Authors: Shey Stahl
“Did you ever drink
before?”
“No.” I admitted
ashamed that I had lived such a sheltered life. “Have you?”
“That’s a dumb
question.” And if you knew Dylan, that was a dumb question. “You want a beer?”
“We’re only eighteen.”
I found it strange that I had to point this out to him. “They’re not going to
sell us beer.”
“Sure they will.” He
waived a waitress over. Sure enough, with a smile from Dylan she came running.
“Hey, can we get two Corona’s?”
“Sure sweetie,” the
waitress, too old to be flirting with an eighteen-year-old boy, told him with a
smile that he returned with a wink. He was playing her game. “I’ll bring them
right out. Can I get you anything else?”
“No,” Dylan
smiled again, his usually wintry blue eyes melted and I knew then he knew how
to play people when needed, “that’s all.”
“Hardly fair…you played
her.”
“Played?” He looked at
me as if I had wounded him but cracked a smile regardless.
“When did you have your
first beer?” I asked changing the subject slightly.
“Eleven.”
“Jesus, started young
huh?”
He shrugged looking out
the window.
“Drugs?”
Dylan looked from the
window to me and then back to the window. “What about them?”
“Have you done them?”
A nod was all I got, no
details, just a nod. It wasn’t like I was expecting details though. I knew
enough about Dylan to understand I wouldn’t get any details.
“
Whatta
ya
say we play a little
game?” I suggested. The waitress returned with the beers and set them in the
middle of the table along with a basket full of warm tortilla chips and a small
bowl of salsa.
“Depends, what kind of
game it is.” Dylan reached for the chips and salsa placed on the table between
us and began eating. I did the same.
“Twenty questions.”
“Only if I can go first,”
he clarified chewing slowly. For a moment, I watched his jaw, the clenching of
his muscles and the spark in his stare.
I felt comfortable
around him.
“Fair enough,” I
motioned with my hand, “go ahead.”
He waited for me to
take a drink of my beer, smiling as I gave the bitter beer face but choked it
down regardless. I wouldn't order this drink again.
When I thought about
the game twenty questions, and knowing what my life had been like, I was sure I
could guess some of his questions. I also knew a few questions I wanted to ask
him.
“What did you ever see
in Eric James? I mean seriously Bailey, yeah, he can throw a mean spiral but
fuck, and he’s Eric James for Christ sakes.” Dylan looked at me like I had been
dating the devil for the past four years.
After today’s turn of
events, maybe I had been.
I wasn’t sure how to
respond so I told him the truth. “Honestly, I dated him because it was expected
of me.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Dylan said calmly but his words held meaning. “You always have a choice.”
Given the chance, I
would not have chosen someone like Eric James to spend my life with. We were
complete opposites in every way and when I looked at him most days, and the
life I saw that we would live, had I chosen him, it made me want to scream. I
saw us living in suburbia hell with two point five kids, a dog and white picket
fence where the wife had dreams and doesn’t pursue them because she’s stuck at
home playing the perfect wife. That wasn’t me. I grew up around that and to me
that’s a painted hell in my mind.
If I had envisioned the
perfect life for me, it would be unpredictable and never planned. I wanted to
be late, photograph the world, stay in bed all day, and not brush my hair,
where jeans with holes in them and wear black nail polish just because I could.
Dylan shook his head
and looked back at the salsa dipping another chip into it. “I can’t believe you
fucked him.” He mumbled shoving the chip in his mouth. “I thought you’d have
better taste than that.”
Just as he said that, I
had taken a drink of my beer.
He was now wearing that
drink.
“What did you just
say?” I choked out still coughing, beer coming out my nose which then caused me
to cough.
Glaring, he proceeded
to wipe beer from his shirt. Around then was when I thought to myself that his
neatly packed bag might have been some kind of obsessive-compulsive-disorder.
Dylan’s eyes held no
shred of amusement when he spoke. “You obviously heard me.”
“What would make you
think I was sleeping with him?”
I’ll admit that I was
tad bitter.
“You can’t sleep with a
guy like Eric James and expect him to keep quiet about popping your cherry, did
you?” he replied, irritated and refusing to look at me. Instead, his eyes
focused in the distance over my shoulder where a couple in their late twenties
sat at the bar, laughing and completely comfortable with each other. The
situation was an exact opposite of what was happening with us.
“I didn’t think you
were that goddamn naïve.”
That’s when I lost
myself right about then in a slur of words but I think I said something similar
to this. “I wouldn’t expect a guy like Eric James to keep quiet if that had
actually happened!” I yelled, probably too loud for the restaurant. “I never
fucked him.” Slumping back in the booth, I muttered a little more to myself but
losing steam as I crossed my arms over my chest.
“That son of
a bitch.”
Now I wished I hadn’t
destroyed my phone. I wanted to give Eric a little verbal lashing for this
shit. My life may have been planned but I had always been the same type of
person. I didn’t like people believing lies about me and not knowing the truth.
Maybe this came from my upbringing being the Mayor’s daughter but someone
believing a lie about me was crushing.
“You had no idea?”
Dylan looked amazed that I didn’t which had me speculating there were more
rumors Eric had spread about me or Mercedes for that matter.
How could I have been
so naïve about it?
Dylan was right. I was
naïve whether I wanted to admit it or not.
“How could you actually
believe that?”
He shook his head running
his hand through his hair and settling his hand on the back of his neck again,
a motion he did often but seemed to ease the frustration he was feeling. “I
don’t get why you’re angry with me. You’ve been dating him for the last four
years; it’s not so unbelievable that you hadn’t slept with him by now. People
do that you know, date and have sex.”
“Is that why you asked
me to come with you? Because you think I’m easy or something?”
“What,” he balked
practically choking on his words. “Easy? I don’t think you’re easy.” I could
tell he was getting angry. “For fucks sake, do you really think I’m that much
of an asshole? If anyone should be asking intentions here, it should be me. Why
did you come with me, Bailey? Was it because you wanted to or was it to piss
off the Mayor and your precious football player?”
“I didn’t think you
were an asshole until now.” Leaning forward my elbows rested on the table
coming closer to him. He did the same appearing just as angry as I was. “And
you’re an asshole if you think I did this because of who my father is.”
Most of the restaurant
noticed our conversation and kept glancing at us. I wouldn’t say we were
shouting at each other but it was close.
“Fine.”
He threw his napkin down and finished his beer in one drink before slamming it
down. The sound made me jump. “I’ll take you back to your perfect life
tonight.” His hand flicked out as he threw his arm up. “Get up, let’s go.”
I looked at him like he
was crazy, maybe he was, and he looked at me like he was dead serious.
“Goddamn it, no!” I sat
back in defeat. “You’re an asshole, yes, but you’re the first damn asshole that
cared about what I wanted and what I had to say. So we are going to continue
this,” I motion around us, “whatever it is and keep driving. I’m not going back.”
I sounded like a child
and felt even more like one when I looked at him.
He watched me as I
tried to steady my breathing. Before I knew it, he was laughing.
“Why are you laughing
at me?”
A smile settled over
him. “You’re eyes light up with a fire I haven’t seen since we were kids when
you’re angry.”
Not that it was overly
funny but I started laughing as well. “Sorry I overreacted. You were right,
most girls would have put out by now.”
“But I’m glad,” he
paused, clearing his throat. “You didn’t, you know, put out for him. I mean,
shit, and this is incredibly awkward so I will be shutting up now.” With a
chuckle, he stopped talking. It was the only time I’d ever seen him scramble
for words.
Until our food came, we
continued with our game but moved past accusing and thoughts of leaving.
“Next question, that
question counted as two so you have eighteen left, make them count, asshole.”
Dylan tipped his head
my direction as if saying he agreed. “Okay, if you could go anywhere in the
world, where would you go?” he asked.
“Nebraska.”
“You’re kidding,
right?”
“No, I like Nebraska,
corn, farms, what’s not to like?”
Shaking his head with
an amused chuckle, he took another drink of his second beer just as our
steaming fajitas arrived.
We continued to
ask random questions throughout the meal when I got brave and asked about his
sexual past that I was dying to know about. Most girls at our school, and I
admit I was on that list, had dreamed about Dylan Wade and his rebel ways
controlling them.
Naturally, I wanted to
know what was true and what wasn’t. I also wanted some visuals for myself.
Dylan was sexy. Enough said. I wasn’t the first girl, good or not, to dream of
being bent over that GTO and manhandled a little.
“Is it true you had sex
with Haven Jennings on Mrs. Drake’s desk in detention?”
His eyes squinted at
me, his nose scrunched in what appeared to be disgust.
“Nope.”
I was pleased by his
response. Haven Jennings, wore a mostly black wardrobe, gothic makeup, was
creepy, and had so many piercings in her body she could be a sprinkler. She was
one of those girls you expected to start a cult and then sacrifice her body to
the higher power she believed in.
“What were your dad and
you arguing about before we left?”
Taking a tortilla from
the covered red bowl to my left, I scooped the mixture of steak and peppers
making a fajita. I took a bite and waited for him to answer.
Dylan licked hot sauce
from his thumb as he prepared his own fajita. “Pass.”
“You can’t say pass in
twenty questions.” I told him. “I think it’s some sort of rule.”
Another grin tugged at
his lips as if he was holding a secret. It reminded me of him being a kid and
teasing me. “Yes you can, brown eyes.”
“No, you can’t.” I
disagreed dipping my fajita in sour cream and trying not to smile. Savoring the
flavor, it’d been way too long since I last had something I enjoyed so much. My
diet at home consisted of chicken, vegetables and brown rice. If I never ate
brown rice again, it would be too soon. I’m not saying I didn’t have my own
stash of chocolate, because I did.
“In my version you
can.” By his clipped tone, I understood there would be no arguing this. “Play
it my way, or we don’t play it at all.”
Deciding not to push my
luck any further, I stopped pushing. After drenching him in beer, my luck
tonight was probably running on empty.
I never wanted to admit
it, but I had a spoiled brat type of attitude from time to time. Kind of, like
right now. I also understood in just the few hours with Dylan Wade that this
wouldn’t work for me if I wanted to continue on this trip with him. Dylan
didn’t put up with bratty shit.
When being bratty
didn’t work, I tried pouting. That didn’t work either.
Dylan chuckled at my
poor display and eventually I ended up laughing as well. Dylan had that type of
laugh. If you heard it, you laughed too.
We finished our meal,
Dylan paid like he insisted he would and we walked back to the hotel. Cars
passed and the nightlife around seemed to be in full force.
Couples held hands as
they passed while others walked side-by-side as if they were only friends, much
like us.
Were we friends now? I
had so many questions going through me but no answers. It was one of those
moments when I wanted to blurt out everything I had held in but I also didn’t
want to scare him away. I had a tendency to talk too much when I was nervous
and word vomit was its evil twin.
By the time we got back
to the hotel, I could barely keep my eyes open so we decided to get some sleep
and figure out where we wanted to go in the morning. I liked the idea of not
knowing where we would be tomorrow or the next day.
When looking at the
sleeping arrangement, I wasn’t tired any longer.
“I can sleep on the
floor,” he offered sensing my level of anxiety as the situation must have sky
rocketed as I brushed my teeth next to him in the tiny bathroom. When we stood
side by side, you could barely move let alone brush your teeth.
“If you promise not to
murder me in my sleep, I don’t mind sleeping next to you.” Not exactly sure why
but I really didn’t mind. I felt safe with Dylan. I feel like he would never
let anything bad happen to me. Most of all, I felt, with the lies that were now
reality for me, alone and Dylan being here with me was my only comfort.
“I don’t plan on
murdering you.” Dylan shrugged and put his toothbrush away in its container
before wiping the splashed water from the sink.
As I observed his
nightly routine, I was even more convinced that he had some sort of OCD
behavior. Everything had its place in his bag. I half expected it to be
labeled. It wasn’t.