rice again, it would be too soon. I’m not saying I didn’t have my own
stash of chocolate, because I did.
“In my version you
can.” By his clipped tone, I understood there would be no arguing this. “Play
it my way, or we don’t play it at all.”
Deciding not to push my
luck any further, I stopped pushing. After drenching him in beer, my luck
tonight was probably running on empty.
I never wanted to admit
it, but I had a spoiled brat type of attitude from time to time. Kind of, like
right now. I also understood in just the few hours with Dylan Wade that this
wouldn’t work for me if I wanted to continue on this trip with him. Dylan
didn’t put up with bratty shit.
When being bratty
didn’t work, I tried pouting. That didn’t work either.
Dylan chuckled at my
poor display and eventually I ended up laughing as well. Dylan had that type of
laugh. If you heard it, you laughed too.
We finished our meal,
Dylan paid like he insisted he would and we walked back to the hotel. Cars
passed and the nightlife around seemed to be in full force.
Couples held hands as
they passed while others walked side-by-side as if they were only friends, much
like us.
Were we friends now? I
had so many questions going through me but no answers. It was one of those
moments when I wanted to blurt out everything I had held in but I also didn’t
want to scare him away. I had a tendency to talk too much when I was nervous
and word vomit was its evil twin.
By the time we got back
to the hotel, I could barely keep my eyes open so we decided to get some sleep
and figure out where we wanted to go in the morning. I liked the idea of not
knowing where we would be tomorrow or the next day.
When looking at the
sleeping arrangement, I wasn’t tired any longer.
“I can sleep on the
floor,” he offered sensing my level of anxiety as the situation must have sky
rocketed as I brushed my teeth next to him in the tiny bathroom. When we stood
side by side, you could barely move let alone brush your teeth.
“If you promise not to
murder me in my sleep, I don’t mind sleeping next to you.” Not exactly sure why
but I really didn’t mind. I felt safe with Dylan. I feel like he would never
let anything bad happen to me. Most of all, I felt, with the lies that were now
reality for me, alone and Dylan being here with me was my only comfort.
“I don’t plan on
murdering you.” Dylan shrugged and put his toothbrush away in its container
before wiping the splashed water from the sink.
As I observed his
nightly routine, I was even more convinced that he had some sort of OCD
behavior. Everything had its place in his bag. I half expected it to be
labeled. It wasn’t.
As soon as we got back
from the restaurant, he had stripped his beer stained t-shirt off and threw it
away, confirming my OCD theory yet again. I wanted to ask him about it but I
didn’t want to offend him. My little brother was the same way about cleanliness
and organization and I found it somewhat cute how methodical he was about
everything―both Dylan and Jeb.
Part of me missed Jeb
and hoped that he was doing all right. He was a good kid and I hated to see him
take any crap for my decisions. My dad was always hard on him and I think Jeb
was perfect because he felt he had to be not because he wanted to
be. What thirteen-year-old wanted to do everything their parents told them to
do? None that I know.
Once we were in bed, we
both seemed to lay there watching the ceiling not looking at each other, as if
it were a movie. Breaking the silence, the air conditioner kicked on again
drowning out the buzzing neon open sign that lit the room with a green tint.
When it kicked off,
Dylan rolled facing me propping himself up on his elbow. “I didn’t get to
finish my questions.”
I chuckled a little
because I knew how this is going to end. One of us was going to be offended by
a question, throw a fit and once again, we wouldn’t finish this silly game.
“Okay but I get to ask
mine
stash of chocolate, because I did.
“In my version you
can.” By his clipped tone, I understood there would be no arguing this. “Play
it my way, or we don’t play it at all.”
Deciding not to push my
luck any further, I stopped pushing. After drenching him in beer, my luck
tonight was probably running on empty.
I never wanted to admit
it, but I had a spoiled brat type of attitude from time to time. Kind of, like
right now. I also understood in just the few hours with Dylan Wade that this
wouldn’t work for me if I wanted to continue on this trip with him. Dylan
didn’t put up with bratty shit.
When being bratty
didn’t work, I tried pouting. That didn’t work either.
Dylan chuckled at my
poor display and eventually I ended up laughing as well. Dylan had that type of
laugh. If you heard it, you laughed too.
We finished our meal,
Dylan paid like he insisted he would and we walked back to the hotel. Cars
passed and the nightlife around seemed to be in full force.
Couples held hands as
they passed while others walked side-by-side as if they were only friends, much
like us.
Were we friends now? I
had so many questions going through me but no answers. It was one of those
moments when I wanted to blurt out everything I had held in but I also didn’t
want to scare him away. I had a tendency to talk too much when I was nervous
and word vomit was its evil twin.
By the time we got back
to the hotel, I could barely keep my eyes open so we decided to get some sleep
and figure out where we wanted to go in the morning. I liked the idea of not
knowing where we would be tomorrow or the next day.
When looking at the
sleeping arrangement, I wasn’t tired any longer.
“I can sleep on the
floor,” he offered sensing my level of anxiety as the situation must have sky
rocketed as I brushed my teeth next to him in the tiny bathroom. When we stood
side by side, you could barely move let alone brush your teeth.
“If you promise not to
murder me in my sleep, I don’t mind sleeping next to you.” Not exactly sure why
but I really didn’t mind. I felt safe with Dylan. I feel like he would never
let anything bad happen to me. Most of all, I felt, with the lies that were now
reality for me, alone and Dylan being here with me was my only comfort.
“I don’t plan on
murdering you.” Dylan shrugged and put his toothbrush away in its container
before wiping the splashed water from the sink.
As I observed his
nightly routine, I was even more convinced that he had some sort of OCD
behavior. Everything had its place in his bag. I half expected it to be
labeled. It wasn’t.
As soon as we got back
from the restaurant, he had stripped his beer stained t-shirt off and threw it
away, confirming my OCD theory yet again. I wanted to ask him about it but I
didn’t want to offend him. My little brother was the same way about cleanliness
and organization and I found it somewhat cute how methodical he was about
everything―both Dylan and Jeb.
Part of me missed Jeb
and hoped that he was doing all right. He was a good kid and I hated to see him
take any crap for my decisions. My dad was always hard on him and I think Jeb
was perfect because he felt he had to be not because he wanted to
be. What thirteen-year-old wanted to do everything their parents told them to
do? None that I know.
Once we were in bed, we
both seemed to lay there watching the ceiling not looking at each other, as if
it were a movie. Breaking the silence, the air conditioner kicked on again
drowning out the buzzing neon open sign that lit the room with a green tint.
When it kicked off,
Dylan rolled facing me propping himself up on his elbow. “I didn’t get to
finish my questions.”
I chuckled a little
because I knew how this is going to end. One of us was going to be offended by
a question, throw a fit and once again, we wouldn’t finish this silly game.
“Okay but I get to ask
mine
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