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Authors: Sloan Johnson
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s of my bizarre evening return to me. I lightly run my fingers down the side of my nose, noting that getting my first piercing wasn’t a dream. My aching feet remind me of the ridiculous outfit Holly insisted I wear to Leather & Lace night. I can only assume the other images flooding my mind actually happened as well. The diner. Locked out of my house. Dylan being the consummate gentleman. Dylan refusing my advances.
Mortified that I put myself out there like that, I lean against the headboard and bury my face in my hands. What in the world does he think of me? Between the way my friends hovered over me as if I am an incompetent charity case, my incessant rambling, and then throwing myself at him like a desperate whore, I can’t imagine it is anything good.
“Good morning, P recious,” Dylan says softly as he pads into the room. I risk a glance through my splayed fingers and see him standing in front of me wearing nothing but a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips. Last night, I could have blamed the alcohol for my nether regions coming to life at the sight of him, but I don’t have that excuse this morning. No, it’s him. Just the sight of him that brings parts of me to life I had long ago forgotten existed.
I slide down in the bed, yanking the white down comforter over my head. I know what I look like first thing in the morning and it’s not pretty. When I feel the edge of the bed dip, I resist the urge to look, not wanting to see that I am once again in the same bed as a man who doesn’t want me.
Dylan laughs as he pulls back the top of the bedding. “Come on, lazy bones. It’s almost noon. Time to get up and enjoy the day.” I barely have time to react as he leans over to give me a peck on the cheek. While I am glad he doesn’t try to kiss me on the lips with the morning breath I know I must have, I can’t help feeling rejected yet again when he doesn’t even try.
I roll to the opposite side of the bed and pull down Dylan’s t-shirt in an attempt to make sure I’m not giving him a show. “I need to call Holly and get my purse,” I remind him.
Maybe it is my lack of experience, perhaps the fact that my brain is still on overload but Dylan confuses the bejesus out of me. He made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t going to sleep with me; he treated me like a buddy when he woke me up, and yet he just made it sound as if we are going to spend the day doing who knows what. “Mixed signals” is an understatement when it comes to this man.
Dylan drops a shopping bag at the foot of the bed. “Here, I went and picked up a few things so you didn’t have to wear that god-awful outfit you had on last night.”
Lo oking through the bag, I wonder how he managed to get everything in the correct size. “You didn’t have to do that. As soon as I talk to Holly, I’ll head over to her place and then go home.” As soon as the words pass my lips, I realize how ungrateful I sound. I blame Nick. He never did anything without an ulterior motive, so it’s natural that I would suspect Dylan is up to something as well. Right? “I’m sorry, Dylan. That was very kind of you.”
He wraps his arms around me as he pulls me down so I am sitting on the bed next to him. “I told you last night, I take care of what’s mine.” My stomach turns at the possessive statement.
So far, Dylan seems to be nearly perfect, but his flaws are the type that classify as deal breakers in my mind, starting with this delusion of claiming me as “his.” Even if, by some freak chance, we are together for years to come, I will never be his in the way he is implying. The idea of being with him is starting to feel like ownership rather than the possibility of companionship.
“And I seem to remember telling you last night that I’m not yours.” The moment I turn to look at him so he can see that I am dead serious, I know it is a mistake. The rich coffee color of his eyes melts my resolve to stand my ground on this issue. If it even
Mortified that I put myself out there like that, I lean against the headboard and bury my face in my hands. What in the world does he think of me? Between the way my friends hovered over me as if I am an incompetent charity case, my incessant rambling, and then throwing myself at him like a desperate whore, I can’t imagine it is anything good.
“Good morning, P recious,” Dylan says softly as he pads into the room. I risk a glance through my splayed fingers and see him standing in front of me wearing nothing but a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips. Last night, I could have blamed the alcohol for my nether regions coming to life at the sight of him, but I don’t have that excuse this morning. No, it’s him. Just the sight of him that brings parts of me to life I had long ago forgotten existed.
I slide down in the bed, yanking the white down comforter over my head. I know what I look like first thing in the morning and it’s not pretty. When I feel the edge of the bed dip, I resist the urge to look, not wanting to see that I am once again in the same bed as a man who doesn’t want me.
Dylan laughs as he pulls back the top of the bedding. “Come on, lazy bones. It’s almost noon. Time to get up and enjoy the day.” I barely have time to react as he leans over to give me a peck on the cheek. While I am glad he doesn’t try to kiss me on the lips with the morning breath I know I must have, I can’t help feeling rejected yet again when he doesn’t even try.
I roll to the opposite side of the bed and pull down Dylan’s t-shirt in an attempt to make sure I’m not giving him a show. “I need to call Holly and get my purse,” I remind him.
Maybe it is my lack of experience, perhaps the fact that my brain is still on overload but Dylan confuses the bejesus out of me. He made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t going to sleep with me; he treated me like a buddy when he woke me up, and yet he just made it sound as if we are going to spend the day doing who knows what. “Mixed signals” is an understatement when it comes to this man.
Dylan drops a shopping bag at the foot of the bed. “Here, I went and picked up a few things so you didn’t have to wear that god-awful outfit you had on last night.”
Lo oking through the bag, I wonder how he managed to get everything in the correct size. “You didn’t have to do that. As soon as I talk to Holly, I’ll head over to her place and then go home.” As soon as the words pass my lips, I realize how ungrateful I sound. I blame Nick. He never did anything without an ulterior motive, so it’s natural that I would suspect Dylan is up to something as well. Right? “I’m sorry, Dylan. That was very kind of you.”
He wraps his arms around me as he pulls me down so I am sitting on the bed next to him. “I told you last night, I take care of what’s mine.” My stomach turns at the possessive statement.
So far, Dylan seems to be nearly perfect, but his flaws are the type that classify as deal breakers in my mind, starting with this delusion of claiming me as “his.” Even if, by some freak chance, we are together for years to come, I will never be his in the way he is implying. The idea of being with him is starting to feel like ownership rather than the possibility of companionship.
“And I seem to remember telling you last night that I’m not yours.” The moment I turn to look at him so he can see that I am dead serious, I know it is a mistake. The rich coffee color of his eyes melts my resolve to stand my ground on this issue. If it even
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