Page 68 of The Checklist
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Where has Milo gotten to?For the last few weeks, the dog had made it a point to wake her up every night with some combination of farting, sleep running, and trying to fit his massive body into her tiny bed. But it was 4:53 a.m., and she couldn’t find the dog anywhere.
As she rolled over, her pulse spiked, the fog lifting off her mind. The dog wasn’t in the bed because she wasn’t in her bed. In fact, she was in a much larger bed with admittedly cleaner sheets. And in that larger bed was Mike. Dylan willed herself to relax, pulling the duvet cover up to fill the cold space where rolling away from him had left her skin exposed. In the dark, she felt herself take on a Cheshire cat grin, although she hit pause on doing a happy dance, which would probably wake him up. She’d managed to have “a little fun,” as her mother would have put it. Actually, more than a little fun.
Remembering her family, Dylan wrinkled her nose and tried not to think about how to explain where she’d been the night before. Would they even notice she hadn’t been home? Not that she needed to be home; she was a full-grown woman. That said, she’d get asked questions she didn’t have answers to. She moved over to take a closer look at the clock, and her heart rate began to dance as she thought through her situation. If she managed to set the feud aside, which she couldn’t, her whole life was in Texas, or at least the bits of it that were still intact. Her job, for however long she had it, was there. Her friends—also inTexas. Her possessions, although still at Nicolas’s place, were in Texas. Mike knew she was only here temporarily. He couldn’t expect this to continue for any length of time, could he?
Dylan rolled onto her back and saw Mike peacefully dozing with one arm tucked under his cheek, the other stretched across the space where she had been a few minutes before. Her eyes widened as she looked over at him, thoughts hiccuping. It was now 4:57 a.m.; she was in someone else’s comfy bed, after some damn good sex and a nice evening.
A nice evening with a guy who was kind and had asked her to stay. Dylan had started the night with every intention of doing the best she could to get out of dinner without damaging him or anybody else. She was supposed to be helping. Instead she had done the exact opposite.
“Oh my God,” Dylan mouthed at the ceiling, her agitation growing.
She could not possibly stay. Here Mike was, all smiles and thoughtful gestures, and she was basically holding herself together with double-sided tape. She silently threw back the covers, then began the painstaking task of searching an unfamiliar room for her things, talking herself through her next move all the while. As far as she could tell, the best thing to do was to get out of there. Tomorrow she could buy him dinner or something and tell him the truth. After a glass of wine or three, she could be honest about the googled list and what was left of her mess of a life in Texas. She could even tell the truth about the likelihood of her being successful at Technocore. She just couldn’t do it right now. Or first thing in the morning. Mike would probably try to make her breakfast.
The guilt would eat her alive.
Fumbling as she slunk into her underwear in the darkness, she cursed herself for not bothering to gather and fold her clothes the night before. After locating her skirt and blouse, she tiptoed into the hallway, grateful that they hadn’t stopped to turn the lights out the night before. She pulled open the closet and gathered up her coat and handbag. Glancing at her shoes, she decided to put them on in the hallway, avoiding the obvious click of heels against wood that would signal herdeparture. Reaching for the door handle, she flipped off the hall light. If she couldn’t be honest, the least she could do was save him some money on his utility bill.
Backing into the hallway, Dylan pulled the door shut, then slowly released the handle until she was sure it wouldn’t make a sound in the lock. Exhaling, she turned and glanced across the hall.
A woman who could only be Mrs.Warnly looked at her with disapproval, eyeing the heels in Dylan’s hand. She smiled at the grim-looking woman, who was wearing a roller set and clutching a newspaper. She did not return her smile. Mrs.Warnly knew she’d just left a nice boy sound asleep without so much as a note, and the woman did not approve. Dylan wasn’t sure she could blame her as she crept toward the staircase, shoes still in hand.
Dylan turned into the Technocore parking lot and began the hopeless circle for a parking space, cursing Tim. When the company had moved into its new building, he’d severely miscalculated the number of parking spaces required for the staff. After all, he and the executive team had reserved parking. He didn’t really care if there were only forty spaces for roughly 2,500 employees. Making a mental note to bump the proposed parking-shortage solution up the high-priority list, she swore and started driving toward the surrounding streets to try her luck.
She found a spot, and her tired body groaned as she got out of the car. Earlier in the morning, she’d managed to get back into her parents’ home undetected and sneaked in a power nap before forcing herself out of bed and into the shower. Unfortunately, she still needed about four more hours of sleep before she would feel rested. Clutching the biggest coffee travel mug she could find, Dylan heard her phone ding as she stomped across the damp sidewalk. She felt around the bottom of herpurse, anxiety coursing through her body. Would Mike text so soon? She hoped not, because she hadn’t the slightest idea what she would even say.
When she finally located the source of the ding,Nicolasscrolled across the screen. Secretly she was grateful he’d refused to be listed in her phone asBoyfriendor with any sort of heart-based emoji. He said that was demeaning and exclusively appropriate for teenage girls. She disagreed, but it did save her the trouble of having to fix his name in her phone.
Forcing herself not to tap her pointy-toed houndstooth heel as she waited for the elevator, Dylan practiced breathing in and out while consistently checking the number above the elevator door. She’d started to wonder who on the second floor was taking so long to get out of the stupid thing when the door finally opened. She rushed in and jammed the little “close” arrows before turning back to her phone.
Hey babe. You haven’t been answering my calls.
Watching the “...” that followed his text, indicating he was typing another message, a pang of nostalgia leaned on Dylan’s solar plexus. Not long ago, a checking-in message from Nicolas would have meant something to her. A rare moment of him demonstrating that he was thinking about her.
I really want you to hear me out. I think you’ll feel better once you’ve heard my reasoning.
Dylan snorted as the nostalgia bolted from her memory, replaced with a reminder of the roughly fifty-seven text messages she’d received every time she hadn’t answered his calls and he’d wanted something from her. The thing with Mike might be complicated, but he wouldn’t demand she talk to the super about their toilet anytime soon. Comparing Nicolas to Mike was like comparing a Fig Newton to a Tim Tam. Onemight be better for her according to the nutritional label, but the other was clearly a superior choice by every other reasonable measure.
I don’t like how we left things. We were fine before your family was involved.
Nor would Mike trash-talk her family. And he had good reason to dislike them.
Please. Let’s talk.
Dylan bit down on her bottom lip, tired of Nicolas’s emotional manipulation. His version of begging might have seemed cute to him, but she thought she would feel even better if he just left her alone. For the sake of her stuff not being in the street like in a nineties R&B music video, she answered:
I’m OK with where we left things. We can arrange for me to pick up my stuff when I return in three weeks.
As soon as she hit send, his typing bubble appeared, and Dylan secretly wished the Wi-Fi in the building wasn’t so good. She didn’t need to see the response right away.
Babe. Do we really need to throw away all these years over your family?
Her fingers flexed in frustration as she tapped back:
Again, I’m comfortable with the way we ended. I’ll contact you when I’m back in town.
Doing her best to smile as she passed employees in the cubes on the way to her office, Dylan caught his reply:
