“I hear of crazier things all the time. You’re a hot girl. He wants to meet you and thinks you’re out of his league. He slashes your tire and then rescues you.”
“Sounds like you have practice with this pickup method.” I fold my arms over my chest.
Dylan laughs. “Honey, if I wanted a date with you I wouldn’t have to slash your tires.”
His comment drives a thorn under my thin skin. Before yesterday, it was true. He could’ve snapped his fingers and I would be ready at the door with my purse on my shoulder.
Today? I peer at him without turning my head. He’s still as beautiful on the outside as he was yesterday. Still gives off a smell sexier than the designer purses I used to own. Still makes my heart thump faster with a hooded look I imagine says secret things.
But he thinks I’m less.
I know I’m more. I’m not defined by what I’ve had to do to survive.
“You’re right. You wouldn’t have to ruin my tire,” I say with a perky smile. “Absolutely.”
He raises a brow suspiciously.
“Oh,” I continue, “you wouldn’t have to ruin my tire.” I pause for effect. “Because there is no way in hell or heaven or anywhere in between that you could get a date with me.”
Dylan looks from the road for a moment. “Really,” he says skeptically. “I thought you said I’m forgiven.”
“That has nothing to do with this conversation.” Oh, the wicked lies I’m telling now. “You’re not my type.”
“And that guy is?” Dylan pulls onto the main campus drive.
“Take a left up here.” I point to a parking lot. “Maybe he is. So what?”
“You can do better than him.”
“Has anyone told you that you’re a snob?”
“Hey, all I’m saying—”
“Don’t. Every word you say digs the hole a little deeper. Here’s my car.” The second we stop, I hop out in a race to my car. I don’t want to hear anymore. I’m disillusioned enough for one day.
“Wait. Emerson...”
My name on his lips sounds tortured for some strange reason. He must be back to feeling guilty again. What is his problem?
I pretend I don’t hear him and drop gratefully into my car. I have to get away before I do something really stupid like break down and cry. How could I be so very wrong about him? I’ve spent every day in Dylan’s house learning a lot of things about him.
He loves ties and has them in every color and collects them in the way I used to collect shoes.
He reads. Everything. Some days when I clean and the house is empty, I take a few minutes to discover what he’s reading for the week. I’ve even picked up some books and taken an hour of down time to read a chapter or two. We share some of the same tastes in reading.
And then there’s the most surprising thing I know about him. He has a dresser drawer full of some kid’s drawings. Dylan is written on a couple of them with a stick figure that must be him. Some of the drawings are of several stick people and a house and a dog.
I’m fascinated by these, knowing that some child has given them to Dylan and he’s kept them.
But there’s also the Dylan I’ve seen over the last 24 hours. It’s almost as though my heart can’t bear to think that he’s not what I’ve conjured in my imagination.
I start my car and roll down the window. “Thanks,” I yell as I drive away with Dylan still sitting in his car.
I look into my rear view mirror and see him leave the parking lot. The drive to my apartment takes me back through some morning traffic. I glance at my phone. I have twenty minutes to get home and change in time for the class I teach at the health club, Body Works.
Having three jobs plus college classes takes master scheduling skills. I think I should be a life organizer, if there is such a career.
I change into my workout clothes and peek in on Gabby. “Hey, time for class. Get up. Your ride will be here in a minute.”
She groans and turns over, effectively rolling herself into a sheet cocoon. “Sissy, I think I’ll skip today. I don’t feel so hot.”
Gabby is a nineteen-year-old kid and this is partially my fault. I know it. I just don’t know what to do about it.
“Up.” I grab the edge of the sheet and tug it off her body. “You can’t miss. That professor is a hard-ass.”
She yawns and attempts to snatch the sheet back. “You are so mean.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I rush out of the room and return with a glass of juice. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She smiles up at me, all angelic and sleepy.
“Gotta go,” I say and head out. My phone plays my new favorite ringtone, a song called “Give You Some Love,” by Jelly Bean Queen. I retrieve it from my bag and scowl at the unfamiliar number. A phone never rings unless you don’t have two seconds to spare.
“Hello.”
“Hey. This is Toby.”
I pull the front door behind me and turn my key in the deadbolt lock. “Hi, Toby. In case I didn’t say this enough, you are a lifesaver.”
“It was nothing. So, I was wondering if you might like to go out and get some dinner sometime.”
“Toby, it’s sweet of you to ask, but I really don’t have a lot of time to go on dates.”
“I did get it right, didn’t I? You and Dylan aren’t a couple...”
“No way. Dylan? No. Fat chance. Pft.” Okay, so I was going a little overboard on my response. I realize this on my last syllable. Dylan doesn’t date girls like me. “You know what? How about a coffee? Could we just do that?”
“That’d be great,” he says. “Tonight?”
I start my car engine and close my eyes. “Sure. I’ll text you later. I’m going to work right now.”
“Emerson?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m looking forward to it.” There’s a smile in his voice that carries over the line.
“Yeah, me too. Bye.” I press END and rub my temple. Why am I still thinking of Dylan?
Chapter Four
Really Don’t Care
Dylan
My office at the car dealership stays neat and tidy, compliments of Aggie Phillips. Aggie who was my father’s secretary, sneaking candy to me when I visited after school and hung around doing my homework at Dad’s desk.
She tuts repeatedly, making me grin at her trademark mother hen attitude.
“Honey, I hope the other guy looks worse than you.” Aggie squints at me and purses her lips. “You should’ve switched to warm compresses after the ice.”
“I didn’t exactly have access to an ice pack after the fight.”
She taps a stack of papers on the edge of my desk and studies my eye, leaning across with her hands flat on my desk.
“Aggie? Do you need something else?” I hide a grin at the way she hovers. Everyone loves Aggie.
“I have just the thing for that. Do you have Vaseline at home?”
Vaseline? I hold up a hand. “I’m fine. It looks worse than it feels.”
“Vaseline and cayenne pepper. Mix those five parts to one and smear it around your eye.”