Page 51 of I Want to Know What Love Is

“You can bet it’s not me. We are just friends and you can take that for truth.”

“I don’t have to take anything. It doesn’t matter, Dylan. Remember? We’re nothing to each other.”

“Right,” he says. “Except we are.” Now I really laugh.

“Touché.” We’re silent for a beat now, the stack of completed worksheets between us, a reminder of where we’re supposed to be and how far away from there we are. I clear my throat and stand, stuffing the papers into a desk drawer. “Time to go,” I say, then I grab my jacket and bag and come around the desk like I’m leaving. My heart pounds. He stands. I don’t want to leave. Tension grips me and my legs don’t move me any closer to the door. I cast around for something to say.

“Did I tell you I’m going to Gary’s wedding?” Why the hell did I tell him that, all casual as if we’re the best of friends and exchanging recipes? Because you’re enjoying being off the reservation with him Mandy. It may as well be my sister talking because it’s not my damn absentee conscience.

“What the fuck? Are you fucking serious? You’re going—” He stands.

“Yes. Skip the lecture. You sound like my sister, or worse, my mother.”

“Because they’re sane and you’re not. He doesn’t deserve your spit, let alone—” I raise my hands and laugh. “Stop, I’m going for closure and to silence the gossips, not for him.” His outrage shows in a deep scowl and fierce intensity in his eyes. He picks up his backpack and paces in a small circle. I suppress the smile that wants to pop because I shouldn’t be so happy at his outrage. That would make me an idiot. He stops pacing and turns to me.

“Are you taking Coach Ryan to the wedding?”

“No. I need to find a date to impress people, not depress them.” He laughs. “My sister and her husband are going. She’s a fan of yours, did you know? I bet she’d love to see you there.” I hold my breath and want to bite off my tongue. Turning away, I move to the door.

“I knew I liked your sister.” His smile is slow and sinister. He licks his lips. “But you can’t go alone, sha.”

“Stop calling me that. I can do whatever the hell I want. It’s not a big deal.” I have no idea why I’m lying my ass off except automatic habit. I hate being vulnerable, apparently even when it’s too late because that ship has sailed with Dylan. He’s uncovered my most vulnerable spot, my one dark horrible not-so-secret secret that I was jilted. At the fucking altar. One of those sorry clichés. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep all this to yourself. I don’t want it getting around that I… “ I can’t even say it out loud to him now, in a giant step backwards, as if admitting to him was jilted is news, as if the admission will make it any worse.

“Gary’s a fucking asshole and needs to be taught a lesson. Bringing a hunky date isn’t enough punishment for his assholery. He deserves to have his teeth punched through the back of his head until he can bite himself on his ass.”

A laugh bursts from me at the visual and it shouldn’t make me giggle, but who am I kidding? I have a bloodthirsty streak running strong and wide through me and I doubt Dylan would be surprised about it. Hell, he’s purposely teasing and stroking my blood lust as effectively as he does my lady-lust without even trying.

“I think I’d pay for that ticket.”

“Then I might have to show up—”

“Who says I’d invite you?”

“You get an A-plus in ball busting, but who says I want to be your date? I’d go as a wedding crasher and wear a mask. I’m not crazy enough to inflict violence in public without cover.”

“The ticket price just skyrocketed to see you in a mask.”

“All I need from you is assurance that the police won’t be called and I’ll be on that train to New York.” He’s grinning and we’re both enjoying the fantasy way too much, enjoying each other way too much. I glance at his lips, then catch myself and look away like I’m in fifth grade. Fuck him and his sensual draw. I reach for the door.

“Hell, I’ll call the police myself if you show up.” Bucket of cold water thrown. Too bad it doesn’t drench the fire in my panties. I’m already soaking wet there and the flames are climbing.

“When is it?” he asks, more serious than I like.

“What’s the matter? Didn’t Google tell you that detail?” He shrugs and smirks. It’s the weekend after his last regular season game and before the playoffs, the weekend after my pre-season and before my first regular season game. And he’s available.

“Whoa there, coach. You already aced ball-busting 101, no need for extra credit.”

“Whatever. I’ll have to be the one to inflict the appropriate punishment on Gary, but honestly…” I pause because it strikes me funny and I need to share it. “I don’t feel the need to punish him nearly as much as you seem to.” I shrug, not feeling casual, gripping the door handle like I’m trying to murder it as I try to stop the shakiness in my hand, and not to mention my gut, that has nothing to do with Gary and his public humiliation and betrayal of me. “I truly don’t care about Gary. Going to his wedding is… a gesture of closure. Maybe more for everyone else than me, so people stop walking on glass around me, worried that I’m about to throw myself off a bridge, afraid of asking me about my life and always worried about embarrassing me.”

“That would be misplaced,” he says. “Your life is perfect.” He’s not smirking, but he may as well be.

“What the fuck do you care anyway?” I say, realizing we’ve strayed way too far from casual conversation, well into dangerous, unrecognizable territory.

“Good question.” This time he shrugs, maybe he’s mocking me. “No answer.” He pauses, trapping me in his deep dark sensual stare. “But I do care. And I’m not going to pretend otherwise. Not with you.”

Boom. The curtain falls ,exposing him more dramatically and heart-stoppingly than if he’d dropped the towel that day in the locker room. He’s exposed his feelings wholly and bravely.

“That’s too bad,” I say and lick my lips. He nods. Then he takes a step closer.