Love Emerged (Love Surfaced #3)

by Michelle Lynn

  The waiter comes over. He stares at her tits that are practically out for everyone to see. She orders her typical Cosmopolitan that became her favorite after she became obsessed with watching Sex and the City.

  “Why are you here?” I’m impatient to finish this meet-and-greet reunion.

  “I tried to call you, but as usual, you never answered.”

  I take a sip of my beer.

  “If I’d known you would be in the conference room today, I would have returned it. When did you get a job there?”

  She shifts in her seat, and for the love of God, I wish she’d put her jacket on. Her nipples are fucking poking out to attention.

  “My brother got me the job. I honestly have no deciding factor if your agency gets the pick. I’m just shadowing Janet.”

  I nod. Her reasoning makes sense. Ava was still undecided on what she wanted to do, and she had a marketing degree.

  “Oh, good luck with them.”

  I’m not sure if she senses the conversation drawing to a close, but suddenly, the old Ava is back. The less confident one. The one who loved the flowers, the notes, and the cuddling.

  “Please, Dylan. I’ve apologized. What do you want me to do?”

  For a second, I’m back in New York, except the roles are reversed. I was desperate to keep us together. Desperate to make our relationship work. Too bad I left those days four hundred miles back there.

  “You have nothing to apologize for. We just weren’t a good fit.” I take another long pull of my bottle.

  “We were a great couple.”

  “At one point, yes. Not anymore.” I take a much-needed breath to end this. Make it final. “Listen, Ava, we don’t have a future.”

  Because I’m falling in love with someone else.

  As if on cue, Bea walks in the bar with John, Kevin, and Yasmin. She’s smiling and laughing as they walk over to the usual booth we all occupy on Friday nights. I can’t take my eyes off of her and her short blonde hair that she recently died with pink tips for breast cancer. She’s beautiful and energetic and mine.

  Why the hell am I sitting here, across from a woman who tossed me to the wolves for a damn wolf?

  “I gotta go.” I begin sliding out, but Ava’s hand lands on mine at the exact time my eyes lock with Bea’s.

  Bea’s whole demeanor changes. She morphs from happy to sad in less than one second, and my stomach plummets.

  I yank my hand out from under Ava’s hold. “Bye, Ava.” I stand up, walk over to the booth, grab Bea’s hand, and pull her out of Kilroy’s as the table of coworker’s gasp.

  “I knew it,” John says.

  “We all knew it,” Kevin comments.

  “How did I not?” Yasmin questions.

  Bea wiggles, trying to escape my hold, but my hand tightens on hers. Once we walk out of the bar, a cold rush of air whips around us, and when I move to instinctively close my coat, she escapes.

  “Goddamn it, I swear, if you make one more move.”

  She sharply turns around, a blonde strand of hair sticking to her glossed lips. “What? What are you going to do, nice guy?” She taunts me, and there’s something oddly appealing to me in this moment.

  “You have to fucking listen to me. What is your damn problem?”

  “Nothing. I’m going home.”

  I jog up to her departing back and take ahold of her upper arm, much to her dismay.

  “You’re coming with me.” I turn us in another direction toward the parking garage, and surprisingly, she loses her fight. “She’s nothing to me. I’m over her.”

  “Whatever. I don’t care. This thing between us is just casual anyway.”

  With that one word casual, my blood boils. We reach my car, and I push her against the passenger door.

  “Casual would mean you’re fucking around. Are you?” I scour to see some sign of deceit in her eyes. All those rumors about her preoccupy my thoughts.

  “How . . . no, but thanks for believing what everyone else does.”

  My arms fall, releasing the hold, and she slides out from being wedged between me and the car.

  “I don’t believe the assholes!” I yell.

  She turns around. “Let’s just save us some trouble here, Dylan. You’re the nice guy who should be with some virgin chick. Move to the suburbs with your two-point-five kids and a dog. I’ll be the office slut who everyone talks about behind her back.”

  Her heels click as she walks backward, and I spot her car a few down from mine.

  “Let’s not do stereotypes.”

  I follow her, and when she sees me approaching, her footsteps increase in pace.

  “Why not? Obviously you believe rumors,” she says.

  “You won’t let me fucking talk. You won’t even believe me about Ava. I’m not the bad guy in this scenario.”

  I finally catch her just as she opens her car door. I slam it shut, blocking her again with my body.

  “Talk to me.” I’m exhausted from this fight.

  She stares up at me and then focuses on her shoes, shifting back and forth in her heels.

  I take my forefinger under her chin and urge her head up. Tears fill her eyes, and even though it breaks my heart, I’m at ease that she’s finally relenting on her angry rant.

  “Talk to me,” I beg again, the palm of my hand cradling her cheek.

  She presses into my warm affection. “I’m jealous, okay? I’ve never been jealous. Ever.” She emphasizes the last word.

  I can’t help the smile that’s sneaking on my face from her admission. Because, somewhere in the last few weeks, I’ve fallen for this girl, and now, I know she has fallen for me, too.

  “Come on.” I grab her hand and tug her toward my car.

  “Dylan, I just want to be alone tonight.”

  “I’m not accepting that request tonight.” I continue dragging her. I open the door and lightly push her into my car. “Sit tight because we are actually talking about some of these issues now.”

  “Oh. My. God I cannot talk anymore,” she whines.

  Bea

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, WE’RE PARKED outside my apartment. Dylan turns off the ignition, climbs out of his car, and moves toward my side. Beating him to being the nice guy, I open my own door and make my way up the sidewalk.

  “I’ll need my car,” I tell him with my back to him.

  “I’ll drive you back tomorrow,” he says on my heels.

  “Presumptuous that you’re spending the night.”

  I insert my key into my apartment, and his hand rests on the small of my back. It’s my single most favorite touch of his. I love the feeling of him claiming me.

  “Let’s not pretend that you don’t want me to.”

  I exaggerate an eye roll and open the door.

  Dylan moves to the cabinet—my liquor cabinet, to be specific. He pulls out a bottle of raspberry vodka and takes two shot glasses from the upper shelf. He undoes the top buttons of his shirt, tosses his suit jacket on the back of my chair, and sits down, extending his legs onto the coffee table.

  “Go ahead and act like you live here.”

  He chuckles, only annoying me more. “We need to work on your alcohol supply.” He sits up and pours two shots.

  “Um, I’m a girl.”

  “That’s no reason not to have something semi-normal. We can start with non-flavored vodka.”

  He hands me the glass, and I take it, sitting in the armchair. I lean back, and the smell of his cologne from his jacket lingers around me. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to smell it without getting aroused.

  “Again, my apartment, my booze.”

  “I plan on being here often, so don’t you want to make your man happy?”

  His lips twitch, and it’s obvious he’s holding in a laugh. So, I don’t argue his point.

  “I’m not in the mood to play a stupid game.”

  “Down your shot, Bea.” He tips his head back and swallows the whole shot, making a disgusting face afterward. “Crap, that tastes
like shit.”

  He refills his glass as he looks at me with impatient eyes.

  My whole body contorts in some kind of fit of annoyance, but I down the shot, holding on to my shot glass.

  “Put it down. We’re having another one.”

  “You said it tasted like shit.”

  “Don’t fight me.”

  This authoritative Dylan is hot. His dictations are making me wet. Damn, he’s harder to figure out than a chameleon’s color.

  We down another shot, and then he sits there, saying nothing for five whole minutes.

  When I’m about to grab a magazine, he claps his hands in the air. “Tell me five embarrassing fears. Things you don’t really want me to know.” His eyes bore into mine, waiting.

  “Um, no. That’s stupid, and I’m not going to do it.” I pull my legs up to my chest.

  “Yes, you are. We’re getting all this shit on the table now because I like you, Bea, but I can’t date a toddler who’s going to throw a fit every time someone tries to play with her toy.”

  I gasp. “You’re fucking kidding me. I’m not a damn toddler.”

  “You acted like one today.”

  “Go to hell.” I turn my head away from him, resting my cheek on my knees.

  He can go fuck himself.

  “Fine, I’ll go first.”

  “Suit yourself. Just so you know, you’ll be the only one going.”

  “I got my first tattoo to impress Ava.”

  “You didn’t want one?”

  “Bea, I was in the damn math club as a kid. I wasn’t the guy who thought of cool ink to put on his body. Hell, I almost backed out twice before my friend Cameron pushed me in the chair.

  “Your turn.” He waits, but I don’t say anything.

  Then, he waits about two more minutes, but I’m not humoring him in this game. It’s stupid.

  “Fine. My second one was the fact that I was in the math club. And the chess club. Other than martial arts, every extracurricular activity I did was academic.”

  “Hmm . . . I figured.”

  “Figured what? That I was a dork? I was. It’s a part of me I don’t share with people, like it still holds some kind of stigma on me.”

  I turn my head and see him pouring another shot and downing it. He catches me and holds my own glass up in the air.

  How can I seriously sit here and not share with him? I want us to move forward, and I am embarrassed of how I reacted, but all these feelings are so new to me.

  I take the glass from him and swig it down. “Fine. I once woke up in a guy’s room that I didn’t know. I had slept with some guy in his dorm, but then I woke up in someone else’s room. These two guys were just sitting around, staring at me.”

  Dylan’s eyes bore into mine. Anger is brewing in his green eyes. “Were you dressed?”

  I nod. “I was, but it was scary. After that, I didn’t drink for a few months.”

  “Good. Where the hell were your friends?”

  “I left them.”

  “You could have ended up anywhere.”

  “Yeah.” I’m thankful I didn’t go missing and wasn’t on Dateline after that.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes.

  “You want to go again or want me to?” Dylan asks.

  “You.”

  Although Dylan didn’t give me any judgmental eyes, this whole sharing thing isn’t exactly warm and fuzzy.

  “My third.” He raises his hand with three fingers. “I’ve always wanted a family. Even when I was younger. I got into relationships for a future, not just a fuck.”

  “Why is that embarrassing?”

  He starts pouring another shot. “Because guys are the ones who aren’t supposed to be emotionally invested. I never truly saw a problem with it until Ava said something. Even now, I’m holding back from you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Not like I’m some clinger who attaches himself to women, but when I start to feel something is right or become more intrigued, I’m invested. I can imagine my wedding, my future with a wife and kids. It’s something I’ve always thought of.”

  “I think that’s endearing. You’re telling me you are hesitant around me?”

  He shrugs, throwing back the shot again. I lean forward and take the bottle and the glasses, not wanting some drunken slur of the truth at some point. If we’re seriously going to sit here and lay our dirty laundry out to the other, we might as well be sober.

  “Bea, you have one foot in and one foot out of this relationship.”

  “I do not.” Even as I say those three words, I know he’s right. I’m still terrified of being hurt. Used or . . . you name it. I’ve never been someone’s future, and it scares the crap out of me.

  “Okay, I’m going to share something. My second.” I hold up my hand with two fingers, and he nods. “I peed my pants once at a party.”

  “You what?”

  “Hey, no judging.”

  He holds his hands up in the air and shakes his head.

  “My friend had dropped me off, and this kid who I kind of had a crush on stopped to talk to me. I had to go to the bathroom, but he kept talking. I was crossing my legs and fidgeting, anything to hold it in, but eventually, the alcohol won.”

  He covers up his mouth from laughing. “What did the guy do?”

  “That’s the thing. He never said a word. Never commented, and he had to have noticed. We ignored the whole thing, like it never happened. He was a nice guy. And, see? I screwed it up.”

  “I open my heart out to you, and you tell me you peed your pants? For that, you need to catch up.”

  This is sort of liberating, and I’m enjoying it, so I don’t mind going again.

  “And I want something meaningful now. Something you’d never tell another person,” Dylan chimes in.

  And my whole story about my bikini falling off is out the window.

  “I thought this was supposed to be fun?” I ask.

  “It’s supposed to bring us closer. I want you to trust me, Bea.”

  “I do,” I lie. I can’t see Dylan cheating, but you never know. Isn’t it always the ones you least expect?

  “You don’t. So, give me something to work with. Something that I can help you with.”

  I blow out a long stream of air. “I don’t come from a sharing family.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Ugh, you’re so damn annoying.” I grit my teeth.

  He chuckles. “It wouldn’t be annoying if you’d just tell me some of your fears. I just want to dig into your head and figure out how I entice your other foot to step into this relationship.”

  I stand up, unable to do this. Relationships are hard, or so I hear. Shouldn’t this be the fun time with us? The one where we fuck and eat and fuck again? When we can’t keep our hands off each other? What is this bullshit therapy session he’s putting me through?

  “What do you want from me?”

  He’s standing, walking toward me in the kitchen. “Bea.” His plea is so damn heartbreaking.

  “What? I’m terrified I’m so screwed up that I can’t be someone’s wife. I’m terrified no one can see me in his future. I’m terrified I’m stuck in this casted slut role.” My nose tingles, and my eyes fill with water, but I push back the threat of tears because I can’t lose my composure. It’ll only prove that I’m impotent.

  His arms wrap around me, and he buries his head in the nook of my neck. “I see you as my wife,” he whispers.

  And my heart soars as fast as a fighter jet.

  Weeks go by, and the warm weather disappears completely with the eruption of winter fast approaching. Although Nike didn’t give us the entire ad campaign, they threw us a bone for the women’s line. Dylan says it had everything to do with what I brought. I think he might have been slightly depressed that his own ideas didn’t grab Nike, but he never showed it.

  I walk into the office, and it’s practically bare. A huge muscled guy squeezes by the door and me with a printer.

/>   “What—”

  “Rumor is, we’re going to Chicago. Well, not me. Most aren’t.” Samantha puts her picture frames into a small box.

  Yasmin is the one who can answer these questions.

  Dylan’s desk is still neat and tidy with no signs that he’s come in yet.

  “Yas, what’s the word?”

  She swivels around in her chair, tears falling from her eyes.

  “The company is moving to Chicago. I guess, with the new Nike ad, they’re making it work.” She wipes her eyes with a Kleenex. “Traci from accounting said they wouldn’t pay for people to move, so unless you can pay to move yourself, you’re out of a job.”

  I move Dylan’s chair out and take a seat next to her.

  “You know I can’t leave my mom.”

  I nod because Yasmin needs to stay in Detroit. Her mom is in an assisted living facility because her Multiple Sclerosis is getting worse, and Yasmin can’t take care of her.

  “Maybe you both could move?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I’ll have to leave. Traci said that the option isn’t for everyone anyway. That they’ll be calling people in this morning. I assume everyone who’s leaving will be called in first.”

  I take a deep breath. When I first heard the company might be moving, I never thought about my job not being secure.

  “What’s going on?” Dylan watches another moving guy with a box pass by.

  “Deacon’s going to Chicago,” I say.

  He looks at a crying Yasmin and nonverbally asks me with his eyes.

  “Not everyone is going to be asked to come.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I’m in shock.

  “Dylan, can I see you?” Tim hollers over the wall.

  “Sure thing.” He drops his bag and jacket on the desk. “Wish me luck.”

  “Oh, please, like Golden Boy has to worry,” Yasmin says.

  I agree. Deacon thinks Dylan shits gold. Which makes Yasmin’s theory refutable.

  Dylan disappears, and after Yasmin is half under control, I walk over to my own desk, finding John cleaning out his drawer.

  “This sucks,” he says. “But, hell, if they ask, I’m going. I need a change of scenery.”

  “Why wouldn’t they bring us all in? Especially if we’re willing to move ourselves.”