Page 12 of Ex in the City
‘Dylan,’ I blurt.
Then I slam the door shut as fast as I opened it.
I hear his laughter on the other side.
It’s not Dylan. It can’t be. I mean, it looked like him, sort of, before I slammed the door in his face but… surely not? I really have plummeted to the deepest depths of rock bottom this time.
‘Hello?’ I call out through the door.
‘Hello,’ he calls back. ‘I already got a good look at the dressing gown, if that’s what you’re worried about, so you might as well let me in.’
He laughs again.
I chew the nails on my left hand as I open the door again with my right. Then I slowly back away, as though something dangerous might be lurking on the other side of the door. Well, it’s like vampires, right? If you invite them in, it’s over for you.
The man opens the door the rest of the way and steps inside.
‘Hello,’ he says with a smile, his south London accent as friendly and cheeky-sounding as ever.
‘Are you real?’ I ask him.
I mean, of course he’s fucking real, he’s standing right there, but I don’t know what else to say.
‘I think so,’ he laughs, patting his body down with his hands.
For a second, I just stare at him. It’s Dylan,myDylan, but so much about him is so different. I mean, for one thing, he’s absolutely jacked. Wherever he’s been, while he’s been out of the public eye, one thing I can tell you is that it definitely has a gym. He’s swapped his dark, messy hair for a super-short style – practically a buzz cut – which connects to his stubbly beard. I’ve never seen him look so… so… well, macho. He’s wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt, with a black leather jacket over the top. Tattoos creep out from his sleeves, and above his neckline. He looks so stylish. I can’t believe it’s him. It’s like someone took a photo of Dylan, who was arguably already a seriously sexy individual, and ran it through some sort of AI that makes perfect-looking men. My jaw is on the floor.
‘It’s been the best part of a decade,’ he reminds me. ‘Don’t I get a hug?’
I’m not kidding, I launch myself at him. I jump into his arms, hooking my own arms around his neck, and squeeze him as though he’s come back from the dead.
Dylan laughs as he holds me tightly.
‘I’ve missed you too,’ he says.
For a moment, I just stay there, in his new freakishly strong arms, smelling his aftershave, because for all the changes to his appearance, that familiarity is still there and it feels so comforting. I’ve never needed it more.
I force myself to let him go and then I take a step back, looking him up and down again.
‘I just… can’t believe you’re you,’ I tell him.
‘Nicole Wilde, are you star-struck?’ he teases. ‘Are you still Wilde?’
No, I’m boring as hell. Oh, right, he means my surname. Thank God I realised that before I embarrassed myself. Well,embarrassed myself further, I am standing in here in a bright-pink fluffy dressing gown gawping at him like a fish, after all.
‘Yes, still Wilde,’ I reply.
He coughs and points to my dressing gown before politely looking away. I glance down and realise that, while I was violently hugging him, my belt must have loosened because one boob has popped out – thank God I fell asleep in a bra last night.
‘Nothing like popping a tit to welcome guests,’ I joke, trying to find myself again in all the chaos. ‘Coffee?’
‘Coffee is a good start,’ he says with a laugh.
‘The kitchen is this way,’ I tell him, indicating for him to follow my lead.
As I walk ahead of him, I can’t help but mouth the words ‘what the fuck?’ to myself as I go. I reach up and run a hand through my hair, my fingers getting tangled in the knots as I try to smooth it down. I can’t even imagine how scruffy I must look right now – it’s probably best I try not to think about it.
I grab my phone from my dressing gown pocket and place it on charge in the kitchen before turning the coffee machine on. Then I turn around and look at him again, Dylan King, sitting at my kitchen island.
