by Emery Rose
“How many people do you have working for you?”
“Thirty.”
“Wow. I’m impressed.” I meant that sincerely. He was a self-made millionaire. Far more impressive than my dad who had inherited his wealth. “You did this all on your own.”
He shrugged like it was no big deal. But it was huge, and he was being humble. Downplaying his achievements. “I have a partner. Cruz Vega. You met him once. Briefly. We didn’t have time to chat.” His mouth quirked in amusement.
Dylan was referring to the underground fight. I vaguely remembered meeting his friend who was collecting the money from his bets. “Oh. Right. We were too busy running from the cops. What a crazy night.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “It was just another Friday night in my world.”
And now look at him. King of the world. He didn’t have to fight for money or deal drugs or clean swimming pools anymore. I’d always been curious about his life, what it was like when he was growing up, but whenever I’d asked questions, he had shut me down. I didn’t even think Sienna knew much about it. She used to complain that he never told her anything.
“Are you sure you have time to set up this website for me?”
“Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.”
I slid my laptop out my messenger bag, typed in my password and set it on the desk in front of us then folded my hands in my lap, all prim and proper. I thought meeting him at his office would make it feel less intimate than if we’d met at my apartment or his house. But we were in our own little bubble, the blinds drawn, the glass soundproofed to cancel out the noise outside these four walls. And with every breath I took, I inhaled his heady scent. So, it wasn’t less intimate at all. But luckily, he was focused on the website design, all businesslike and brusque when he asked me questions about my brand, questions I was able to answer readily. My designs were one of the few things I didn’t second-guess. Ever since I was a kid, it was the only thing I’d wanted to do with my life.
Dylan listened carefully to every word I said and let me talk without interrupting or injecting his own views, then implemented my ideas in the design. It was ridiculous how easy he made it look to set up a website. It was a side of Dylan I’d never seen before, and it was clear that he knew his stuff and was good at what he did, although I knew that the apps under his name were where his real money came from. Not from designing websites which he said he didn’t do anymore. So I guess this was a special favor.
“How did you learn to do all this?” I asked as I scrolled through the site he’d created for me in just a couple short hours. I loved it. It was exactly my aesthetic. A midnight blue, jungle green, and metallic gold color scheme with a dash of dusty pink. Dylan had insisted that I needed photos of myself on the website, so I’d handed over my phone and let him scroll through my photos. I had nothing to hide. He’d chosen one of me on the floor of Firefly Surfboards painting a board. Another of me painting a jungle theme on Ollie’s van. In the third one, I was at the beach and the camera had caught me mid-laugh. I was wearing oversized sunglasses, a plain white T-shirt and short white shorts that I’d painted giant palm leaves on.
“My senior year of high school I took classes at the community college. They taught me coding. Finally, a language I understood,” he joked.
I laughed. Only the really smart kids in the Gifted Program had taken classes at the community college. I hadn’t realized he’d been in that program.
I shut down my laptop and slid it into my bag. “Thanks for doing this for me.”
“No problem.” He stood and pocketed his keys and cell phone and was already halfway out the door when he said, “Let’s go. I’ll drive you home.”
Like it was an afterthought.
Sighing, I shouldered my bag and took my sweet time walking to the elevators. If he was going to bolt ahead of me, the least he could do was wait for me. He punched the down button twice like that would make the elevator arrive more quickly. My ringing phone cut through our silence and I checked the screen as the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Ollie. We hadn’t spoken since my party.
“Planning to answer that?” Dylan asked as we stepped into the empty elevator. It sounded like an accusation, like I’d personally offend him by answering Ollie’s call.
Truthfully, I had no intention of answering. I’d call him back later. It would be too awkward trying to talk to Ollie in front of Dylan so I’m not sure why I said what I did. “We’re friends. Why wouldn’t I answer?”
My back hit the silver wall and his arms caged me in. “Just friends? Like us?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. His mouth hovered only inches from mine, those pouty lips—lips I’d kissed only six nights ago—taunting me. My heart hammered against my chest and I felt slightly dizzy. Oh God, I needed air. Or something.
His knee wedged between my legs and nudged them apart. I bit back a whimper as he skimmed a hand down the back of my thigh and lifted my leg, wrapping it around his waist. His hard length pressed against my groin and I resisted the urge to grind my body against it. Just barely. As he drugged me with kisses that left me breathless and desperate for more, my short fingernails dug into his shoulders. I’d barely had a taste of this forbidden fruit and already he’d turned me into an addict. The elevator doors opened, and he pulled away, looking down at me with a smirk on his stupidly handsome face.
“Do friends do that?”
“No,” I croaked out.
“Hmm. Guess we’ll have to change the rules then.” With that, he waltzed out of the elevator and left me gritting my teeth and balling my hands into fists.
“Coming?” he called over his shoulder. For someone who claimed he didn’t play games, this was definitely starting to feel like one.
“What are we doing here?” I asked when he parked in the lot by the marina nowhere near my apartment.
“I’m hungry.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s why your stomach is growling? Because you’re not hungry?”
My traitorous stomach growled again. When was the last time I’d eaten? It was hard to put up a good fight when you were starving. He circled the hood and opened the passenger door for me, holding out his hand for me to take in a show of chivalry. As if. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
I ignored his hand and his remark and breezed past him. Even though I had no idea which restaurant he was taking me to, this was my pathetic attempt to assert power that I clearly didn’t have. He ushered me inside Sapporo, the Japanese teppanyaki restaurant, his hand on the small of my back like we were a real couple on a date. It was my favorite restaurant at the marina. I hadn’t been here in years because, well, going out to dinner was a luxury I couldn’t afford. We were seated side by side on high-backed stools with a view of the long silver grills and the chefs in white wielding their machete-like knives.
They were putting on a show, juggling eggs in the air and cracking them with their spatulas for the fried rice. It reminded me of the time I tried it. “For my twelfth birthday, I brought all my friends here, and I begged the chef to teach me the egg trick. No idea how I managed to crack an egg on my head, but it happened, and it was pretty hilarious. Nicola and Ollie laughed their asses off as the raw egg dripped down my face.”
Dylan laughed so hard he was wheezing. “You’re killing me.”
“I’m pretty funny,” I agreed, smiling a little that I’d gotten a laugh out of him, my annoyance at that elevator stunt temporarily forgotten. “This doesn’t seem like your kind of place. I’m surprised you like a show with your dinner.”
“I don’t. But you do.”
Just then our server, a small, wiry guy with spiky black hair, stopped by our seats and gave us his whole spiel, explaining the menu and how the food is prepared and the portion sizes. Or he would have done that if Dylan hadn’t lost patience about two seconds into the poor guy’s explanation and cut him off.
“We know how it works.” Dylan nudged my arm. “What do you want?
”
I always used to order the steak and shrimp combo, but this place was really expensive and way out of my budget so that wasn’t happening tonight. “I’ll just have dumplings.” I pointed to the appetizer on the menu and handed it back to the server with a smile to compensate for Dylan’s rudeness.
Dylan stared at me for a few long seconds, not even blinking, as if he was trying to read my mind. Satisfied with whatever he’d figured out, he turned to the server. “One steak. One steak and shrimp.” My brows rose in surprise, and he gave me a smug smile, like he knew that he’d guessed right. “I’ll have an Asahi beer.” He jerked his thumb at me. “Bring her a soda.”
A soda? He was treating me like a five-year-old. “Just the dumplings for me, please.”
Dylan sighed in exasperation. “Bring us what I ordered and the dumplings.” The poor guy. I continued to argue. Dylan looked like he wanted to gag me. The waiter’s eyes ping-ponged from me to Dylan who gave him a look that said, Are you seriously questioning me?
Having concluded that Dylan was in charge, our waiter scurried away to get our drinks. When he was out of earshot I turned to Dylan. “What the hell? You’re ordering for me now?”
“You’re worried about money. Don’t.”
“I can’t let you pay—”
“Stop being a pain in the ass. I’m not going to let you order fucking dumplings when you really want steak.”
The waiter returned with our drinks, and I smiled at him, the only person who deserved my smile. After he was gone, I turned to Dylan again who was drinking his beer like the matter was settled because he’d said so. The last thing I needed in my life was a control freak. I’d been raised by one and had my fill of that, thank you very much.
“Why are we here? And don’t tell me it’s because you’re hungry.”
“I am hungry. I’m fucking starving.” His hand found its way to my thigh where he rested it as if it belonged there and then, more boldly, his hand ventured between my thighs. No way. We weren’t going there. I shoved his hand away. Undeterred, he whispered in my ear, “You could be my dessert.”
It was all about sex, wasn’t it? Every single thing he’d done was for one purpose only and the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. “Is that why you brought me to dinner? Is that why you’re doing all of this? The website, the birthday present, talking Remy into letting me have my own space in the shop for my designs… was that all so you could get me into bed?” My voice rose on every syllable, and I didn’t even care that we were in a restaurant or that people could overhear us. Dylan clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead, not even deigning to respond.
“God. How stupid am I?” I smacked myself on the forehead, trying to knock some sense into my thick skull. “It was, wasn’t it? Everything you did was because of sex.”
I grabbed my bag hanging on the back of the seat, and I hurried away, leaving him sitting there. I had enough problems without him further complicating my life. All because he wanted to get in my pants.
As I reached for the door, his hand clasped my wrist and he spun me around. “The fuck are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m leaving. You said you weren’t playing games, but this feels like one big game. Find someone else to use as your plaything.” Fuming, I yanked my hand out of his grasp.
“Calm the fuck down.” He moved me away from the door to let another couple out. It was only then that it dawned on me. Anyone could see us together. This could easily get back to my parents or Sienna if someone recognized me and Dylan. The funny part was that it was the least of my worries right now.
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. “What do you want from me, Dylan?”
He narrowed his eyes on me and clenched his jaw, the muscle in his cheek ticking. “I brought you to dinner because I’m hungry and you need to eat. The other shit… I did it because I want to help you out.”
“Why do you want to help me out?” I pressed.
“Because I can.”
I shook my head, not ready to let him off that easily. “That’s not a good enough answer. What’s the real reason?”
“The real reason, Scarlett? You want the truth?”
I nodded, my eyes darting to the door, ready to flee if he didn’t give me something real. Something honest. A reason to stay. We were at an impasse, his posture mirroring mine, arms crossed over his broad chest.
I was about to give up on him, seconds from walking out the door and calling a taxi when he finally spoke. “Everyone needs someone who believes in them. I believe in you and this was my way of showing you. Just like you always did for me, even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I didn’t acknowledge it, I saw you, Scarlett. I always saw you.”
I hadn’t expected that. My anger dissipated, and I deflated like a balloon.
“Now can we fucking sit down without you causing another scene?”
He didn’t care about causing a scene. Things like that didn’t bother him, but he did want me to sit down and eat dinner with him. Knowing he would never say please, that he’d already made himself more vulnerable than he was comfortable with, I simply nodded, and we returned to our seats.
Still trying to swallow past the lump in my throat that his words had caused, I stared at his profile. His dark hair was cut longer on top, short around the sides and back, and tonight he wore it slicked back. It made him look more intimidating. The sharp angles of his cheekbones, the cut, clean jawline, and the perfect symmetry of his face more pronounced. He lifted his beer to his lips and took a swig, his throat bobbing on a swallow before he pointed the bottle at the spectacle in front of us.
“You’re missing the show.”
I wasn’t. Dylan was the star attraction. But he didn’t like me looking this closely, especially not after he’d shared a piece of his soul with me, so I turned my head to face the teppanyaki grill and watched the silver flash of knives, the scent of grilled steak and shrimp making my mouth water with hunger.
This was what Dylan did. He could make me angry one minute, and blink back tears the next. In a short span of time, I was wildly swinging from lust to love to heartache and a dozen other emotions in between. All because of him. The scary part was that deep down I had always known this wasn’t just about sex. It was so much more, and even now, so early in the game, I didn’t know how I would ever walk away. This thing with us, it couldn’t last forever. All the odds were stacked against it. He was him, the guy who had never belonged to anyone, and I was me, the girl who desperately wanted him to be mine.
Later, when Dylan dropped me off at my apartment, my belly full and lulled into a food coma, he said, “Just to be clear, I do want to fuck you but that has nothing to do with me helping you.”
Not sure how to respond, I shoved open my door and climbed out of his car.
“And Scarlett… stop fooling yourself. We are not just friends.”
I slammed the door on that conversation. I hadn’t fooled anyone. Not even myself.
12
Scarlett
“We got a gig at Mavericks,” Ollie said as we carried our boards down to the water, our bare feet leaving footprints on the cold sand. The sky was a crisp blue, with a few wispy clouds painted on the horizon, the sun directly overhead. We’d gotten a late start today, but the beauty of winter surfing was that it was only locals at the break and never got that crowded.
“That’s great. I’m really happy for you.”
He sighed. “Smalls, I’m sorry, okay?”
“I know. Me too.” All we ever did was apologize these days.
“I’m just trying to look out for you.”
It was more than that and we both knew it, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue. “Let’s just surf and put it behind us, okay?”
Lately, it felt like every time I was with Ollie we were trying to put something behind us. He looked like he wanted to say more on the subject but changed his mind and for that I was grateful.
“Waves are barre
ling.”
They were amazing today. I grinned, excited to get out there. It was a perfect day for surfing, the air and ocean temperatures in the sixties and my full wetsuit kept my body temperature warm enough to last a few hours in the water.
As we paddled out, I spotted Dylan out at the back. He was with Shane and Travis in the lineup, but I was too focused on getting out there without getting thrashed by the heavy waves to do more than glance in his direction. I duck-dived, my head submerged under the chilly ocean water, the wave breaking over my head as I battled against the undertow trying to drag me back to shore. Emerging victorious, I paddled hard to get past the breakers, my wet hair plastered to my head and a smile on my face that had nothing to do with Dylan.
Surfing made me feel so alive, so energized, it was impossible to feel anything but happy.
Ollie saw Dylan, I knew he did, but he didn’t mention it, thankfully. I mostly ignored Dylan. I was here to surf, not ogle him in his wetsuit. Besides which, we’d put enough distance between us that we wouldn’t be hassling each other for waves. Although, I did watch him ride a few.
Dylan was a goofy foot, surfed with his right foot forward instead of his left. He was an aggressive surfer. Charged hard, pumping the wave to try and pick up as much speed as possible. There was no Zen in Dylan’s surfing whatsoever, and he wasn’t too bothered about technique or style. He just went for it, balls to the wall, going full-throttle until he’d ridden the wave for all it was worth. I guess he surfed the way he lived.
I watched Travis and Shane too. They were at a different level than the rest of us. A different stratosphere. Travis, Shane’s best friend, was a pro surfer and a three-time world champion so it would stand to reason that he’d be an awesome surfer. But everyone in the surfing community knew that Shane could have been world champion. Even though his career had been cut short, he was still one of the best surfers around. When you watched Shane surf, you could almost delude yourself into believing that surfing was easy and effortless. Zen galore.
