Page 84 of Wilder Love

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Dylan had this way of making me laugh and two seconds later, he’d say something that made me want to cry. I prodded him with more questions, but he was done talking. He’d used up his maximum word count for the evening and remained tight-lipped when I pressed for more information.

Dylan and I ordered pizza and started watching a movie—Black Panther. We set the pizza on the coffee table and ate it straight out of the box, not even bothering with plates. “That kitchen is just for show, isn’t it?”

“It came with the house.”

I laughed. Dylan texted throughout the movie and I went down the rabbithole, reading reviews on Bastian’s new album. Rolling Stone called it “sparsely arranged, largely acoustic, and haunting…Blue Ghostshows clear-eyed, uncompromising strength in one of the most fragile-sounding sets he’s ever made…. the songs address loss, letting go, and moving on…”

That’s the beauty of music and lyrics. People can interpret the songs any way they want and inject their own meaning.

The doorbell rang as the credits on the movie were rolling. Dylan and I exchanged a look. “Expecting someone?” I set my wine glass on the coffee table and got to my feet.

Dylan checked his phone as if he needed confirmation. “No.”

I elbowed him out of the way, trying to get to the door before him. Zero chill on my end. I knew who was on the other side of that door. “I’ll get it.”

Dylan was right beside me, a personal bodyguard ready to defend me from intruders. I opened the door and arched a brow, my cool composure the complete opposite of the butterflies invading my stomach. Dylan retreated, but he was still right behind me. “Hey Shane. Just in the neighborhood?”

He leaned against the doorframe and ran both of his hands through his hair, chuckling under his breath. It looked as if someone’s hands had been running through it all night long. His hair was just rolled out of bed after sex messy and his hazel eyes were glossy, bloodshot drunk. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Hey Remy,” a guy called, dragging my attention away from drunk Shane to the Prius idling in the driveway. A guy with a brown man bun hung out the open window of the backseat and waved.

“Oz,” I said, his name finally coming to me. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“All good. You’ve got my boy, Shane?”

I let out a sigh. “Yeah, I’ve got him.”

“Good deal.” He gave me the peace sign and I watched the Prius back out of the driveway then turned my attention to Shane who had somehow stumbled into the Bougainvillea next to the front doorstep when I’d taken my eyes off him.

“Oh shit.” He got to his feet, rubbing the scratches on his arm, and glared at the innocent plant as if it had attacked him. Dylan was laughing, and I shot him a look that made him laugh harder. Grabbing Shane’s arm, I dragged him inside and slammed the door closed behind him.

“Hi Firefly.” He gave me the sweetest smile and tugged a lock of my hair. Adorable drunk Shane had come out to play. “I could use a drink.”

“Catch you later,” Dylan said, heading toward the garage.

“You’re going out?” I called after him.

“I have plans.”

I didn’t think that was true, but he left quickly, and in true Dylan fashion he didn’t waste his breath on greetings or goodbyes. Neither did Shane who had stumbled to the kitchen and was banging around the cupboards.

“Where’s the liquor?” he asked, slamming another cupboard shut.

I grabbed him a bottle of water from the refrigerator and pressed it into his hand. His brow furrowed, and I tried not to notice how adorable he looked with his disheveled hair and the puzzled look on his face like he’d never seen a bottle of water before. I reminded myself that I was mad at him and he was drunk.

Was I mad at him? I wasn’t even sure anymore. Our relationship was in ruins. A total disaster. How naïve of me to think I could come back here and find a way to make things better.

“Water?”

“You love water,” I said, picking up my glass of wine from the coffee table on our way out to the patio with him close on my heels. My palms were starting to sweat, and I needed something to do with my hands. Like slide them under his T-shirt and run them over his smooth golden skin and six-pack abs.

No. I didn’t want to do that.

I flicked on the pool lights and dimmed the living room lights. Mood lighting, for what I wasn’t sure. Shane plopped down on one of the patio sofas and propped his feet on the table. I sat on the sofa cate-corner to him. Getting too close seemed like a bad idea. He stared at the vines twisted in the rafters and the Moroccan lanterns hanging above our heads then out at the pool before his eyes found me. “Nice place.”

“Yeah. I can’t believe this is Dylan’s life. It’s so different from the way we grew up.” But then, I didn’t need to tell Shane. He was one of the few people who knew that. He had been there, and he had seen it all.

“You’re so far away. Come closer.” He patted the seat next to him then his lap. “This’d be better.”