Page 21 of Ex in the City
‘He’s exaggerating,’ I insist to Rowan, trying to keep a straight face.
‘I’m sure he is,’ Rowan says. ‘I know Nicole would never behave so appallingly in Paris.’
‘Yeah, yeah, of course,’ Dylan says, playing along. ‘She did that in LA.’
My heart feels like it’s going at a thousand beats per minute. Dylan and I only went to LA once. My mind flashes back to that night, remembering what his hands felt like on my body, the smell of his aftershave, the taste of his skin.
I glance at Dylan, the hint of a grin playing at the corners of my mouth. It’s cheeky of him to bring it up here, now. It’s also as though he’s lit a match and flicked it into my lap. My entire body feels like it’s on fire.
‘Erm, your reputation is the one in question,’ I remind him, getting our conversation back to where it should be.
‘Does that mean you’re taking me on?’ Dylan asks. ‘As a client.’
I’m glad he added that last part or Rowan might have boiled over.
I’ve been thinking about it, ever since he asked me earlier, and I have to do it. Not just because he’s my friend, or because I already know him so well, which cuts out a lot of the legwork, or even because I know he’s a good person deep down. I have to help him because he deserves it, and because I owe it to him. I can’t help but feel responsible for him going fully off the rails, and for The Burnouts breaking up, so this is my chance to put things right.
‘It does,’ I confirm. ‘Assuming you can still afford me. We can start tomorrow.’
‘Great,’ Dylan replies. ‘Your place or mine?’
‘Yours,’ I say.
‘What?’ Rowan splutters in disbelief.
‘You’re using the garden room tomorrow, remember,’ I refresh his memory. ‘You’ve got that sponsorship meeting. Plus, it’s only across the road. It’s hardly a commute.’
‘Perfect,’ Dylan says. The he points at his food. ‘Mmm, Nic, honestly, this lasagne is amazing. You’ve turned into a proper little housewife.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, knowing he’s teasing me – although I do make an amazing lasagne.
Rowan’s arm suddenly wraps around me, pulling me closer to him. I feel incredibly awkward in his embrace but do my best to act normal.
‘We’re lucky to have her. Me and the boys,’ he says proudly, as though to emphasise our set-up – or our pretend set-up, at least.
‘Well, I’m easier than kids – these days, anyway,’ Dylan insists.
‘Then this will be a piece of cake,’ I reply.
Well, I’m hoping it will be easy anyway, but if he brings up LA again, I’m not so sure.
12
I make my way across the street to Dylan’s house – words I never thought I’d say.
Well, it’s not his house, technically, it’s the house where he’s staying, but still. It felt so bizarre last night, lying in my bed, thinking about him sleeping just metres away. It’s not quite the same as having him in the bunk next to me on the tour bus, but it’s definitely a lot closer than the years of radio silence we endured for pushing a decade.
I’m a bag of nerves as I knock on his door. It’s just Dylan, why am I letting the butterflies in my stomach get the better of me?
Eventually, Dylan answers, wearing a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms – and nothing else. Seeing him without his shirt on sends me into shock. I can’t help but admire his transformation – he’s so physically fit, with bulging biceps and a body ripped with muscle. He has more tattoos than he did the last time I saw him without a shirt on. I used to know his ink like the back of my hand but now, not only has he filled in previously empty spaces, he’s had lots of his scruffy old tattoos covered with new ones. They look a lot better than they used to, like they all come together, unlike before when he looked a bit like a wall thatchildren of various ages had scribbled on when their parents weren’t looking.
‘Good morning,’ he says with a welcoming smile.
‘Good morning,’ I reply, chuckling involuntarily. ‘Sorry, this is just so… I don’t know. Top optional, hmm?’
‘Top optional,’ he replies. ‘Like Paris.’
I laugh. Honestly, that wasn’t as bad as it sounds.
