Page 86 of Because of Dylan

I get to making the second round of hot chocolate of the night. The ingredients still next to the cappuccino machine. Dylan watches me go through the same ritual as before.

I make myself a mug to share with him. Check the time. Nearly midnight. “Do you want anything to eat? I can check if the cook is still in.”

He shakes his head. “No, thanks. Not hungry.”

I give him his drink, and we both take a sip, looking at each other over the rim of our mugs. This one is even better than the first.

His eyes widen at the first taste. “This is good.”

“Thanks. That’s a Becca special. It’s not on the menu.” I remember the cookies.

“Oh, I have something to go with the hot chocolate. River brought me some homemade cookies earlier.” I reach into the shelf where I hid them and open the container. There’s like two dozen cookies, three different kinds. Sugar cookies, chocolate chip, and, my favorite, peanut butter chocolate chunk. I offer him the container. He grabs a chocolate chip. I grab a peanut butter one. We take a bite. The moan we share sounds obscene. His eyes darken, and he looks at me like he wants to eat me instead of the cookie.

My cheeks burn, the heat spreads into my chest and belly. He licks a crumb off his thumb. The heat in my belly pools lower. This is like foreplay.

We stare at each other, blink, look away, drink, stare again. Not a word is spoken and yet so much is said. The sounds of the bar fade away. I curse and bless the counter between us. God knows what would happen if we could touch right now.

“What about my cookie?” Jerk Face interrupts us.

And with his voice comes the low murmur of conversation. The muffled song playing on the speakers. The talking heads on TV. I get yanked back into reality. Look at the asshole. He smiles like a used-car salesman. So sleazy it leaves an oily residue behind. I want to bathe in bleach.

“Sorry. You can’t have any. It’s against health code policies since these cookies were not made on the premises.”

“He had one.” Asshole points at Dylan. He sounds like a petulant child.

“He’s a friend.” I turn away from him, grip my mug and bring it to my lips.

“I can be your friend. What time are you leaving, doll? Maybe we can share those cookies in the back seat of your car.”

I ignore him, taking another sip. Dylan is no longer looking at me. He’s staring at Jerk Face with murder in his eyes. A small flame kindles inside me.

“Hey! I’m talking to you.” Jerk Face’s voice gets louder.

Dylan stands up.

Gus moves like a ninja and gets around the bar. Steps between Dylan and the asshole. “Time for you to go, buddy.” His tone is friendly, but there’s nothing friendly about his posture. Gus smacks a fist into the palm of his hand.

The three locals stand—the synchronized screech of their chairs dragging on the floor is a warning—but Jerk Face is either too drunk or too stupid because he doesn’t seem to notice and doesn’t back down.

“I can’t go. I’m waiting for my friend Bonnie to give me a ride.” He points at me.

Gus nods, never taking his eyes off Jerk Face. “Hey,Bonnie, why don’t you go now. Don’t worry about cleaning up. I’m closing early. It’sdeadtonight.” Gus puts a lot of emphasis on the word dead.

I look at Dylan and whisper, “I’ll be right back.” I take the cookie container and walk to the back, removing my apron on the way. Grabbing my backpack, I stuff the cookies inside, grab my sweater, and put on my jacket. I fish out my keys, and I’m back in less than a minute, making my way from the other side of the bar and taking a wide berth around the asshole. Gus shifts his position, keeping himself between us.

Dylan walks to me and puts a hand at my back. I glance at Gus, and he tilts his head up in a clear indication for me to go.

Jerk Face gets up. Gus puts a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t go yet.” Pushes him into his seat again. “I got your change, Pretty Boy. You’re going to need that to call a cab.”

Dylan’s hand stays on my back all the way to my car. I mourn the short distance and miss the warmth when he takes his hand away to open the car door for me. “I’ll follow you and make sure you get back safely.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

I hesitate, then get into the car. He stands by the open door. I put the key in the ignition and turn. Nothing. Not even a flicker of a sound. I try again. And again. “It’s dead.”

His hand appears in the space between us. “Come. I’ll give you a ride. Leave the car here. We can come back tomorrow and try to jump-start it.”

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