I shake my head, wiping under my eyes. “I can’t believe I’m crying in the quiet section.”
He sucks his teeth. “First of all, this place isaggressivelyquiet. Let’s call it emotional manipulation. You could sneeze, and old Greta at the front desk would glare at you like you committed tax fraud.”
Another laugh bubbles from me, not sounding as wet as it did before. “Her name isRebecca.”
“That’s what I said,” he waves a hand before resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his head. “Okay, Melody. Give it to me straight. On a scale of ‘he forgot my birthday’ to ‘he started a cult and drank the Kool-Aid’, how bad are we talking?”
My mood dies down a little as I rest back in my chair. I haven’t told anyone a single word about this. Not even Kodi.
“He lied to me about who he was,” I say as I rub the hem of my shirt between my fingers. “I ended things because I thought he was different, but it was all a lie.”
“Okay…” he says carefully. “That feels like it skipped past the birthday thing and landed somewhere along the lines of a professional gaslighter.”
I exhale sharply, staring down at the floor between our shoes. “I just…wanted him to be who I thought he was.”
“Of course you did,” he nudges my tennis shoes with his. “You don’t date someone hoping they’re secretly a villain.”
I snort, feeling the lightest I have in months. “I don’t know. I do like fictional villains.”
Dylan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because they’re morally grey and broody with lots of money. Real-life villains are guys named Kyle who live with their mom and punch holes in drywall any time they get angry.”
I laugh, my tears slowly drying up.
Dylan smiles softly before continuing with a gentle tone. “Did you find out something specific, or was it like the mask slipped?”
I consider his question before wincing. “Both…”
His eyes widen. “Both? Talk about an emotional body slam.” He swallows, frowning at the table. “You don’t have to give me specifics, you know? If you just want to vent, that’s totally fine. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
For the first time in a long time, a genuine smile tugs at my lips. Dylan isn’t coming on to me or expecting anything in return. He’s here to listen, and after a year of radio silence, that’s extra points in my book.
Chapter thirty-seven
Melody
Two Months Later
“You’retoodrunktowalk home,” Dylan muses as I stagger out of the bar. We met up with some of his classmates from his business lecture, and they convinced me to take shots.
Mistake number one of the night.
Mistake number two was trying a Mai Tai for the first time and downing it like I was racing everyone else at the table. I’m definitely a lightweight.
“Just…put me in an Uber,” I wave a hand, using the wall as support.
He sighs, putting his hands on his sides as he tilts his head. “Now, Ms. Melody, what kind of friend would I be if I allowed you to get into a stranger’s car without making sure you got to the dorms safely?”
I pinch his lips between my fingers, my eyes squinting at the throbbing headache forming in my temples. “You’re soloud.”
He pushes my wrist away lightly, beaming down at me. “Okay, you’re getting the Dylan special.”
“Dylan special? Do you do a little twirl—DYLAN!” I shout as he lifts me into his arms. My hands wrap around his neck as he carries me down the sidewalk with an unwavering stride.
“I can twirl if you’d like?” He suggests. “You may hurl, though.”
“No twirling,” I groan.
He chuckles as I rest my head against his shoulder. His smell isn’t the same as the one I was conditioned to love, but it’s still warm and masculine with a hint of spice behind it. It isn’t bad.
