Page 33 of Sweet Chaos
“Oh come on. Tell me you’re not dying to see his house and hang out with him tonight.”
“You’ve undone all of my hard work.”
“What hard work?”
“I chose a movie marathon with my friend over—”
“Hot sex with your other friend.” Nic patted my arm. “Proud of you, babe. But this will be fun. We’ll just be vibing.”
“You’ve met him. He doesn’t just vibe. He’s all… moody and broody and he barely even talks.” That wasn’t always the case but for the purpose of this argument, it was accurate enough.
“Uh huh.”
“You don’t think this feels weird?” I asked as she turned down his street. This looked like a family neighborhood, so I was surprised Dylan had chosen it. In fact, I was pretty sure that one of my friends from junior high used to live here. I remember going to her pool party in seventh grade. The houses overlooked the hills and the canyon, with a view of the sea in the distance.
“No. What’s weird about it? Obviously, he wanted to spend time with you. Besides, I’ve hung out with you and Ollie. And you’ve hung out with me and what’s-his-face.”
“Aaron.”
“Ugh, Aaron. What did I ever see in him?”
“He had a big dick.”
“He did. It was beautiful. Nice and straight. How’s Dylan’s dick?”
“I’m not talking to you about Dylan’s dick.” According to the GPS, we had arrived at our destination.
“You haven’t seen it yet, have you?”
“No.” But I’ve felt it.
“He looks like he’d have a big dick. Thick, you know? Hey, maybe he’s pierced. He looks like the type—"
“Stop talking about dicks,” I said, and we both had a giggling fit in Dylan’s driveway.
I peered at his house through the windshield. It was nice. Really nice. Tucked away behind lush foliage and palm trees. A two-story Spanish style white stucco with a terracotta roof and black wrought iron trim—not what you’d picture a single guy Dylan’s age to live in. Not at all the house I’d picture Dylan living in. Although what would I picture? Something sleek and minimalist. A penthouse apartment with a lot of glass and chrome?
“This is crazy. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“I’ll be like your personal chef. It’s just pizza and a movie and afterward you two can—”
“I’m going home with you. Don’t you dare pull a stunt and leave me at his house.” We got out of the car and unloaded the bags from the backseat. All the ingredients to make homemade pizzas plus a pizza stone, pans and God knew what else she packed in these bags. Nic was extra but then, so was I. We got along great. “In fact, you should give me the car keys.”
I held out my hand for her to turn over the keys to her Nissan. Ignoring my outstretched hand, she rolled her eyes at me as we walked up to Dylan’s front door carrying all our bags. With all these bags, we looked like we were planning to stay for two weeks.
I rang the bell and tried not to hyperventilate. I didn’t care what Nic said. This was weird. Dylan was not a people person. I couldn’t even imagine him striking up a friendly chat with Nic at the gas station and inviting us over tonight. She must have done all the talking. I bet she masterminded this whole thing. If she were a true friend, she’d be trying to keep me away from Dylan instead of pushing us together.
The door swung open and there he was, looking all chill in faded jeans with ripped knees and a black T-shirt. And then he smiled, a genuine smile that showed his straight white teeth, and I swooned.
Literally swooned.
There was no armor that could protect me from Dylan when he smiled. To make matters worse, he was charming.Charming. Almost boyish and all kinds of adorable, like he was happy we were there. I couldn’t handle this. He took all the bags out of our hands and we followed him into the kitchen, sneaking a peek into the living room on the way. I loved his house. Not what I’d imagined, yet it was so him with clean white walls and dark hardwood floors covered with black and white Moroccan rugs. Black wrought iron chandeliers hung from the woodbeamed ceiling and his black overstuffed sofas looked so cozy and inviting. Like you’d just want to sink into them and not leave anytime soon.
“Oh my God, you have a chef’s kitchen,” Nic squealed, her smile mega-watt as she took in the expanse of stainless steel and black granite countertops. “This is amazing. A Viking stove.” She lovingly ran her hand over the gleaming stainless steel while Dylan set all the bags on the island, amused by her excitement over a stove.
“Do you cook a lot?”
“Never,” Dylan said with a laugh. Nic was in raptures again when her eyes settled on the bottles of red wine on the counter. “You bought the wine I suggested!”
