Come Alive (8 page)

Chicago Metropolitan Magazine

David Dylan

Senior Architect, Pierson/Greer

Age
: 34

Lives in
: River
North

David Dylan is the epitome of cool. From his
made-for-Hollywood name to his devilish good looks, he holds more clout than a
varsity quarterback dating the homecoming queen. To complete the package, he
comes from a perfect family of four, owns a sailboat and has a vacation home in
Spain. This highly sought-after architect, who was recently profiled for
Architectural Digest
, spends what little
free time he has in the water – no small feat for an Illinois native.
From surfing to swimming to sailing, it’s no wonder his friends nicknamed him
Fish years ago.

Looking for:
Someone to settle down with. His well-known father’s greatest accomplishment,
he says, is marrying the woman he fell in love with almost forty years ago. Oh,
and big, green eyes. “Eyes truly are the windows to a woman’s soul. Business
has taught me to be tough, but when ‘the one’ bats her eyelashes at me just the
right way, I will be putty in her hands.”

Topic of interest:
The
Revelin
– he is the lead designer on the resort
that is set to open at the end of this year.

Oh, he is
good.
I wondered how Chicago-
ettes
would
recover after reading that. After some consideration, I decided that my pity was
for the male population. They’d have a hard time stacking up to someone like
David Dylan.
David Dylan and his affinity for big, green
eyes.
At the time of publication, he hadn’t yet met
Dani
.
I knew it was narcissistic, but I couldn’t help clinging to the thought that
maybe he had added that part for me.

I expelled a wisp of breath and texted Bill that
I wouldn’t be making it home for dinner. As I refocused on my project, I
automatically swiped my finger across the phone’s screen when it pinged.

Sep 4,
2012 7:19 PM

Good thing for
the ice cream then.

My heart leaped with panic. I scrolled my eyes
over the screen to find that I had texted David instead of Bill.

“Shit,” I said, slamming the phone down.
That is
so
embarrassing!
I felt myself turning various shades of red. Quickly,
I sent the same text to Bill and tapped my way back to David.

Sep 4, 2012 7:22 PM

So sorry.
Wrong person!

Sep
4, 2012 7:23 PM

I believe that
counts as a Freudian slip.

I was at a loss for words. Now it appeared as
though I was actively looking for trouble. He would either think I had done it
on purpose, or that I’d been thinking about him when I’d sent it. Which would
be the truth.

Sep
4, 2012 7:25 PM

Didn’t mean it. Embarrassed.
Working late & a little tired.

Sep
4, 2012 7:26 PM

Mrs. Germaine, it’s
not advisable to alert predators of your whereabouts late at night.

My heart stilled as I melted into a puddle of
desire. A memory of a dream wedged itself into my thoughts. I’d had it shortly
after David and I had stopped contact, only once, but I hadn’t forgotten it. We
would meet accidentally in the same alley where Mark Alvarez had attacked me.

When my phone chimed again, I was already
panting.

Sep
4, 2012 7:29 PM

That is, unless
you’re looking to get caught.

I slid a tentative hand under my dress and into
my damp panties. I relaxed back in my chair and remembered the dream, filling
in the details where necessary.

I peer down
the dark alleyway and am struck with fear when I see the silhouette of a big
man. As he approaches, slow and cat-like, I turn to run the way I came but am
met with a brick wall. He’s bearing down on me now, filling the small alley so
I can’t escape. He looks incredibly strong.

It’s David, I
realize, but my sigh of relief catches in my throat. I’m afraid of him. He
slowly reaches out and snaps me to him by my waist, as though I were a flower
to be plucked from the ground.

His lips are
on mine, hard and unrelenting, and he won’t budge when I push him.

“Don’t
fight,” he says when we’ve parted.

He scares
me, but I obey. I let him move my arms like a puppet master and fix them above
my head so I am helpless in his grip.

“Say it,” he
prompts, as he shifts both wrists into one hand.

I fret because
I don’t know what he wants me to say. When I look down again, I’m naked. With
his free hand, he unzips his pants and pulls them down.

I panic and
look over the exquisite face that is now hard and unrecognizable, a David I
don’t know. Even his brown eyes are obsidian black to match his hair.

“Say it.”

“I don’t
know,” I reply, chewing the inside of my cheek.

He pulls my
leg around him and positions himself against me. When he plunges into me, I cry
his name, a word that is a mixture of fear and pleasure leaving my tongue.

He pins me
against the wall over and over, and I am lost. I whip my eyes open. “I know
what you want me to say!”

But he
doesn’t stop, and suddenly I have forgotten it again, but I don’t care because
I am falling . . . and coming . . . and coming . .
. .

I came to, winded and slumped in my chair. I
pulled my hand out from between my legs and glanced around the dark office
shamefully. I’d written the dream off as anxiety following Alvarez’s attack,
but I had often wished it would return.

Say it.
The words
frequently ran through my mind. They were his last words to me the morning I had
left.
Tell me you can forget,
he had
demanded.
Say it, Olivia! Say it say it
say it . .
. .

An alert told me Bill had responded.

Sep 4, 2012 7:36 PM

K. Jury
prob
out for a few days, going to OP house
tmrw
if you want to come.

Sep 4, 2012 7:44 PM

Why?

Sep
4, 2012 7:46 PM

Meeting
David there.
I can pick you up.

I closed my eyes for a long moment as the
information permeated my slightly fuzzy brain. Bill and David, alone together?
I wanted to scream. I wanted to blame David, but it wasn’t his fault, so I
blamed Bill, but it also wasn’t his fault. I was only left with myself. With unsteady
fingers, I told Bill I would come along. What choice did I have? I couldn’t
forbid it, and
I couldn’t not be there
.
The two of them alone, talking, laughing, sharing.
The
thought of not being able to monitor their conversation made me want to pull my
hair out.

I groaned to myself and put the phone away,
ignoring David’s last text.

CHAPTER 9

FIDGETING
WITH THE COLLAR of my purple silk blouse, I craned my neck to watch for Bill’s
car. According to Bill, we had to see the house before David left for New York
in the evening. I didn’t know what else to expect
;
whether
David even knew I was coming or how long this hell would last.

Bill pulled up and screeched to a halt at the
curb.

“We’re late,” I commented.

“Tell that to Specter,” he said.

“Which one? Specter or Specter?”

“Ha.”

“Are we picking David up?”

“He’s meeting us there.”

I worked my lower lip between my teeth in
anxiety and excitement. Just a week prior, I knew I’d never see David again.
And now this.
I half-rolled my eyes out to the window.

“Look, whatever happens will be for the best.”

“What?”

“With the house. If it’s too far gone, we’ll
find something else. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“I’m not worried,” I said, looking back out the
window. At least, it didn’t make it into the top three of my current concerns.

When we pulled up, David was talking intently
with an older, portly man. David gestured to the house, and when the man spoke,
he listened attentively, his arms crossed and his thick eyebrows knit in
concentration. His back was straight as a board and his shoulders taut. The
small glimpses I’d seen of David in architect mode were especially disarming
– there was something arousing about watching him do what he loved.

He looked up then and gaited toward us with calm
confidence. I couldn’t tell if he’d expected me because he was almost too
collected. While I was near senseless with anxiety, his wide smile and sturdy
handshake were signs that he was a schmoozer, a player,
a
charmer to the core.

“This place is a find,” he said, sticking his
hands in his pockets.

“I know it’s not like the other houses,” I said,
“but that’s why I like it.”

“It certainly isn’t, thank God for that,” he replied,
looking down the street.

Bill grumbled under his breath as he stole a
look at the house behind us. “You must be the appraiser,” he said to the other man,
extending his hand.

“I’ve already been around the neighborhood and
the outside of the house,” the man said. “If you have the keys, I’ll just take
a look inside.”

They took off for the front door, leaving David
and I behind. I glanced up at him from the corner of my eye and gave him a
half-smile, to which he responded with a friendly wink.

“What do you really think?” I asked.

“This is a prairie-style home, you can tell by
the horizontal lines and overhanging eaves. They’re reflective of a sweeping prairie,”
he explained, gliding his hand through the air to demonstrate. “It’s a fairly
popular style in Oak Park because of Frank Lloyd Wright’s influence – he designed
several homes around here. You’re right that it does seem out of place on this street,
but I meant what I said. It is a find.”

I followed him through the door into the front
room, where his eyes went to the ceiling and worked their way down. “Open floor
plan,” he commented. “Me favorite option if the space permits. You could really
do something unique with the interior.”

My mouth warped skeptically. “I don’t think Bill
would like that. He’s pretty traditional.”

“This isn’t a traditional home, Olivia. It would
be an injustice to turn it into one.”

I flushed, feeling somewhat as though I’d been
reprimanded. “It seems like a lot of work.”

“Right off the bat, yes, you’re looking at a
long renovation period. Maybe up to a year, depending on what you want to do.” I
followed his gaze down. “These floorboards have to go,” he continued, “but the hearth
is big and central – I wouldn’t even touch it.” He walked toward the wall
of windows and peered into the backyard. “Bonus for great lighting. Wright
loved nature, and this house reflects that. The landscaping needs work, but
once it’s scaled back, it could have a woodsy, earthen feel. Romantic even. I’d
run with that, maybe incorporate water somehow – a pond or fountain. Reminds
me of my place in New York a little bit.”

It was maybe the most I’d ever heard him talk,
and I was hanging on his every word. He was even more devastating when he was
passionate, and I fell in love with the house as he spoke.

Bill returned then, and it took a great deal of
effort to peel my eyes from David. When I decided that their conversation was
benign enough, I left the three men and headed upstairs to explore further. As
I walked between rooms, I was overwhelmed by the amount of necessary work. I
couldn’t help but feel a little selfish for expecting Bill to go through with
it. He’d just seemed so pleased with the idea, and now, I didn’t want to give
it up . .
. .

“Hey,” Bill said from the doorway, panting
slightly. “The fucking jury is already back. I have to run, like five minutes
ago.”

“Oh,” I said. “All right, let’s go.”

“Actually can you stay with these guys?”

“No, Bill, please, I have to get back to work.”

“Just a few minutes longer. I talked to the
appraiser already, and David has an estimate, but they haven’t hit the second
floor yet. I wouldn’t feel right leaving the two of them alone since David is
doing us a favor.”

“He has an estimate? How much?”

He cleared his throat. “A lot.
But not impossible.
It helps that they’re willing to work with
us on the sale price. David says he works by you and can drop you after.”

“What if he has plans or something?”

“
Liv
, I can’t,” he
said, disappearing back into the hall. “
Gotta
go.”

I twisted my hands nervously. Footsteps ascended,
and David’s voice resounded throughout the second floor. The voices drifted to
the master bedroom and then back down the hall. I was still stuck to the same
spot in one of the spare rooms when they entered.

“David, I’m so sorry,” I blurted. “You’re
already doing us this big favor, and now you have to give me a ride.”

“It’s no problem. I insisted,” he said before
turning back to the appraiser, who was making notes.

He looked up and waved his clipboard at me. “Well
Mrs. Wilson, would you like to have a seat and go over this?”

“Um, I’m not really – can you just talk to
my husband?”

“Already did, there are just a few more things
I’d like to cover, but I’ll e-mail him.”

“Can you CC me?” David asked, handing him a
card. “Since I promised to help.”

“Sure. I’ll be in touch.” He looked between the
two of us before turning away.

I crossed my arms over my breasts, and David
stuck his hands in his pockets. “The issues aren’t just surface deep, but it’s
not the worst I’ve seen. The owners are giving you an extremely fair price.
It’s a steal. Honestly, they probably don’t realize the value.” He paused and
cleared his throat. “But most importantly, it’s obvious that you love it.”

“I do. I think I really do.”

“Follow me.”

My heels clunked on the wooden steps as we
descended. Back on the ground floor, he removed his jacket and set it on the
covered couch. He rolled up his sleeves and crouched down to pull on a
floorboard. My eyes followed as he walked over to a doorway and inspected it.
He was talking as he moved, but I only heard the bass of his voice, felt the
vibration of it inside me.

I realized in that moment that I never should
have gone to the house.
That I would never be able to erase
the image of him there.

The home that I couldn’t grasp before began to
form in my mind. The room was sylvan, rustic, and smelled of cedar like David.
It glowed with a blazing fire on a cool autumn evening. Abundant, leafy maple
trees just out back
rainbowed
from green to yellow to
red. David was there, lifting me off my feet in a consuming hug after walking through
the front door.

I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed the heels of
my hands into my sockets. Pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Bill
and I had seen almost ten places since we’d started looking and not one had
been right. I pictured Bill at the apartment on our rundown couch, yelling at
the TV. I pictured him in the late morning, goofing off as he fixed me
breakfast. I’d never felt at home in the apartment, because I knew we’d
eventually move somewhere permanent.

Davena’s
words from
our last moments together floated back to me.
‘It’s about whom you’re making a home with.’

It wasn’t that the places we’d seen hadn’t felt
like home. It was that Bill didn’t feel like home.

“Come here,” David said, ripping me from my heartbreaking
realization. I obeyed with my eyes glued to him. “You could put built-in
seating there under that window and a breakfast nook on the other side. And look.”
He pointed into the next room and said something. I leaned over to peer through
the doorway, but I had no idea what I was looking for because my mind was
whirring. Bill was so far, and David was so close. So close that if I just angled
slightly, I would whiff that earthy, subtle David-ness . .
.
.

“Did you just smell me?”

“What?” I blinked and shook my head. “No.”

“Yes, you did,” he said, a smile creeping onto
his face.

I rolled my eyes. “I did not. I was just trying
to get a better look.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Well I’m very close to you and – okay,
you
do
smell nice, so it
is
possible that I sniffed you, I just .
. .”

The look on his face stopped me. “You never
answered my question.”

“I just admitted – ”

“Not that one.” He paused. “Are you depressed,
Olivia?”

I blinked in shock as I sought a response.

“Just answer, don’t – ”

“Do you ever think about that night?” The words tumbled
out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying.

“Do you?” he asked.

“No. I don’t let myself.”

“Because of what you did?”

“No.” I glanced down, ashamed.

“Do you regret it?”

“I hate myself for what I’ve done,” I said
slowly. “I think about how it would hurt Bill if he found out. It would wreck
him. The guilt is almost unbearable.” His expression turned something tortured.
He looked at the floor. “But . . .”

He blinked up at me again, pinning me with
intense eyes.

“But what I hate more,” I continued, “is that I
don’t regret it. I don’t think about that night because I’m terrified that
nothing will ever come close to it again.”

He inhaled sharply and locked his arms across
his torso.

“That sounds crazy,” I said, shaking my head and
looking away. “I guess for you it was just – ”

“I think about that night all the time.”

My gaze jumped back to his. We stared at each
other, the space between us vibrating. My hands began to tremble with the agony
of months of wanting to touch him. Slowly, he unfolded his arms. His hands
hovered in the air awkwardly before scooping under my hair to grasp my face. He
ran his thumbs over my jawline, and when I didn’t move away, he leaned in and
pressed his lips to mine. We sat that way for a long time, both breathing
heavily until he puckered his lips gently.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead on
mine. “I’ve been dreaming about that for fifteen weeks,” he said quietly.

I laughed in a gust of breath. I felt his cheeks
with my hands, relishing the rough, bristly spots. I ran my fingers through his
obsidian hair, which felt even silkier than I remembered. He groaned softly. I traced
his lips reverently with my fingertip. “Why can’t I forget you?” I whispered.

He leaned in and pecked me on the lips twice
before nuzzling his nose into my neck. “The way you smell,” he said into my
hair. “It’s irreplaceable.”

I hugged him, feeling the muscles of his back
through his shirt. He brushed his mouth down my cheek until reaching my lips. They
parted for him, and he kissed me with careful movements, allowing me to
appreciate every slide of his tongue and tremor of his lips. He tasted fresh
but warm; he tasted like home.

As we kissed, he molded my arms around his neck
before picking me up by my waist so we were level. I felt safe and secure in
his arms again, hidden from the outside world in our own private one. He
untucked
the back of my blouse and slid a hand underneath. It
was a simple act, his hand skating over my back, but it made me dizzy with
lust. Without disconnecting our mouths, he set me on my feet and unzipped my
skirt so it fell to the ground.