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My heart wanted to saythank you.
For being kind.
For trying to understand the things he never could but trying anyway.
For giving me the normal relationship I'd been craving.
For countless things that beating organ was saying all at once in a discombobulated mess of thumps and patters and beats.
But my lips won the race and instead replied, “You know … you still haven't shown me your house.”
His brows lifted slowly before he turned his head, only steering his gaze from the road long enough to see if I was serious.
I was.
“I thought you wanted to go home.”
“Yeah, I did,” I said, covering his hand with mine. “But I decided, right now, I'd rather be with you instead.”
***
Me: I slept with someone else tonight for the first time since being with you. I'm actually WITH this guy, and believe it or not, we actually waited MONTHS to sleep together. And you know what? It was wonderful. It was lovely. He was sweet and attentive, and afterward? We cuddled. We cuddled for hours and watched a movie and ordered McDonald's at two in the morning because we were starving and it was PERFECT. It was the most perfect first time I'd ever had with a boyfriend, and I know I will remember it that way forever. But then why am I right now sitting in his bathroom, sobbing like a fucking idiot? No, fuck that. I know why. Because he's not Y—
With tears blurring my vision, I slammed my thumb down against the backspace button and let the message of confessional word vomit fade to nothing. Then, I stood from the toilet, wearing only my Iron Maiden T-shirt, to face the sink.
With the faucet on and cool water splashed against my face, I sniffled, wiped the tears from my eyes, and leaned over to peer into the medicine cabinet mirror.
I looked like shit.
Even without knowing how red my eyes were, I knew I looked awful.
Peter had been sleeping when I tiptoed into the bathroom, but just in case he was awake when I returned, I had to pull myself together.
But how was I supposed to do that when every time I tried to go to sleep, all I could think about was everything I missed?
Plonking down against the toilet seat once more, I dropped my head in my hands, raked my fingers through my hair, and relived the hour I’d spent opening my body to the middle school jock I’d once had a crush on but who had turned into the great man sleeping in the adjacent room.
It had been everything I’d ever wanted.
Sweet. Attentive. Perfect.
No. Scratch that. It hadn’t been perfect. Perfect didn’t warrant thoughts like these. But it had been everything else, and it had been nice. Lovely even.
But, dammit, being with Dylan had been something else entirely. A type of lust-driven passion I had never experienced before.
With Peter, there had been no fervor. No greed. No scratching or biting or bruising kisses against desperate lips.
And now, sitting on a toilet in a bathroom that was impressively clean for a bachelor nearing middle age, I was afraid I’d never feel that type of passion again. I was absolutely and shamefully terrified that sweet and attentive were as good as it was ever going to get from this point on. The thought bored me to tears when, up until now, I’d been convinced that it was all I had ever wanted.
But itiswhat I want, I screamed internally, tipping my head back to look at the ceiling.I want this. I want the nice house in a nice neighborhood and the nice man to come home to me every single day, who is always in my corner.Always.
The internal pep talk rang true and deep as I closed my eyes and inhaled the calm I’d been desperately seeking since entering the bathroom. I exhaled my worry and paranoia, laughing quietly at myself for even allowing Dylan to enter my mind at all. And then I left the bathroom to tiptoe back to bed and fall asleep in the arms of a boyfriend who made up for his lack of passion with a sweetness I had always craved.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dylan
“Dilly, you wanna reach those breadcrumbs for me?”
