The tremble is back. He’s lying. This light means something to him, but I just nod knowing this conversation’s done and without another word, I head back to Chase’s room. When I enter, Chase is well into one of his video games, so I sit down on the bed beside him.
With Chase’s eyes locked on the screen in front of him, he asks, “Well, you’re still alive, and I don’t hear any sirens; I’m guessing you haven’t maimed my brother, so with that I assume all went well?” I fall back onto the bed, letting out a groan.” Or maybe not,” he finishes.
“Oh no, they went fine,” I reply—and that there’s the problem.
Dylan Dandridge just became very real to me, and now I’m in trouble.
The next morning when I wake up, the sun’s shining and the faint smell of bacon is lingering through the opening of the bedroom door. Funny, I thought I closed that last night after I left Chase in his room playing video games.
Not wanting to get out of this cloud they call a bed, I unwillingly push the covers off my body. I’m still in my clothes from last night as I hadn’t expected to stay over and didn’t want to interrupt Chase’s groove to ask him for a t-shirt.
I throw my legs over the side and bring myself to my feet. Looking around, I see an en suite across the room. Perfect.
After freshening up as best I could, I follow the aromatic trail down the hallway and into the kitchen to where I find Dylan standing over the stove. To my disappointment and also inner confusion as to why I’m disappointed, he’s fully dressed this morning. Gone are the barely-there boxers and sun-kissed pecks, and now replaced with a tight white t-shirt and black ass hugging track pants which still to my delight leave little to the imagination—I never was one for guesswork.
I’m not an overly religious person, but lord almighty am I in need of a spiritual cleansing right now for these impure thoughts racing through my head.
Ahem!
“What—oh, hey!” I let out looking up to see Dylan has turned; his eyes now locked with mine.
He chuckles. “You looked lost in thought. It was my firm ass, wasn’t it? Gets the ladies every time.”
“Pfft, yeah, no. Not even. In your dreams. Pfft, firm ass, ha!” My continued babble does nothing to convince him.
“Mmhm, if you say so. Really, Velyn, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. But I’m not the type of man to make any gorgeous woman beg, so here you go...gaze away.” Dylan turns back to the stove, his perfectly rounded gluteus maximus prominently on display.
However, my sights are quickly diverted to the kitchen entrance as Chase walks in, his usual perky self almost skipping through the kitchen. “What are we gazing at?”
“Nothing?” I shoot out quickly.
“My ass,” Dylan corrects. I give him my best death glare, but being Dylan ‘no shits given’ Dandridge, he offers only his prize-winning smug grin.
“Eww, no thanks. Dylan, stop making Velyn uncomfortable,” Chase scolds.
Dylan laughs. “Sorry, Velyn. I’ll try not to make you ‘uncomfortable’ from now on when you want to stare at my ass. I know that intense feeling of arousal can be a bitch if you can’t scratch that itch.”
For the love of—
Chase throws up his hands. “Seriously, Dylan.”
Dylan snickers. “All good, I’m done. I’ve just always wanted to say that. Bitch-itch, get it? I’m a genius.”
I look to Chase as he shrugs and says, “And to think he’s top of his class.”
Shaking my head playfully, I add, “Ladies and gentlemen, our future leaders of tomorrow.”
The two of us break out in a fit of laughter at Dylan’s expense. Surprisingly, showing a completely different side than he has these past few weeks, Dylan laughs, looking to me with a smile and saying, “At least we’re all in agreeance that I’m headed for greatness.”
Okay, well, baby steps are still good.
Not having to be at work today until the dinner rush, I spent the rest of the morning with Chase, and yes, Dylan. It was nice. But then I came home, and gone was the morning of forgetting all responsibility as I’m quickly swallowed whole by my reality.
When I open the door to the apartment, I don’t even need to step inside for the wafting stench of alcohol to hit me. It’s so thick that it almost burns my nose.
Entering, I shut the door quickly behind me; the last thing I need is more judgment from my neighbors, not that any of them should be throwing stones. Dropping my bag on the counter in the kitchen, I then head to the living room expecting to encounter the inevitable; my father passed out on the couch. But when I come in front of where he would usually be found, he’s not there.
Standing there for a moment, I wonder where he could be. Then sadly, it hits me. I head quickly to the kitchen rummaging through the freezer and pulling out the tin of coffee I placed in the back. Opening it, I sigh in relief when I see the resealable sandwich bag stuffed inside with all my tip money from the past few weeks—it’s
