Page 101 of Sweet Chaos

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I felt him. He was here. In this crazy, beautiful city of Hanoi with its French colonial architecture and smiling, friendly people and the Vietnamese street food I couldn’t get enough of. Made evident by the pho, spring rolls, and dumplings Oscar and I had just stuffed our faces with.

I looked across the street at the yellow façade of the small, slightly shabby, cheap hostel where I’d been staying for the past three months, and there he was. I saw him through the glass doors, his back turned to me. But I’d know him anywhere.

It was him. My mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. I felt him. The hairs on my arms stood on end and all the air was sucked out of my lungs.

“Keep walking.” I grabbed Oscar’s arm and dragged him down the street, turning my back to our hostel. Over the past three months, Oscar and I had bonded over our hopeless love lives, 80s movies, and debatable fashion sense. Today he was sporting a sarong with a tank top I’d designed and a man bun.

“What is wrong with you, girl? I need a siesta.”

“It’s… we can’t go in there.” I wasn’t thinking clearly. I released his arm and tried to breathe. “Actually, you can go in there. But I can’t.”

“Does this have anything to do with a hot, tattooed guy?” Oscar said slowly, his eyes widening as he watched something—orsomeone—over my shoulder. “Oh my God,” he said in a stage whisper. “It’s him.”

I should have never shown Dylan’s picture to Oscar. Now he was gawking. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to rein in my racing pulse. When I opened my eyes, Dylan was standing right in front of me, his eyes roaming my face and body while I did the same to him. He looked the same. Dark hair messy and disheveled. Scruff on his jaw. In a plain white T-shirt and faded denim. My eyes stopped at the Old Skool Vans on his feet then returned to his face. It was so strange to see him here. Out of our normal environment.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Why the hell do you think I’m here?” He scowled, his gaze drifting to the narrow tree-lined street I lived on--no wider than the alley I used to walk to work on--as approximately one thousand motorbikes flew past. Every time you crossed a street in Hanoi, you took your life in your hands and prayed for the best. There was no such thing as traffic rules or stopping for pedestrians. It was survival of the fittest out there. I bet this was Dylan’s personal hell. Too loud, too many people, too crowded. “I’m here for you.”

“Dylan… I told you…”

He wrapped his hands around my upper arms. His warm, calloused palms on my bare skin, his nearness, the scent and heat of his body, made me dizzy. “Tell me you don’t love me, Starlet.

“Starlet. Swoon,” Oscar said, reminding me that he was still here, watching this play out like a bad 80s romcom. He put his hand over his heart and patted it a few times. “This is so romantic.” I glared at him. “What? I’m just all up in my feels.” He held up his hands. “Fine. I can take a hint.”

Oscar darted across the street, dodging the oncoming traffic and my eyes returned to Dylan. Now it was just the two of us in our own little bubble on a busy street in a foreign city so far from home. How did we end up here? Standing on a sidewalk in front of a Vietnamese mini-mart in the middle of Hanoi?

For a few long moments, we just stared at each other.

Dylan's penetrating gaze was focused solely on me. “Tell me,” he repeated. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me, I’ll leave.”

I looked him in the eye and opened my mouth, but no words came out. I cleared my throat. Words. I needed words. He smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

“This has nothing to do with not loving you.” I pulled away and took a few steps back, putting distance between us, my hands rubbing my upper arms where his hands had just been.

Dylan crossed his arms over his broad chest. Oh God, he looked so good. I wanted to throw myself in his arms and never let him go.

“Nothing short of you not loving me is going to keep me away.”

Dylan grabbed my arm and strode across the street, his body shielding me from oncoming traffic, not the least bit concerned about the motorbikes that were forced to go around him. He led me through the glass doors of the hostel, and across the black and white tiled lobby that smelled like bleach. He stopped in front of the elevator and punched the button, the traitorous doors opening immediately. Ushering me inside, he pressed the button for the fourth floor. How did he know my room number? “Dylan… we can’t…”

“Don’t tell me what we can’t do. I traveled halfway across the world for you. And I’m not fucking going anywhere until we talk this through.”

“I’m not having sex with you.” As soon as the words were out, I wanted to punch myself. Filters, Scarlett. What the hell. I was just putting ideas into his head.

Dylan snorted. “We’ll see about that, Mother Teresa. I’ve been living like a fucking monk.”

“Oh. So… you haven’t hooked up with anyone?” I asked as the elevator doors opened and he stepped out, taking a right as if he knew exactly where he was going.

Wrong way, Romeo.

He checked the room numbers and figured out his mistake quickly, doubling back and passing me. I stared at his back. He stopped outside the room I shared with Georgia who was also a volunteer and looked over his shoulder at me. “You planning to open it, or do I need to kick it in?”

With a sigh, I met him outside the door and unlocked it before the Neanderthal made good on his promise. Wouldn’t put it past him.

“In answer to your question, no. There’s been nobody. You?”

I shook my head. “No.”