Page 104 of Because of Dylan

Dylan’s hand flexes on my side. “Shh … whatever is going on in your head stop it. I can feel your body tensing.”

“What? No—I’m not—”

He shifts to look at me, holds himself up on an elbow. “Yes, you are. I want to keep seeing you. I want us to be together. And I know it’s complicated. We can’t be a couple in public. Not yet. But in five months you’ll graduate, and then we don’t have to hide anymore.” He pulls away the hand on my waist and runs it through his hair. Immediately, I miss the contact.

“I’m not very good at relationships.” I shared myself with him, and yet, confessing my shortcomings makes me feel more exposed than my still naked body.

“I’m not that great, either.” He traces my eyebrows with a fingertip. “But we can figure it out together.” Then he traces the line of my jaw. “I want this to work. I like you, Becca. I have liked you for a long time and not being able to act on it pissed me off.”

I stop his hand, hold it on my chest so I can think. “You said that before. That you watched me, but I don’t understand. You don’t really know me. How can you like me?”

He curves his fingers around mine. “That’s just it. I noticed you the first time I saw you at the Maslow building. I paid attention every time I saw you. I have always been drawn to you.” He kisses my fingertips. “I have a confession to make.” He takes a deep breath. “Don’t hate me, but I—fuck, this makes me sound like a creep. I know about your volunteer work. I work with Magda on a few projects.” He watches me.

My first impulse is to pull away, but I force myself to stay and listen. I know all too well I can't trust my first impulse.

“I don’t have any influence on hiring or how she chooses the candidates or anything like that, and I don’t have access to your records either.”

“How do you know, then?”

“I was at her office, maybe a couple of years ago, and you walked by the window. She said, and I quote, ‘that girl has more heart than the rest of them combined.’”

“She said that?” Something flutters in my chest. Magda is not one to give compliments in vain. Or at all.

“She did. And when I asked why, she told me about some of your volunteer work and how proud she is of you.”

“Magda? Magda Kenny, the Queen? Are we talking about the same person?”

He laughs. “Yes. I had the same reaction as you.”

I don’t know what to do with this information.

“Talk to me. What are you thinking?”

I snort. “You sound like a therapist right now.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what I’m thinking. Part of me is weirded out you knew me all this time. But then again, it’s not like you had a reason to come up to me and say anything.”

“I never acted on it. I never intended on pursuing you. It was always meant to be a distant veneration.”

“Veneration?” That’s a word I’d never associate with myself.

“Yeah, veneration. From afar is all I intended. Until you met Tommy and turned everything upside down.”

“You were so mad.”

“I was so stupidly jealous and angry at myself for believing the crap I never believed before. I’m a man. Men are stupid.”

That cracks me up. “You’re not getting any arguments from me on that one.”

He brings my hand to his chest. “So, that’s my confession.”

I have confessions. So many of them. But he won’t hear any. Not now, not ever.

His eyes light up with mischief. His hand splays on my stomach possessively.

“Have I told you about the amazing multi-spray shower I have in my bathroom? And would you be interested in a private tour?”

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