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He took one last look into my eyes and leaned in toward my ear.
“You’re going to undo me,” he huskily whispered, rubbing his lips below my earlobe, causing tingles everywhere.
“And I’m going to let you.”
9
Aubrey
A few months had passed and spring was finally here.
Dylan and I were officially dating, spending every second we could with each other. We seemed to learn something new about one another with each passing day. It was interesting to peel back the different layers that made Dylan McGraw.
What made him happy, what made him smile, what made him laugh.
My personal favorite…
What pissed him off, which was pretty much everything. The boy had the temper of a two year old, making it known what he liked, what he tolerated, and what would make him flip the fuck out.
Alex was his Achilles heel, and I felt bad for whomever that girl fell in love with because those boys were going to tear him a new asshole. Never thinking it was one of their own.
The boys were more like brothers than friends. I had never seen a bond like that before. A brotherhood. They were all extensions of one another, and I often felt like I was dating a bit of all of them with the way they acted when they were all together.
His parents were his relationship role models, and I realized that on our first date when we danced under the stars on his parents’ sailboat. Moments after he shared how he watched them from afar, dancing to the same blues beat that surrounded us that night.
Then there was me…
McGraw was like Jekyll and Hyde. Acting one way when it was just us and another when people were around. It didn’t matter who it was. That icy prick demeanor immediately lifted around him as if he was the gasoline that lit his own flame. But when we were alone, he was very charming. He loved to cuddle with me and have his hair played with or his back scratched. Pretty much anything that involved my hands on him, he loved. He was extremely bright, knew all sorts of random facts about anything and everything. He enjoyed watching the news, Discovery or History channel, saying it was good to know what was going on in the world, to be prepared. He hated the unexpected.
He had to be in control.
His dad taught him how to use a gun for the first time when he was five. He told him he would rather Dylan know what it was and the power it had, than to be a curious little boy and hurt himself. It wasn’t a toy. It was protection. Dylan could shoot within the bull’s eye at a hundred yards without batting an eye. When I told him that guns scared me, he simply stated,
“Best way to stop a bad guy with a gun, is with a good guy with a gun.”
The more I was around him, the more I wanted to be around him. He made me feel safe, and for the first time in a long time I wasn’t lonely anymore. I once read that some people are born lonely, like it’s this predisposition like your hair color, or your eye color, something we couldn’t control. Something we couldn’t understand.
It was just there.
I often felt I was one of those people, born to be alone in life. But when McGraw was around, the anxiety that I felt deep within my bones that strengthened over time, would disappear like it was never there to begin with.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we drove out of Oak Island.
“To the moon,” he said with a dead-serious face.
He loved to surprise me with all sorts of stuff. Bringing me flowers every few weeks when the others had died became part of his routine. When I called him out on it he simply said, “I like to see you smile.”
“South Port.”
“Why are we going to town?”
“Why is the sky blue, suga’?”
He reached over and grabbed my hand, placing it in his lap. Every time we were in his Jeep my hand was sitting pretty on his thigh. He’d rub his fingers back and forth on the palm of my hand or sometimes he would tap to the beat of the music.
His hands were always on me in one way or another. At times it was subtle, his arm on the back of my chair, rubbing my shoulder with his thumb. Or when we were deep in discussion, he would play with the ends of my hair, listening to every word that came out of my mouth with an intense stare. Or he would draw pictures on my arm with his finger and make me guess what it was, making me miss his touch when we weren’t together.
The boys loved to play pool at Half-Pint’s parents’ restaurant. Alex and I would sit and watch, laughing at their ridiculous egos on who would kick whose ass. Dylan would stand by me waiting his turn, rubbing the back of my neck, right at the nook by the hairline. I would often catch the boys looking over with amused expressions on their faces.
