Page 7 of Burn It Down

My resolve to be normal is already long gone and it only took one look at Dylan in that tank top to realize I’m too desperate for his attention to benormalaround him.

“Are you a Beautiful Deceit fan?” I ask, backing out of the passenger side of my car, wallet in hand.

Dylan’s face lights up. “Yeah, they’re pretty much all I listen to. They have such a unique sound and I swear everything they put out is better than the album before it. It’s fucking hard to get tickets to their shows anymore though because they sell out so goddamn fast and I can’t afford those bullshit third-party prices.”

“Yeah, I hear you. They sold their upcoming tour out in what, three minutes?” I ask, even though I know damn well it was one. Tim filled me in the last time we spoke, the pride in his tone was unmistakable.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a Beautiful Deceit fan.” Dylan says in shock, making me laugh.

“Making assumptions based on the suit again, I see.” I tease.

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, pulling my eyes to the gesture and making my heart race.

“Yeah, I guess I am. My bad, man.”

“It’s all good,” I say, letting him off the hook. “I have to admit they aren’t terribly popular amongst my colleagues.” We stand in silence for a beat before I get on with it. “Well, hey, thanks for letting me grab this. I’ll get out of your way.” I swipe at an errant rain drop making its way down my forehead from my soaked hair.

Finally…finally…I’m starting to behave like I have a functional brain.

“I just opened a new pack of shop towels. You, uh, want to dry off?”

“Yeah, actually, that’d be great.” I want to do anything that prolongs my time in his vicinity.

While he’s squatting down, rummaging around one of the built-in counters, a man who looks to be in his late-fifties to early-sixties comes into the shop from the office.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asks, looking around, clearly thinking I’m in here alone.

Dylan pops his head over the counter. “It’s all good, Pop. I’ve got it.”

The older man eyes me a second longer, no doubt taking in my custom suit and the Rolex on my wrist. “Are you the owner of the Maserati?”

“Yes sir,” I reply, nodding my head once.

“Dyl told me about banging it up. He’s good for making it right. You’ll never know anything happened.”

That’s unlikely since every time I close my eyes these days, I see a tan-skinned man with dark hair, blue eyes, and tattoos, making me well aware something happened.

“It was just a small bump. They just don’t make ‘em like they used to.” I can’t help coming to Dylan’s defense. I feel sleezy about this whole situation and the last thing I want is for Dylan’s dad to blame him for any of this.

“You can say that again,” the older man chuckles.

“Here you go.” Dylan hands me the towel and I take it as my cue to leave.

“Thanks. I guess I’ll talk to you when she’s done.”

He nods and returns to his work.

Back in the Range Rover, my phone starts to ring.

“Hey, Cora.”

“Hi, Jacob.” No one in my circle calls me Jake except Knox, Phoenix, and Hudson. When Dylan did it automatically, I didn’t correct him because I wanted to bask in the familiarity. “Don’t forget we’re having dinner with my parents tonight at the country club.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“I told them I’d already made reservations at Olive Garden. You should have heard my mother choke on her tea.” Cora’s laugh lightens the pressure in my chest.

For all intents and purposes, our relationship is arranged...only she doesn’t know it. Neither of us really chose the other. My parents made it clear I would court her and win her over and her parents encouraged the budding relationship and found ways to constantly throw us together.

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