“Hello,” Dylan answered in a hoarse, scratchy voice.
“Where are you?” Jasmine asked frantically. “I know you’re not always here, but I thought with the kids’ appointment this morning—”
“Oh, shit.” Dylan sprang out of bed. “So, so sorry, Jasmine. I completely blanked. I’ll be there in fifteen. I didn’t miss it, did I?”
“No, but you’re cutting it close.”
“Don’t worry. I got it.”
He’d found himself so distracted by wanting to ensure Kaiden had a good night out after everything that had happened, he spaced on his calendar events. It didn’t help that he spent half the night pining for two men who he wondered if he should’ve kissed or not.
Would he regret kissing them, or would he have regretted never kissing them? Dylan didn’t have time to dwell on what was or what might’ve been. He had to go.
Rus rustled awake as Dylan scrambled to get dressed.
“Damn,” Rus said with a gravelly rasp. “Everyone’s fleeing the apartment. Starting to get a complex.”
“It’s not that,” Dylan said with an awkward smile. “I have an appointment. Well, the teens have an appointment, and I’m their transportation.”
“Understood.”
“We’ll talk soon. About everything,” Dylan assured Rus. “Including the other fleeing, if you’re open to it.”
“You also thinking about how fast I scared Kaiden away?”
“You?” Dylan laughed. “Pretty sure it was me.”
“Nah, you’re his bestie. I’m just the creepy guy trying to mash faces with both of you.”
“Not at all.” Dylan smiled sincerely as the weight of anxiety lifted off him. “So, you did want to kiss both of us?”
“I mean, I basically initiated the make-out session. Well, you might’ve pushed for that, but I got us started.”
It seemed Rus held the same concerns, and maybe just maybe they were all in their head a little too deeply on last night’s events. A simple conversation could clear this all up.
Dylan checked his phone and slipped his shoes on. “Shit. Talk soon. Promise.”
Dylan rushed out of Rus’ apartment, driving home as quickly as he could. He’d completely spaced on the dental appointments. It was hard enough for Jasmine to balance appointments for twelve teens; she didn’t need the added stress of their transportation falling through.
When Dylan was a teen resident at Dorothy’s Home, seven was the max. Also, the home they had at the time wasn’t half as nice as the place Jasmine got a few years back. After ten years of rundown houses, with makeshift bedrooms made out of basements and walk-in closets, and sketchy neighborhoods, Jasmine finally got the funding to purchase a new home fully up to code and spacious enough to keep two teens to a room for a change.
Dylan could drive through the neighborhood a million times and still feel out of place in this suburban beauty. While he was proud Jasmine had gotten this place for the kids—for him too, as a staff resident—he often felt she’d brought them somewhere they didn’t belong. They were a Jenga piece being wedged into a scenic puzzle.
Speaking of out of place, the first thing Dylan spotted when he drove up to the house was a neighborly conversation between Jasmine and one of the suburban Karens who’d declared herselfthe self-appointed president of the non-existent HOA. She, like many of the suburban Karens, made it her goal to protect this neighborhood from outside threats. Despite living here, she never recognized Jasmine, Dylan, or any of the teens as members of her neighborhood.
Suburban Karen wore an unshapely dress that boxed away her slender frame. Almost as unshapely as her perfectly straightened blonde hair. It hung lifelessly, rocking back and forth between her shoulder blades. The heavy make-up she wore added a bit of color to her face but didn’t detract from her porcelain complexion.
“Afternoon, ladies.” Dylan’s cheeks strained as he forced a smile. Few people got under his skin, finding it easy to ignore jerks, but something about Suburban Karen’s antagonistic persistence wore on Dylan.
“Glad you’re here,” Jasmine said with a strained smile of her own. “They’re inside.”
“Can you please pay attention when I speak to you?” Suburban Karen asked, snapping her fingers in Jasmine’s face.
The sudden shift in Jasmine’s demeanor was obvious. All the same, aside from an aggressive stare, she did her best to curb her anger for the insulting finger snap.
“Someone is running around this neighborhood vandalizing homes, destroying private property, and—”
“And that sounds like something that doesn’t concern me or my children.”
