Dylan shifts in his chair, staring at the floor. “Yeah, I know, I just…”
“Did you even know I was pregnant? I’m five months pregnant. Do you even care?”
His eyes meet Natalie’s. “Yeah, of course I do. I knew you were pregnant; mom told me.”
“And you didn’t even bother to call? Do you know how that makes me feel? We used to be so close...”
The tears in her eyes crush him. He swallows hard. “I’m sorry. I just…”
“I know this is hard on you. It’s hard on all of us. We love you and we miss you.”
Dylan nods before he rubs the back of his neck.
No one talks for a moment. Finally, Natalie clears her throat. “Do you want to know what it is?” she asks in a softer voice.
Blowing out a breath, Dylan nods at her.
“It’s a girl. You’re going to have a niece. You’re missing out on so much, and you’re never going to get this time back.”
Dylan stares at his hands as he begins popping his knuckles. “I’m really happy for you both.”
Chad leans forward. “Don’t keep pushing us away, bro. We love you, man,” he mumbles, his voice breaking a little.
“I know,” Dylan says as he looks out the window at the three blond-haired boys playing in his backyard.
* * *
On Sunday morning, Myra climbs into the rental car that the insurance company dropped off. Walking into Marshall’s, she quickly looks around praying she doesn’t run into Derek. She tosses a few items in her cart, and when she reaches for some paper plates, she stops when she hears a familiar voice. Her heart begins to race.
Taking in a shaky breath, she peeps around the corner and sees Dylan standing next to a stunningly beautiful woman with straight platinum blond hair, perfect curves and… Myra’s mouth gapes when the curvaceous blonde grabs Dylan’s hand and places it on her belly. His eyes intently watch his hand for a moment before he looks back up into the woman’s eyes as his face splits into a grin. The beautiful woman says something to him before tossing her head back and laughing.
Myra’s heart lurches in her chest and she can’t breathe. With her heart pounding vigorously, she doesn’t bother getting anything else. She moves as quickly as she can to the check-out.
As she sinks down into the seat of the rental car, she can’t stop thinking about how perfect the two of them looked together. That stunning woman was exactly the type of woman Dylan belongs with. Their baby will be so incredibly beautiful. For a moment, she thinks about what
she
would look like with Dylan and her eyes fill with tears because she knows that she could never compare to someone like that beautiful woman.
Back at home, Myra sits on the couch and stares into the fireplace watching the flames flicker. She doesn’t understand why she can’t quit thinking about Dylan and that woman. Because who cares if he has a gorgeous, pregnant girlfriend? He doesn’t mean anything to her. And besides, the guy’s an asshole anyway.
Myra slowly drags herself upstairs. After taking a hot bath, she climbs into bed, but she lays there for hours, unable to sleep. Looking at the clock on her nightstand, she rubs her eyes and sighs softly because it’s only one thirty in the morning.
Reaching her hand into her hair, her face scrunches up as she gently touches the bandage on the back of her head. She needs another painkiller.
Walking downstairs to the kitchen, she fills a glass of water and gets out two painkillers. Just as she reaches her hand to her mouth, she hears a slow, eerie creaking sound like a door being gently opened.
Grasping the pills tightly in her palm, she slowly turns, staring with wide eyes and a beating heart towards the hallway. Adrenaline pulses quickly through her veins. Swallowing hard, she creeps slowly down the hall, her gaze darting back and forth, searching for what could have made that sound. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Just as she steps into the living room, someone knocks loud and hard on the front door. The pills in her hand go flying across the floor as she instinctively reaches for her throat. Gasping for air, she stares wide-eyed at the front door, panting.
With her heart still pounding noisily in her ears, she looks out of the small window and sees the back of Dylan’s head. She closes her eyes and leans her forehead against the door for a moment as she tries to calm her breathing and allow her racing heart to slow a bit.
When she opens the door, she frowns. Dylan looks completely different in an untucked white button-up shirt with several of the top buttons undone, black jeans, scuffed black boots, and a well-worn black leather jacket. Her breath catches in her throat at the sight of him.
He smiles broadly at her, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Hi, Myra. Myra. That’s pretty. Your name’s pretty,” he slurs.
She smirks. “Have you been drinking?”
“Why, yes. Yes, I have. I’ve been drinking. A lot. You wanna know a little secret?” he asks as he leans towards her, swaying. “I’m drunk. Like really, really drunk.” The smell of alcohol and cigarettes wafts over her.
She opens the door wider so he can come in. “You shouldn’t be driving drunk. You could go to jail or kill someone.”
He stumbles into her living room and takes off his leather jacket, letting it drop to the floor. “Wanna know why I came here?” he asks as he flops on her couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “Come ‘er and sit right here,” he says as he points to the cushion next to him.
Myra cautiously sits beside him on the couch, but she makes sure to leave some distance between them.
Her stomach flutters when he leans closer. “I came here cuz...” he says before he stops and stares intently at her mouth. “Cuz I wanna see your lips. Been thinking about them. Your lips. They’re beautiful, and red, and… wet. I came to say hello to your lips.” His eyes glaze over as he stares at her mouth. “Hello, lips,” he says in a husky voice.
Myra stares at his lips unable to breathe. She swallows. “Okay…” she says, exhaling shakily.
“I can’t quit thinking about ‘em. They look soft.” His voice drops to a whisper.
“I wanna touch ‘em.” He slowly sticks his tongue out and runs it over his lips, wetting them, his glassy eyes never leaving her mouth. “I wanna taste ‘em, or maybe bite ‘em.” He leans closer to her, his mouth slightly open, his breathing heavy.
For just one moment, she wants to kiss him. She wants to feel his lips against hers. But the stench of the liquor on his breath snaps her back to reality. And the fact that this gorgeous drunk man has a pregnant girlfriend out there somewhere.
“Come ‘ere,” he says as he reaches his hand out and grabs her wrist, dragging her next to him, her thigh touching his. He leans into her and pushes his nose next to her ear. “God, you smell good. Like, good enough to lick, or eat.” He hums as he runs his nose around the outside of her ear; his warm breath over her skin causes her to shiver.
Myra’s chest heaves, her breathing almost at the panting stage. She wants to run her fingers through his hair and feel his lips on hers so badly that she can hardly control herself. She keeps trying to remind herself of his pregnant girlfriend, but…
“Mmmm,” he murmurs. He pulls away from her ear for a moment, and his eyes – hooded from alcohol – fill with a strange warmth that looks somehow happy and sad all at once.
Myra shivers. No one has ever looked at her like that. She leans her head forward, her lashes fluttering.
He leans into her, his eyes closing before he buries his face in her hair. “Mmmm, Sabrina...” he whispers against the shell of her ear, leaving her blinking with confusion before he drops his head into her lap, passing out cold in her arms.
CHAPTER 12
BISQUE, CONFUSION
Breathing heavily through her gaping mouth, Myra frowns down at the back of Dylan’s head as it rests in her pajama-clad lap. Sabrina?
Sabrina?
A sharp stabbing sensation hits her square in the center of her chest. He wasn’t saying those words to her; he was saying them to Sabrina. His pregnant girlfriend. The woman he loves. The woman that now carries his baby.
She feels like such a fool for getting sucked into his drunken, sexy ramblings, and thinking – for the briefest moment – that he was saying those sensual, lustful words to her. That he wanted
her
lips. A man like him would never want someone like her.
Myra’s stomach burns with envy when she thinks about Sabrina. She can’t imagine what it would be like to be her. To have a man look at her the way he did with that smoldering look in his scorching, passion-filled eyes. He’d almost melted the clothes right off of her body.
Looking back down at Dylan, she stares at him as she tries to figure out what to do next.
Taking a few minutes to catch her breath and gather her wits, she finally lifts his head and gently scoots herself out from underneath him. Standing over him with her hands on her hips, her gaze trails over his passed-out form.
Sighing, she pulls the coffee table closer to the couch and sits on the edge of it as she tugs off his boots. Since he lies on his side, she uses both hands to push on his shoulder, causing him to turn over flat on his back with his feet dangling off the end of the couch.
She stares at him, thinking, as she watches his chest rise and fall with each hard breath he takes. Moving the coffee table even closer, she perches on the edge and studies his face, mesmerized by his ridiculously long, dark eyelashes as they flutter and dance against his skin.
Chewing on her fingernail, the uncomfortable sensation in her chest worsens. Deep down, she desperately wanted those words to be meant for her. She wanted him to say
her
name. She wonders if she would have actually gone through with it. If she would have actually let him kiss her, knowing full well that he had a girlfriend. She hopes not. She hopes she would have had the integrity to stop him because she would have never forgiven herself for that. Not after what she went through with Trent.
Sighing deeply, as she rests her chin in her hands, it dawns on her that she knows absolutely nothing about this beautiful man.
Against her better judgment – and a little disgusted with herself – she takes advantage of him in his unconscious state and lets her eyes roam over every inch of his body. They slowly study his face, cataloging the perfection – the scruffy beard, the chiseled jawline, the perfectly proportioned pouty lips, the bushy eyebrows. Even his black eye and scratches can’t lessen his attractiveness.
Her eyes travel down his Adam’s apple to his chest. Leaning closer, she takes a look at the sprinkling of hair that peeks out from the opening in his white shirt.
Sitting back a little, her gaze shifts to his lips. She knows she shouldn’t, but she wants to pretend – just for a little while – that he said those incredible words about her lips and not Sabrina’s.
With her eyes on his mouth, she reaches a hand up and gently touches her lower lip, wondering what his lips would feel like on hers. Would they be soft and gentle? Or hard and demanding?
Groaning, she rubs her hands across her eyes. She has to stop. She should not be having these kinds of thoughts about a man who belongs to someone else. She can’t do this.
Sighing and feeling a sense of sadness, she reaches her hand out and tentatively brushes several strands of hair off of his forehead. Her fingertips softly touch the ends of his hair hanging over his ear.
With her hand still raised touching his hair, Dylan snore-snorts loudly through his nose, startling her. She lets out a shriek before falling off the edge of the coffee table flat onto the floor. She quickly scrambles to her knees, frantically looking at his face, terrified that he caught her ogling and inappropriately touching him. But Dylan continues snoring softly, still dead to the world. She covers her face with her hands, completely ashamed of herself.
Standing, she roughly scoots the coffee table back, and grabs a pillow off of the couch, tucking it under his head. She drapes a blanket over him and pauses to give him one long last look before she slowly makes her way up the staircase.
* * *
Dylan moves minutely, a grimace crossing his face. He tries to swallow, but he seems to have no saliva. His mouth tastes and feels like someone took a piss in it and then sucked the piss right back out with a wet/dry vac. With his eyes shut tight, he moves them just a bit behind his lids, but the small movement causes intense pain.
Groaning loudly, he turns on his side, everything in his body aching. Hearing what sounds like surround sound on maximum volume in his ears, he cringes, his hands reaching up to try to block the offending noises.
“What are you doing here?” he hears an irritating, incredibly loud voice yell.
“Don’t. Please, just leave him alone,” a soft, beautiful voice whispers in protest.
“This is a bunch of bullshit,” the annoying male voice shouts again.
Suffering and feeling like he has somehow woken up in Hades, Dylan manages to pry one eyelid open just a bit so he can get a good look at the fucker he’s going to kill with his bare hands.
His brain immediately shuts down when he sees a beautiful face, long dark hair and worried eyes.
Slowly sitting up, his head spins. He scrunches his eyes tight and rubs his temples, trying to relieve the throbbing pressure.