Page 45 of Ex in the City
I guess that’s kind of nice – if not completely ridiculous.
‘I couldn’t tell you the last time I got so pissed,’ I admit. ‘I guess I can’t handle it like I used to. Okay, okay, show me yours again.’
Dylan obliges, parting his thick legs to show me the tiger creeping out from his inner right thigh.
‘And mine is the same as that?’ I ask.
‘Exactly the same,’ he replies. ‘Same size and everything.’
‘It is cute,’ I grudgingly admit. ‘And I guess I have always been too scared to get one.’
‘And if you ever want it removed, hit me up for the laser bill, yeah?’ he replies. ‘I feel bad now, I shouldn’t have let you drink so much.’
‘Okay, have I woken up in a parallel universe?’ I ask in disbelief. ‘Because I’m the one who usually keeps an eye on what you’re drinking.’
‘And yet it was me who helped you to bed last night,’ he reminds. ‘I tell you what, you didn’t need singing to sleep last night.’
‘Wow, I forgot you used to do that,’ I reply, although it’s a blatant lie. I remember it like it was yesterday. Whenever I was feeling stressed, unwell, or just couldn’t drift off to sleep, Dylan would gently stroke me, or tickle my arm, while softly serenading me with lullaby versions of my favourite songs. In those moments I always felt at my absolute happiest and safest. It always worked like a treat.
I remember one time, when I was under a lot of pressure at work, I hesitantly asked Rowan if he could do it, to comfort me. However, instead of the tenderness I had anticipated, all he did was sing me a funny song as he touched me for a few seconds before promptly trying to shag me instead – it’s amazing how many men think that’s a cure for all problems. It was a stark reminder of the differences between the two of them – not that I should be comparing boyfriends to Dylan King – but it just made the times Dylan did it seem all the more special. It only worked with his touch.
‘I used to paint your toenails too,’ he reminds me with a laugh. ‘You always used to say that your legs were too long for you to reach.’
‘You had your uses,’ I say with a smile. ‘And you were surprisingly good at it.’
We naturally fall into silence. I don’t know what he’s thinking about, but I’m trying to push the past out of my head.
‘Anyway, the good news is I can drive you home,’ Dylan tells me. ‘I said I would go into the school tomorrow, to start helping out with musical rehearsals.’
‘Aww, that’s great,’ I reply, genuinely pleased on both counts. ‘I’m surprised you’re sober enough to drive yet. Then again, you’ve had a lot more practice than me.’
Dylan leans in close, our faces are just centimetres apart. It’s an unexpected closeness, and for a brief moment, I’m uncertain about his intentions. My heart quickens and I hold my breath. Then he starts sniffing.
‘Oh, man. Yeah, I would fail a breathalyser test just by being in a car with you,’ he jokes as he pulls away. ‘Maybe we’ll keep the windows down.’
I laugh but I can’t ignore that I felt something, having him so close to my face, but I’m scared to even think about what.
Why am I being such a weirdo? And why is the thought of going home – of returning to reality – causing a pang of sadness in me? Being here in Dylan’s house, after a night out, it feels like a journey back in time, just like the good old days – only somehow even better.
‘Come on then, let’s go,’ Dylan says, snapping me from my thoughts.
‘Okay,’ I reply, trying not to sound too disappointed.
I really wish I didn’t have to leave.
22
I got out of Dylan’s car outside Mr Campbell’s house, choosing to make the last minute of the journey home myself, just in case Rowan was around.
Walking up the driveway, seeing his car there, I’m glad that I did.
I walk into the house and I’m immediately bombarded with the sound of excited little voices and the smell of Rowan’s cooking.
Rowan and the kids appear from nowhere. The boys run up to me and give me a hug.
I can feel my new tattoo still, which doesn’t only serve as a reminder of last night, but it feels like I’m bringing a bit more of the old me into the house. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. It’s either something I can use to tell myself that I’m not so boring after all, or something that will remind me of a life I no longer really live.
‘Let me get one too,’ Rowan says.
