Love Emerged (Love Surfaced #3)

by Michelle Lynn

  A devilish grin emerges across his lips, and my body melts.

  “You are so not my boss.” I stand, shutting my laptop.

  “Should we call Tim then?” He raises his eyebrows. “It’s cold. Put this on.” He throws a sweatshirt at me.

  The scent of his cologne hits my nostrils, and excitement zooms to my girlie parts as I remember our nights together.

  I throw his NYU sweatshirt over my head, feeling an odd comfort in the warmth it brings. He steadily walks toward the door and opens it for me. Grabbing my phone, I quickly realize that I have no money.

  “Can we stop by my room?” I ask as I walk by him, purposely swaying my hips back and forth.

  I turn around once I clear the doorway, and his eyes quickly shoot up to my face.

  Good, the swaying worked.

  “Why?” he asks, shutting his door and checking it once again before walking down the hall. He catches up to me.

  “I need my wallet, I only have a twenty.”

  “No, you don’t. I’ve got you covered.” He hurries in front of me to push the elevator button.

  “No way. It’s one floor.” I shake my head.

  When the elevator doors open, there’s an elderly couple already inside. Dylan doesn’t wait for me to enter first, which is unusual.

  I step in, and I smile at the couple. From the gentleman’s suit and her nice pantsuit ensemble, I’m guessing they are already dressed for dinner. My hand ventures over to the elevator panel to press my floor, but I land into a rock-hard surface. My eyes float up to find Dylan smirking.

  “Nice try. I told you, tonight’s on me.”

  My head turns in the direction of the woman aahing and she gives me a soft smile. Little does she know, this is not some Prince Charming. He refuses to fuck me again, and I know for a fact that he enjoyed it the first two times. When a man whispers your name in your ear right as he orgasms, it’s a success.

  “Will you please stop?”

  I try to go around his body, but he dodges all attempts.

  “You be my tour guide, and I pay. End of discussion.”

  The elevator dings, and Dylan instantly puts his hands across the threshold for the elderly couple to exit first. I swear, you’d never guess this guy with sleeved tattoos and bulging muscles would be so sweet and polite.

  “Fine, but tomorrow, I make the plans, and I pay.” I narrow my eyes at him once we file out of the elevator.

  He holds his hands up in the air. “Deal, but I have one request for tonight.”

  He touches my arm to grab my attention back his way. It’s a movement so simple and meaningless that it shouldn’t bring goose bumps to my covered skin.

  “What?” I jut my hip out, showing major attitude, as though he’s putting me out by making me be his host for the evening.

  “Take me to architecture. Somewhere void of people.” He bites his lip. “Walks always free my mind, and usually, parks and museums are the best.”

  “You’re a nerd. You know that, right?” I ask, swinging my arm through his, waiting for him to lead us out of the hotel.

  “Yeah, I know.” That cocky attitude of his disappears, and he’s timid, looking down at his sneakers.

  I hit his hip with mine. “I like it.”

  His eyes look up, no sign of his normal amusement.

  “Not for long.” He takes a deep breath. “What’s your go-to? To spur the juices to flow.”

  We walk out of the hotel, nodding to the bellman. I wait for us to cross the major street to be away from the rush hour people fighting to get home. I lead us up to Grant Park first because the famous water fountain should help both of us.

  “For me, it’s water. So, I’d be strolling down the pathway by the lake. Sometimes, I think if I lived by an ocean, I’d be a genius.” I laugh, and he grants me a small smile. “Sadly, I was worried I’d be a junior executive at Deacon until I decide to leave. Until now.”

  “Why is that? I’m surprised you’re not a senior yet.”

  I roll my eyes, freeing him from my arm, as though I’m contagious and he could catch my staling career. “I don’t know. Tim is a gender-biased asshole, is one reason. But, still, it doesn’t show why upper management hasn’t clued in on my brilliance.”

  I laugh, but Dylan doesn’t. He’s always so damn serious.

  “You could file a complaint if you think he’s purposely not promoting you. Your ads speak for themselves.” He leads me over to a park bench and sits down in front of the fountain.

  “Ha. Not going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “And be the woman to call out a company for sexual discrimination? Why not just move to New Delhi?”

  He nods because we both know I’m right.

  “Well, Nike will change it. We’ll both be climbing the ladder once we nail it.” He swings his arm behind my shoulders, resting it along the back of the bench.

  “You will. I’ll probably be demoted to the mailroom.”

  “Bea, I really wish—”

  My phone ringing interrupts him.

  I dig through the sweatshirt pocket, retrieving my phone, and when I see who it is, I’m tempted to hit the Ignore button. But she’ll just keep calling and calling until I’m left with no other choice. Might as well deal with the knife-stabbing now.

  “Sorry, hold on,” I say to Dylan.

  He nods his head and admires the fountain in front of us.

  Standing, I wander down a few park benches to distance myself from Dylan’s ears. There’s no reason he has to hear me tell my mother off.

  “What?” I answer, totally aware my attitude will only piss her off. That would make my night after the stunt she pulled at my father’s earlier.

  “Bea, come to the hotel. I’m ordering room service, and I need to talk to you.”

  “No. I’m out with my coworker.”

  She huffs into the receiver, long and on purpose, to convey how displeased she is. Joke’s on her. I don’t give a shit.

  “Bea, we need to discuss your father.”

  “No, we don’t. Listen, I’m not sure why you came to Chicago, but it’s time to move along. I’ll handle Dad.”

  I sit on a bench, my eyes veering over to Dylan to make sure he’s not looking my way. He’s moved closer to the fountain, and he is digging change out of his pocket, tossing it into the fountain.

  “Don’t be so belligerent. I was just in shock to see your father so . . . frail.”

  “He’s dying. What exactly did you think he’d look like?” I decide not to divulge how much his gaunt appearance took me aback in the foyer.

  I was used to my dad being so full of life. He’d saunter into the foyer with a scotch in his hand, dressed in an expensively tailored suit. Not like today, in slippers and sweats.

  “Give me a break.” Her voice rises, but it doesn’t surprise me. “Come over here, so we can talk.” She’s growing impatient.

  “I told you, I’m with a coworker. We can talk tomorrow. I’ll come by for breakfast before I go to dad’s.”

  “You’re going with your dad to his appointment?” She sounds like I’m stepping on her toes.

  “The doctor is coming to his condo. I’m meeting them there to discuss treatment options.” I look up at the dusk sky, a few stars sneaking through the cloudy sky. One, two, three.

  “Why didn’t I know about this?”

  “Seriously?” I yell. Then, I close my eyes to compose myself. “You ran out on him back then and now. You don’t deserve to be there,” I whisper into the phone, checking to make sure Dylan is still where he was a minute ago.

  My heartbeat picks up pace when I spot him clearing the distance between us. His head is tilted in confusion, his eyes digging into mine. Suddenly, my mom’s screaming on the other line is white noise because there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen from any male when it comes to me. Protectiveness. He’s hell-bent on finding out what has me yelling in the middle of a park.

  “Bea!” my mom screams.
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  I’m jarred from my fog. Snapping my eyes away, I lift my hand and walk a few feet away, but Dylan’s sneakers only pivot on the gravel to follow me. Soon, I’m hearing the gravel crunch under his footsteps behind me.

  “Mom, I have to go. I’ll be by for breakfast.” I press the End button and tuck the phone into my sweatshirt.

  Not a second goes by until Dylan’s breath hits the back of my neck, igniting shivers to run down my spine.

  “Who was that?”

  He doesn’t touch me, but my body is hyperaware of him being so near me.

  “Just my mom.” I step forward to gain some distance because, when he’s so close, I lose all cognitive abilities.

  “Is she here?” he asks such an innocent question.

  His parents have been married forever and only to one another. I hate to burst his bubble that all families aren’t so neatly fitted as his own.

  “She is, but not for what you might expect.” I’m trying to dodge this conversation because it only makes me sound pathetic.

  “Oh.” He lets the topic go, which surprises me.

  “She wanted me to have dinner with her.” I’m not even sure why I tell him. Maybe to make my family situation not seem like the pathetic mess it is, as though I’m trying to prove that my mom does want me in her life and more than for just a friend to complain to or boss around.

  “Oh, please, Bea, go ahead. I’ll grab something and head back. Actually, this great idea just came into my head.” He pulls out his phone. “I’d better jot it in my notes before I forget.”

  I admire the way his ideas come to him. It’s like he already has a system in place, and he’s only just started working in the field. The time it took for me to realize that racking my brain didn’t help my ideas to come was the whole first year. It wasn’t until last year when I got into the groove.

  I hold my hand up. “No. Believe me, it’s not some great relationship, like you have with your mom.”

  He shrugs with a smirk splashed on his face. “Yeah, hiding a girl in my bedroom isn’t exactly a great relationship.”

  A soft chuckle emerges from his throat, and I’m more drawn to him.

  Dylan

  “Well, my mom would have hopped in the bed and asked to join,” Bea says.

  I laugh until I see that she’s not. On the contrary, her eyes are studying the water fountain in front of her. So, there are daddy and mommy issues with Bea.

  “Come on. We’ll share a taxi.” I toss my head in the direction of the street, but Bea doesn’t move. “Bea?”

  She blinks and then looks over to me, clearly lost somewhere other than this moment. “Yeah, okay.”

  The gravel crunches under our feet until we’re on the walking path back to the main road. We’re both silent while in this serious mode. The fireflies light up in the line of the trees while a low hum of crickets ring. I’m surprised to find this sense of nature in the middle of a huge city. We shift to the side of the sidewalk to make room for another couple walking toward us, and our hands brush, sending a rush of shivers through me.

  Bea inhales a deep breath, and I glance over to her. In the moonlight shining down from the sky, the profile of her face looks innocent. I imagine a talented artist painting her as an angelic creature, missing the fact that she’s troubled. In the short time I’ve known Bea, one thing is clear. She doesn’t find herself as self-assured as she portrays.

  She looks through the corners of her eyes back at me, and I quickly focus on the ground in front of us.

  “What?” She touches the side of her face, as though she has something on it.

  “Nothing.”

  Her hand continues to rub her face, and I chuckle, stopping us from walking. I gently urge her hand back down to her side, my own hand cradling her cheek.

  “You’re beautiful,” I tell her because I can’t hold it in anymore. I’m exhausted from fighting the feelings rising inside of me.

  She steps back, and my hand falls at the same time as my stomach.

  “Don’t, Dylan.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “We agreed. Platonic. Friends.” She twists on her shoes and starts walking to the street.

  “Bea”—I jog to catch up to the few steps she got in front of me—“I wasn’t expecting anything.”

  “I know, Dylan.” Her voice is low and unsteady.

  “What the hell did I do wrong?” The hurt from Ava makes me assume that I did something else wrong.

  “Nothing. It’s just . . .” She stops and turns to me, but she shakes her head. “Nothing.” She heads back to the street.

  I catch a young couple on the park bench staring over.

  “If you don’t tell me, I can’t fix it.” I’m desperate.

  “Why do you have to fix everything? I’m not some car, Dylan.”

  “That’s good because I don’t know how to fix cars,” I joke.

  She clenches her jaw.

  “Sorry.” I hold up my hands, hoping for some peace.

  “It’s what men like you do. You want projects. Well, people aren’t projects, and you can’t fix me, Dylan. I’m unfixable, okay? I’ve tried to respect that you don’t want to just fuck around, so respect the fact that I don’t do relationships.”

  She closes her eyes for a moment, and I step forward to comfort her. Why I continue to torture myself with women that don’t want me is confusing to me.

  Before I can reach out to her, her eyes flash open, showing a cloudy anger. She holds her hand up in the air, and a taxi stops along the curb.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says as she moves toward the yellow cab.

  “Bea, can’t we talk?”

  I follow her, but she slides in and shuts the door.

  Through the opening of the cab window, she looks at me. “We just did.”

  Then, she directs the cab driver to where she’s going, and all that’s left are the taillights of the taxi blending in with hundreds of cars travelling down Michigan Avenue.

  “What the fuck just happened?” I whisper to myself.

  Bea

  I SWALLOW THE DRY LUMP in my throat as my taxi pulls into the traffic of a Saturday night in Chicago. I’m confused about what Dylan thought he was going to do. Compliment me, and all would be right in the world? That saying, “You’re beautiful,” would replace all the negative insults my mom is about to say to me in a half hour? Not the case. I’m not some charity who needs Dylan’s healing words to cure me. All I need from him is his dick to make me come and forget all this shit jumbled in my head. Of course, I want the one guy who can’t do friends with benefits.

  My phone rings in my sweatshirt, distracting me from my thoughts of self-despair. “Hello?”

  “Let’s meet at your hotel.” My mom is on the other line.

  I’m not sure why she wants to be at my scaled down hotel that she spit at this afternoon.

  “Why?”

  “I want a change of scenery.”

  “Oh, you want to see how the little people live?”

  “Stop it, Bea. I need to get out of my room.”

  I roll my eyes at her annoying antics. She has some reason she wants out.

  “I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

  “Great.” Her voice changes to cheery, as it usually does when she gets her way. “See you soon.”

  “Yep.” I hang up the phone and tell the taxi driver to take me to the Hilton while I stare out at the people milling around the streets of the city. Couples and families leisurely stroll to restaurants or bars, laughing, smiling, and having fun.

  I’ve always been good at putting on a front, but with Dylan, I’m struggling to cement the facade. He might be the only one who sees how transparent I am, and it’s terrifying.

  I swallow down my fear of him becoming too close, and I concentrate on all the reasons not to open myself up to him. He doesn’t need to be my savior because I don’t need one. He portrays himself like some damn prince, and if I let my hair down, he’ll climb up and res
cue me. Well, this girl doesn’t need rescuing.

  The taxi pulls up to my hotel, and even though I know for certain that Dylan wouldn’t have beaten me, I search the area to double-check. People like Dylan don’t take no for an answer.

  I give the doorman a tip with a pleasant smile and walk through the revolving doors. I go upstairs to my room to change since my mother would be embarrassed if I happened to dine with her in my sweats.

  While I’m in my room, I check my phone a few times, swearing to myself each time it shows I have no calls from Dylan.

  A half hour later, I’m taking the elevator down with my hair done, wearing a sundress I brought on the off chance that Dylan and I went to the beach. I safely arrive at the hotel restaurant without spotting him anywhere.

  I approach the hostess and can already tell we might struggle with getting a table.

  “Hi, there will be two of us,” I tell the nice girl, who is a little older than myself.

  She glances at the list in front of her, lightly shaking her head to herself.

  “Oh, we can probably seat you in about”—she pauses, as though she’s trying to work a miracle—“two hours?” Even that sounds like a question.

  “Bea.” I hear a shrill voice behind me.

  “Hold on one sec,” I say to the hostess.

  I greet my mother with a kiss to both cheeks. “They can seat us in two hours,” I tell her.

  “Unacceptable.” My mom bypasses me and goes right to the hostess because, surely, she’s more important than any other guests who were wise enough to make reservations.

  “No, ma’am, I’m sorry.”

  I like it that the girl holds her ground. My mom is no simple feat.

  I stand next to my mom, checking all the packed tables with waiters and waitresses shuffling back and forth with trays of drinks and food. As I scan the room, I do a double take on a set of eyes pinned on me.

  “Shit,” I mumble.

  My mom shoots her head my way. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I tell her. From the corner of my eye, I see him walking toward me. “Let’s just go somewhere else. Isn’t there another restaurant here?” I tilt my head, as though he won’t know it’s me.