Love Emerged (2 page)

A knock on my door and the jiggle of my knob immediately sounds.

“Dylan.”

I release a breath.
Does she not realize I’m twenty-three now?

I open the door, grabbing my T-shirt off the floor to cover myself up.

“Why was your door locked?” She examines me, and her eyes shoot toward the window.

“I needed privacy.”

“I thought I heard voices.” She swiftly bypasses me to the bed, wrapping up my sheets into a ball.

My gut twists as I think about what she’ll find in there. I’m sure I threw the condom away. Instinctually, my eyes veer to my bathroom.

She follows my vision. “I’ll just empty your trash can, too.”

I jump in front of her, blocking the door. “I’m coming down, so I’ll grab it.”

She stands there, looking me over, working my psychotic behavior out in her head. Why am I so jumpy? Why won’t I allow her to clean up after me, like I usually do?

“Okay.” She turns around and moves toward the door. “Breakfast is ready,” she says.

“I’m going apartment-shopping today,” I inform her.

She’s enjoyed having my brother and me back in the house these past few days. But Tanner is leaving for Colorado again, and I must start my new life here in Michigan.

“Oh, I assumed . . .” She holds the sheets against her hip and leans on the doorframe. “It’s a shame about Brad and Bayli calling off the wedding.”

“Not really. She seemed like a bitch, and I only talked to her twice,” I comment.

Brad, my next-door neighbor and brother’s best friend, was supposed to be getting married today, but he called it off.

“Did you ever meet this Taylor they were talking about?” she asks.

“No, she attended college with them,” I answer. I wish she’d move along because Bea’s probably halfway to her car by now, thinking I’m a douche who abandoned her.

“I hope he finds happiness, like your brother,” she continues talking.

I inch toward the door, urging her to leave.

“I’m sure he will. I gotta run out really quick. I’ll be right down.”

I give her a nudge, and since she’s lost in her own thoughts of how Brad might be unhappy, she doesn’t notice.

Once she’s walking down the stairs, I jog into the bathroom and grab the condom. Against my better judgment, I flush it down the toilet. One condom surely won’t clog it. I hope. Otherwise, I’ll be left to answer new questions from my mom.

Swiping my keys from my dresser, I run down the stairs, sliding into my sandals, and jog to my GTO.

It’s a classic, and I’m the only one who drives it. I had to leave it here when I went to New York, but now, I’m not letting it go again. In high school, my dad offered to buy me a car, but I saved up half of the money to buy a classic. It was already fixed up for me because, although I could make model replicas of it, physically, I couldn’t do shit with cars. A twinge of pain hits my heart because, maybe if I knew the difference between a differential and manifold, Ava would have stayed.

Bea’s turning the corner of my street when I finally reach her. I stop, and she slides in, not upset in any type of way. Not that I notice anyway. Panic sets in that she doesn’t expect much from people, and I guarantee that she didn’t anticipate me picking her up.

“Sorry. My mom,” I excuse myself.

She shrugs, her hands sitting in her lap. “No big deal.”

We drive the next ten minutes in silence. Bea softly sings each song, not conscious that I can hear her. It’s cute, the way she sings a few words wrong. Not like I’m going to correct her.

I pull into Brecker’s parking lot, and her Mercedes sits with two other cars scattered in the parking lot. Obviously, we weren’t the only ones who got a little carried away last night.

She opens the door and climbs out. “Thanks. See you later.” She winks and turns around.

“Bea!” I call out to stop her. Not sure why since this is what I wanted—no strings, no relationship. But, for some reason, I’m baffled that she can just walk away with nothing more than a good-bye.

She leans over the ledge of the car window, her shirt hanging low, giving me a glimpse of what I felt last night. Soft, ample, and luxurious tits.

“You have my number.”

She laughs and shakes her head.

“You really are sweet, aren’t you? No need for politeness, Dylan. Last night was a hook-up. Let’s leave it at that.”

The gravel crunches under her feet, and I watch as she climbs into her expensive car. Without so much as a look back, she speeds out of the parking lot and out of my life.

I wish I wasn’t some poor sap, sitting in my car, wondering why I am so painless to leave.

Bea

I WEAVE THROUGH THE MASSES
of people on their way to work with the sun beating down on my neck. My turn for the morning coffee, so I perch a tray of four coffees on one hand, holding them up high in the air, sliding between two men competing on who tapped the hotter girl on Friday night. I barely fit through the elevator doors before they shut.

“Seventeen, please,” I say to no one in particular.

Nonetheless, my floor is pressed, and the elevator lifts to drop everyone off at his or her designated area for the day.

By the time we jet off floor fifteen, I find myself with only two other people—an arguing couple rambling on about their kids and schedules and working relationship. Ugh, the dramas of marriage. If my mom’s taught me anything—which would be the only thing—it is that marriage is for the incapable. The unity of two people forever is for those who can’t make it on their own and thrive on the dependence of someone else. Not me though. The last thing I want is some expectant guy hanging on me.

Thank goodness the door dings, and I’m freed from the torment I experienced enough during my childhood.

I turn around once I’m on my floor, standing on the opposite side of World War III. “Do yourselves a favor, and just divorce. Your kids will thank you.” I twist on my heels and walk down the hall.

“Fuck you,” the lady sneers.

I don’t blame her. I’d have probably jumped out of the elevator and pummeled a bitch if she’d said something like that to me. But the lady really should take my advice because she’d be happier in the end.

Any guy who told me that I’d let myself go after I’d popped out his three kids deserved to see what it was like to live with half of his income. I mean, it wasn’t exactly like she was staring at George Clooney over there.

I push the glass doors of the company I work for, Deacon Advertising, open and smile at the friendly receptionist. A new fresh face, but those doe eyes oddly resemble the five before her.

“Hi, I’m Bea Zanders.” I wave my hand in the air.

She shifts in her chair to stand up, but I shoo her back down.

“No need for introductions. There’s been four of you this month already.” I lean in closer, careful not to tip the coffees in my hand. “Here’s a hint—don’t bring personal items in just yet.”

The cute brunette’s tender eyes turn frantic.

“But there’s always the exception, and that could be you.” I smile wide, and her lips turn into a slight grin.

Yes, some think I’m harsh. Others are assured that I’m a bitch, but I’m truthful. I expect the same, so I don’t see why people are offended. Do they want to be blind to what’s around them? To be the one sitting there with a damn cheery smile splashed across their face while people point and whisper behind their back? Trust me, they don’t.

I dodge a line of co-workers shuffling down the hallway, opposite of myself.

“What’s up?” I ask John, my cubicle mate.

He swiftly grabs a coffee from my tray and twists me back around to file in line with the masses. Sliding my purse and laptop bag off my shoulder, he leans over the privacy wall, disposing them onto my desk. “Meeting. Didn’t you get the email?”

I dig my phone out, seeing it’s black screen. “Dead.”

“You really need to start charging at home and not relying on borrowing mine.”

Yasmin catches up to us, her manicured hand sneaking in to grab her coffee. “Thanks for stopping.”

“Sure. What’s the meeting about? Is it the Henders account? Up for grabs?” The excitement of being in charge of the new account surges through my veins.

I need a larger account for Tim, my boss, to notice me. There are four of us below him, and for some reason, he’s constantly neglecting me when it comes to the higher accounts.

“I don’t think so. I heard Jacob talking about some new guy they hired. Supposedly, he’s some hotshot they stole from Cadence,” Yasmin fills me in on the gossip that John failed to obtain.

I can’t blame him though. Yasmin is like a head FBI detective with the way she dredges up gossip.

Cadence Advertising is our largest competition in the Midwest. They just moved their office to Chicago, which has given them a leg up in the business. Being in Detroit usually means more travel for the executives, which accounts for more money out of pocket. Deacon isn’t exactly about expense reports.

Seriously, nowadays, who on earth is jumping for joy to come to Detroit? That would be no one.

“New guy?” I ask.

I’m not surprised it’s a guy and not a gal because Tim is a stereotypical gender-biased son of a bitch. John is always handed the better accounts while Yasmin and I handle double the amount of clients with dramatically smaller dollars.

“Yeah, from what Jacob said, he’s already guaranteed to become an exec within a year. He worked on Nike over at Cadence and might have some contacts to steal,” Yasmin continues.

But Jacob, the mailroom manager, isn’t exactly a reliable source.

“That’s total bullshit.” I shake my head. “Nike only deals with AdSec. Everyone knows that. Whoever this mystery guy is, he’s full of shit.”

We walk into the filled conference room, dodging bodies to join Kevin in the back of the room.

“You noticed me,” he says, pushing his long dark hair away from his eyes.

I hold out the coffee container, and he smiles that toothy grin that wins mother’s hearts.

“How could we not? You were waving like a kid who was about to pee his pants in class.”

Yasmin and John laugh, each leaning against the glass wall. Yasmin, the gossip queen, starts spreading the word she’s heard.

“Another guy?” Kevin asks me.

I nod. “That’s what I hear.”

“I don’t mind.” He winks.

I shake my head. “I know you don’t, but would a few more vaginas be that terrible?”

We sip our coffees and lean against the wall while the last of the employees file into the room. There are approximately one hundred people that work at Deacon. We’re small, but we were featured as one of the top seventy-five companies that you should look out for. What the hell that means, I have no idea. As we grow, the company’s ritual of congregating to welcome the new person is more of a hassle.

Tim strolls in, and the room automatically quiets. I wonder what it’s like to have that kind of authority. Guaranteed, one day, I’ll find out.

“Hello, Deaconators.”

I shake my head at the absurdity of his nickname for us. I’ll never understand how he got to be vice president with his lack of originality.

The whole room conveys their hellos, kissing ass like they should.

Tim does a joking bow even though I’m fairly sure he believes we should treat him like royalty. Strike that doubt, I know for a fact that he thinks he’s the damn prince around here and demands to be catered to.

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hand to quiet down the clapping.

Jeez, people, give it a damn rest.

My coworkers’ hands slow down until the clapping eventually dies.

“So, I’m excited to announce that Deacon Advertising has landed a top-notch graduate of NYU. After a fighting war, we won out.”

I inch up on my tiptoes to see the mystery million-dollar man, but to no avail. Big Vic from the mailroom is blocking any view I might have of the man standing next to Tim.

“Oh my dreams, he’s come to life,” Kevin says next to me.

I crane my neck desperate to catch a glimpse.

“He’s good-looking?” I whisper, still dodging my head in each direction to catch a glimpse. I’ve never been patient when I’m the one in the dark.

“That’s an understatement. This man could not shower for a week and have spinach stuck in each one of his teeth, and I’d still melt at the sight of those dimples.”

With the one word
dimples
, my stomach flips as I think about Dylan. He thought he was skating the issue the next morning when he said he had to go. Asking me to climb down the trellis of his parents’ house was new for me, but I understood. If my mom had been on the other side of the bedroom door, I’d have pushed him out the window. At least he met me down the street and drove me back to the bar to retrieve my car. He was sweet and kind to think my feelings would be hurt once I realized I was a booty call. Hell, he was my booty call.

“Deaconators, please put those hands together and welcome Dylan McCain.”

“Even the name.” Kevin shakes his head, probably already naming their kids.

“What?” I screech.

A few heads turn toward me.

I inch back to Kevin’s side, taking refuge in a friend. “It can’t be.”