was your father's intention but it wasn't called for. Lark seemed like a very nice young man. Speaking of young men, how are you and Dylan doing?"
"Fine."
"Is it getting serious?"
"No. We're just dating." I feel Dylan looking at me and change the subject. "So anything else new?"
"Not really. I have to put away all the leftovers and then I'm going to take a nap. What are you doing the rest of the night?"
"Dylan's coming over to watch TV."
"Do you two have plans for this weekend?"
"No. I have to catch up on homework."
"Honey, you need to relax. Just take this weekend off. Spend time with Dylan."
"I'll think about it. Well, I should go. Tell Dad I said hi."
"I will. Bye, honey."
"How's the family?" Dylan asks as I put my phone away.
"Good, although there was some drama at the dinner table. Apparently my dad doesn't like Lark, my sister's boyfriend."
"His name is Lark? Like the bird?"
"So it IS a bird. I knew it sounded like a bird but I wasn't sure if it was."
"Why doesn't your dad like him?"
"Because he touched my sister."
"Touched her how?" he asks cautiously.
"He put his arm around her so he basically touched her shoulders." I roll my eyes. "My dad yelled at him and told him to leave."
"Shit, that's harsh. Now I'm worried about meeting him."
"You probably won't meet him. I always go home. They don't come here."
"You don't think I'll ever meet him?"
What is he implying? That we'll be together in the future? I'd like for that to be true but I'm not sure I believe it. It's too soon to say. I still don't trust this will last. It started with a one-night stand. How many relationships start that way and end with the couple being together? None that I know of.
"Amber?" he says since I didn't answer him.
"Yeah. I don't know if you'll meet them. They probably won't come here until I graduate."
"Which you plan to do next summer. Are you saying we won't be together then?"
"Dylan, we've only dated for a couple weeks. It's too early to say what will happen. You graduate in May and may end up leaving Chicago for a job."
"Maybe I wouldn't take it. Not if it meant the end for us."
I look at him. He's totally serious. He really thinks we'll be together. But how could he think that? We're both graduating this year. Our futures are uncertain and could take us anywhere in the country.
"Dylan, you don't mean that. You know if you got the right job, you'd have to take it, wherever it is."
He just nods, and then gets quiet for the remaining few minutes it takes to get back to my apartment.
When we reach my door, he pulls me in for a kiss. A slow, deep kiss, his arm wrapped around me, keeping me close, his hand cupping the back of my head. It has my mind swimming with thoughts of doing more with him, repeating what we did last May. That was so great that I don't think we could replicate it, but with our intense chemistry, I bet we could come close.
"We're still in public," he says, smiling as he lets me go. "I might have to bring you out here every ten minutes just so we can do this."
I laugh. "We won't watch much TV if we do that." I open my door and we go inside. He helps me with my coat, then takes off his own while I go turn some lights on.
"You want something to drink?" I ask, going in the kitchen.
"Maybe a pop if you got it."
I grab a can for each of us and meet him on the couch. "Anything special you want to watch?" I take the remote from the coffee table and turn on the TV.
"You can pick. As long as it's not that home channel. My mom is obsessed with that channel. It was always on at our house growing up. Now I can't even watch it."
"But those shows are so good. Like the one where people search for houses. Or that one where they do room makeovers."
He lifts his brow. "Are you serious? You really want to watch that?"
He sounds so disappointed I have to laugh. "No. I'm not a big fan of that channel either. Those shows bore me, maybe because I don't own a house. Maybe when I'm older I'll find them interesting."
"I never will, homeowner or not."
"How about this?" I stop on Casablanca. "Do you like old movies?"
"If they're classics, I don't mind."
"I love old movies. I think they're romantic."
"Old-fashioned romance?" He smiles.
"Exactly. Back when people wrote letters. And men wore suits and hats and women wore dresses and gloves. There was just something romantic about those times. People weren't in such a rush. They took time to get to know each other. It wasn't all about sex."
He chuckles. "They weren't as innocent as you think they were."
"How do you know?"
"In one of my history classes, the professor was talking about it. He basically said people back then were almost as bad as they are now. They just weren't open about it."
"Then how would anyone know if that's true?"
"Historical documents on STD rates. Unplanned pregnancies. Journals people kept. Catalogs with sex toys. There's all kinds of evidence they weren't the prudish people we thought they were."
"They still had romance."
"Maybe, but they also had sex." He smiles. "Although getting through those corsets must've been a bitch for us guys."
I nudge his arm. "It prolonged the foreplay. That's a good thing."
"We've gotta stop talking about this. Foreplay? Sex? It's taking my mind places it shouldn't go. Talk about something else."
"Like what?"
"Anything. Just not sex."
I laugh it off, but the truth is, that short conversation got me aroused too. How did we even get on that topic? Are we trying to make this even harder on ourselves?
He stands up. "Let's go out in the hall."
I pull him back down. "You're funny."
"I'm serious. I have to kiss you. It's been like five minutes."
"You went all day without kissing me."
"Yeah and it sucked. Now come on. Let's go."
"I don't want to go out there. People might walk by and I don't want my neighbors watching us."
"All right." He sighs and leans back on the couch, his eyes on the movie.
My eyes are on him, taking in how hot he is with that strong jaw that compliments his pretty boy face, those deep brown eyes, that dark mussed up hair that looks like he just ran his hand through it. "I suppose if you uh..."
"If I what?" he asks, still watching the TV.
"If you wanted to give me a kiss—just a kiss, nothing more—it'd be okay."
He looks at me, at my lips, then my eyes. I prepare for him to kiss me, but then he says, "That's okay. Let's just watch the movie."
"Wait—what? You're turning me down?"
"You were right. Kissing could lead to other things. Things you don't want to do." He's trying not to smile because he knows his refusal to kiss me will drive me crazy. Now that he said no, I really want a kiss, even more than before. Damn him!
"I'm sure we can control ourselves," I say.
"I'm pretty sure we can't. Isn't that why you made the rule? Because you thought we couldn't stop once we started?"
"Yes, but..." I don't know how to explain my reasoning. Right now, I don't even care why I made those rules. I just want him to kiss me.
"This movie's kind of slow. You want to watch something else?"
"Sure." I sound frustrated because I am. Sexually frustrated, and it's all because I insist on these stupid rules. I'm about ready to ditch old-fashioned romance. If those people were doing it, why can't I?
Because I didn't want this to be about sex, that's why. I want us to be about more than that. If this relationship is goi
ng to have a chance, we can't base it on what we did last May.
But it's hard to resist temptation. And right now, I'm really tempted to relive that night. The heat. The passion. It's all I can think about.
Chapter Twenty
Dylan
She made the rules and I'm following them. But then she asked for a kiss. That wasn't in public. I said no, which was nearly impossible to do, but I wanted to see how she'd react. How strong her willpower is. I know it's not great because she didn't resist me that day in the hospital cleaning closet. Or later than week when I kissed her in the conference room while everyone was at lunch. Or when I led her behind a concrete pillar in the parking garage, backed her up against it, and kissed her until we heard a car driving up the ramp.
She always says we shouldn't do that stuff at work and yet she gets all turned on when we do. She's like the girls in her old-fashioned movies, who seem all prim and proper but then let their wild side out when nobody's looking.
I think I'm torturing her right now by not kissing her. She keeps smoothing the pillow she's holding on her lap, then tugging on the tassels, then smoothing, tugging, smoothing, tugging, to the point that if she keeps it up, that pillow's going to be destroyed by the end of the night.
"Why don't you give that pillow a break?" I ask after two of hours of her attacking it.
"What are you talking about?"
"That pillow." I point to it. "You've been beating on it for two hours straight. If you keep going, there's not going to be anything left of it."
She crinkles her nose in confusion. "I'm just holding it. Not beating on it."
"Why don't you just set it down?" I smile as I take it from her. "I'm just going to put it over here, where it's safe."
She swats at me. "You're being crazy."
"You know, some experts would say your obsessive handling of the pillow is a sign of sexual frustration."
She rolls her eyes. "I was not doing anything to the pillow. And I am not sexually frustrated."
"That's good. Because if you were, it'd be very difficult to sit next to me right now." I slide closer to her. "And it'd be very hard to say no if I did this." I cup the side of her face and lean in until I'm an inch from her mouth.
One Night Page 19
