Dylan nodded into his chest. They’d never been together for more than eighteen hours straight. She was desperate to find out what happened in hour nineteen. A small tear escaped from her eye onto his black shirt, which was hot and slightly damp from sweating inside the bar. She wanted to know more. About him. About herself. About all this that they did together.
Her heart rose and fell as she waited for him to speak.
“I’m going to take you to Maui.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DYLAN—BEFORE
Dylan pushed her front door open and flipped on the lights as she walked inside.
“Where have you been?”
Dylan jumped at the sound of Nick’s voice. “You scared the shit out of me! What are you doing here?” She put her purse on the kitchen counter and poured herself a glass of water. She needed to buy some time, calm down. She’d worried about this moment for so long, him finding out about the affair. That had to be why he was here. He knew.
“I texted you and called. I was worried. Briana let me in and said I could wait.” He pointed to her roommate’s closed bedroom door.
Thanks a lot, Briana. That girl had never liked her.
Dylan’s heart was beating so fast she was sure Nick could see it. He was supposed to be at the station. She had gotten his calls and texts, but she knew if she responded, he’d have questions. He always had so many questions: Where was she? Who was she with? What was she wearing?
“I’m sorry, my battery died.” She said the first thing that came to mind, hoping he wouldn’t ask her to prove it.
“You look pretty.”
She relaxed slightly. Maybe he wasn’t suspicious. Maybe he simply got off his shift early and came over to surprise her. She had been listening to a talk radio show a while back—the host had asserted that cheaters often read things into their partner’s behavior because they felt guilty. Maybe that was all this was.
“Thanks.” Dylan walked over and perched on the edge of the couch, hoping the perfume she sprayed in the cab was masking the smell of stale cigarettes from the bar. It had become a habit to carry a tiny bottle of Ralph Lauren Romance and a toothbrush and toothpaste with her so she could clean herself up before she went back to her real life. Just in case.
Nick reached out and fingered her dress made from cotton so soft that James couldn’t stop touching it earlier. She’d found it on the 75-percent-off rack at Macy’s. And when she’d surveyed herself in the dressing room mirror, she’d thought of James, not Nick. She knew his wife could afford much nicer clothes. And she hoped she looked sexy, not cheap. She had turned so she could see the way the fabric grabbed her curves. Would James like it? Would this little black dress be enough to keep him interested?
“Why don’t you get all dolled up like that for me?” Nick asked.
So he wasn’t going to let it go.
“I do, babe,” Dylan said sweetly. “But I thought you liked it better when I didn’t have anything on at all.” She stroked his arm and smiled. Maybe they could take this to her bedroom and he’d forget. She tugged on his arm to get him to stand up, but he didn’t move.
Silently, he gave her a once-over. He started with her face, taking in her minimal makeup, just mascara; her nails (she was in desperate need of a manicure, but couldn’t afford one this week); and her slightly scuffed strappy wedges that he’d seen dozens of times before. She knew she looked good, but not too good. She was always careful not to try too hard with James. She didn’t want to reek of desperation. She waited for Nick to speak. She wasn’t going to say more until he did.
“So where were you?”
Keep it simple, Dylan. Stick to the plan.
“I went out with my old friend Katie.” Lie number two. But it was the alibi she’d come up with in case she ever needed to explain herself. For the first few months, she’d been careless. But then she’d heard that radio show. Someone had called in and said cheaters don’t get caught if they’re smart. And one of the examples was to have a cover story. So Dylan had asked her childhood friend, Katie, who had recently moved from Phoenix to Orange County, if she’d cover for her if it ever came to it. “But it won’t,” Dylan had said, laughing. “Don’t worry.”
Even though Katie had said she was fine with it, Dylan had thought she could hear hesitation in her friend’s voice. She was married with two young children. Dylan wondered if she was silently judging her or if Dylan was projecting because she constantly judged herself. She hated to put Katie in this position. But she didn’t have any other options. Nick knew the few friends she had—most of them from the restaurant—and her other roommates, Grace and Natalie. She knew Nick was resourceful and could follow up with any of them if he were suspicious. But he’d never met Katie and had no way to contact her. Not that he would. She’d given him no reason not to trust her. That he knew of.
Her mind was spinning. She needed to calm down. He didn’t know anything.
“Come here,” he said, pulling her down on his lap. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Dylan said, using the back of her hand to wipe away any remaining trace of James’s lips before nuzzling Nick. Another lie. Tonight, she hadn’t missed him. She’d been too intoxicated by James. And once he said he’d take her away for a vacation, she could think of nothing else. That was big. And it had to mean something. The more he risked, the more secure Dylan felt.
“Hey, Dyl?” Nick said, kissing her neck.
“Yeah?” Dylan answered, her skin tingling from his touch. She had wanted James so badly tonight, and there hadn’t been anywhere to go. They’d once done it in the back of his car, and she’d felt so cheap afterward that she vowed never to do that again. But now, sitting on Nick’s lap as she felt him get aroused, she was getting aroused too. Would it be the worst thing if she had sex with Nick and imagined James?
“Let’s invite Katie out to dinner. I’d really love to meet her.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
JACKS—AFTER
I have a new appreciation for people who use public transportation.
The city bus lurches forward, and I reach for the pole, trying not to think about the millions of tiny germs that speckle the metal. The people those germs came from. What they may have been into. I draw in a deep breath and push the frantic thoughts from my mind. This happens a lot since James died. Being caught up in my own crazy mind. Part of me hates it. But there’s another part that finds comfort in being scared. Like my fear is the only thing that makes sense anymore.
The bus stops again, and several people make their way on and off. The smell of an egg salad sandwich hits me hard as I push my way toward the back to make room for the new passengers and end up face-to-face with a woman bouncing a baby girl on her lap. The scent seems to weave in and out of my nostrils like a snake. Each time I graduate from a short, shallow breath—which reduces the putrid odor—to a deeper one, the smell wades back, making me wonder if I had imagined its absence.
I still can’t bring myself to drive. I tried again this morning, feeling overwhelmed after I realized I’d have to take three different buses to get to Irvine. I held my car keys, turning the fob over and over in my palm, trying not to let my anxiety win. But now, as I reach into my purse and squeeze out a large gob of hand sanitizer, rubbing the solution into every crease in my fingers, I understand that for now, the anxiety is victorious.
It takes me a moment to get my bearings when I step off bus number three. I punch in Nick’s address on my phone and watch as the map opens up on the screen. I begin to follow the squiggly line, the dot moving as I edge forward. If I stare at that dot, I’ll keep moving. Closer to Nick. And Nick will help me find answers.