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Chapter Forty-Four

Scarlett

I can’t read Dylan’s mood when he walks out of his therapist’s office, but I know enough to tread lightly. That sometimes the sessions get heavy and bring stuff up that drain him. Make him go quiet and disappear inside himself for hours. For days sometimes. But he always comes back out of it seeming more at peace. A little more willing to accept that maybe things won’t be this hard forever.

I’ve never picked Dylan up right from a session before. Honestly, we’re both shocked Phil was okay with me driving him today, so we could head into the city afterwards to do something fun together, just the two of us. A date.

“Do you want to talk about anything? About your session with your therapist?” I ask kind of nervously once he’s folded his tall body into the passenger seat.

I know he hates talking about stuff when he comes over a couple hours after his sessions. But he literally just walked out the door. He could be upset right now.

Shit, I wish I’d asked him before how this usually plays out, so I don’t do or say the wrong thing. I hope there aren’t any landmines he forgot to tell me about.

“Hard no,” he says, letting his head fall back against the headrest. He combs his fingers through his hair and the waves fall back over his forehead.

“You want to go do something totally brainless, then? Spend way too much money on hokey, probably rigged arcade games, then eat so much junk food we feel sick?

“Hard yes.”

I smile. “You’re going to love this place. They have one of those claw machines that costs four bucks a pop for a shot at getting a plush My Little Pony that probably cost twenty-five cents to make.”

“I’m gonna play that game ’till I get you Rainbow Dash, then.”

“It doesn’t have to be Rainbow Dash.”

He pulls me in with a muscular arm and kisses me slowly. Gently. “I’m getting you Rainbow Dash if I have to play that thing until midnight.”

I grin. “Well, I’ve got no other plans.”

“You do now.”

We spend three hours at the arcade. Acting like a couple of ten-year-olds. We eat sundaes for dinner and sour gummies for dessert. Promise ourselves we’re not leaving until we’ve played every single game at least once. Except for the claw machine with the My Little Pony stuffies. Dylan plays that one for twenty minutes straight. Right until the guy by the cash calls out to us that they’re closing.

“Just give me five more minutes!” Dylan calls back, his face concentrated on directing the claw directly over the one Rainbow Dash that’s in the far corner, her hind legs tucked beneath two Applejacks and a Twilight Sparkle. I know he’s spent at least twenty dollars on tickets playing this silly game.

The guy gives him five more minutes, and Dylan gets another Applejack. Then the guy turns out the lights. “Time to go, folks! My shift’s done and I want to get home to my girl.”

I squeeze Dylan’s hand to reassure him in the sudden darkness. There’s still a light on by the counter, so I don’t think this bothers him too much, though.

“Shit, Scarr,” he says, and I can barely make out the motion of his arm coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I wanted to get you Rainbow Dash.”

“Seriously? Look at this awesome pony collection! I’m the happiest girl alive right now. I don’t care about Rainbow Dash.”

It was just a symbolic thing—because of the slap bracelet, and the comic he got me. The way Rainbow Dash has kind of become my “thing”, now that it means more than just a cartoon I liked as a kid.

“I’m really sorry.” He kisses me.

My lips smile against his. I think I’m in love with this guy.

Oh my God… I think I’m in love with Dylan Braun .

It should feel scary and huge, and mess with my head. Because, until a few months ago, I swore I would never let myself care about another boy ever again—let alone fall in love with one. Only it doesn’t feel like any of those things. It just feels… warm and exciting and right. Even if I know Dylan is nowhere near the point of confessing his own love for me—that he’s still grappling with what the concept of love even means. I don’t care about any of that right now. It’s part of who he is. Loving Dylan just means I want to be by his side while he figures it all out. And that I’m happy to have him by my side while I figure out my own way forward. I don’t need him to tell me that he loves me to know he has feelings for me. That he truly cares. Because he shows it in other ways.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice low and quiet, lips still pressed against mine. “For an amazing day.”

In ways like that. And in the way that his warm mouth brushes against my cheek, his lip ring skimming my sensitive skin. And the way he places a gentle kiss just beneath my temple, then rests his chin on my shoulder. Holds me close. Whispers, “today was perfect,” so softly I know the words are meant just for me.

Eventually we pull apart and I go get the car and wait out front for Dylan while he runs to the washroom before the hour drive home. He strides out a few minutes later, his blond waves blowing lightly in the wind and his eyes that emerald shade of green that means he’s happy, head tilted a little to the side, lips ticked up in a devilish smile… and Rainbow Dash held up proudly against his chest.

I jump out of the car and run around to where he’s standing, letting out an honest to God squeal. “You got her!” I hug him tightly, squishing Rainbow Dash between us. “How did you get her?”

“Paid that guy at the counter twenty bucks to open the machine and get it for me.”

“You paid twenty bucks to get her?” I take my new stuffie from him, inspecting her from every angle. “You didn’t have to do that. I was totally happy with my harem of other ponies.”

He shakes his head. “No, you weren’t.”

“I was.”

“Liar,” he says. “It was about more than the stuffie.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.” He leans in, brushes a lock of hair from my cheek and tucks it behind my ear, poking at his lip ring with the tip of his tongue. Then he places a kiss on my lips like it’s another gift. “Because I see you Scarlett Thiels,” he whispers. “Even in the dark.”

Thank you so much for reading Scarlett and Dylan's story. I hope you enjoyed it! Keep reading for a sneak peak and the first two chapters of Maggie when Xavier Rockwell gives you attitude, you throw the lemons at him.

He scoffs. "So, you're still totally condescending and prickly." He crushes his can and tosses it into the cooler. "I thought maybe I'd built it up in my head."

"Aw, you've been thinking about me, Lord Rockwell? I’m flattered."

He gestures at my outfit again. "Also, apparently, color blind."

Then he leans over me to grab another beer, his tall frame stretching out inches from my face. I catch a whiff of his cologne—subtle and woodsy—as his muscles flex under his shirt. He pops the can open with a satisfying hiss, taking a deep gulp. My eyes follow the rise and fall of his throat as he drinks, and I force myself to look away, irritated that I'm even noticing these things about Xavier Rockwell.God knows what Laney sees in this guy besides his looks. And the fact that he probably has en suite bathroom with those towels that are so fluffy they basically co-parent your inner child. And okay—also the fact that he presumably says espresso right.

"Well, I see you've still got the personality of an overcooked noodle," I respond. "I thought maybe I'd built it up in my head."

He pauses with his beer halfway to his lips, the lower one fuller, slightly flushed. "Did you just call me a noodle? "

"Don't forget the 'over-cooked' part," I clarify. "I think it's an important qualifier in this instance."

His eyebrows shoot up. Is it possible I just rendered the King of Cool speechless?

Only I'll never know, because at that moment, a perky squeal shatters the air.

"Xave! Oh my God, I thought I lost you!"

A dewy-faced girl with thick brown waves bounces up and slings an arm around his broad shoulders, snuggling into his chest.

"One can only dream," I mutter, and the girl eyes me curiously as Xavier coils his arm around her bare midriff.

"Victoria’s making shots," she purrs. "You coming?"

"Yeah, sure," he says, eyes still on me.

I flash him a syrupy smile. "Aw, leaving so soon?"

He ignores me, turning to his admirer instead. "Seb with you guys?"

"Uh, I think he wandered off with Scarlett a while ago."

Xavier nods, then tosses a final parting shot over his shoulder. "A pleasure, as always, Lobster Girl."

God. So weak. Doesn’t he get he can’t insult me with the lobster thing when I made the reference about him?

Amateur.

"Careful not to trip over your ego on your way to the bonfire!" I call after him. "Wouldn't want you falling in and messing up that pretty face."

I think I hear him chuckle. Which pisses me off even more.

As the night wears on and I start to sober up, a new thought dawns on me: just because we’re not at the Welsford doesn’t mean Xavier couldn’t use tonight’s exchange as an excuse to go to his father about the Kid’s Club incident. Heck, he could even make something up and it would be his word against mine.

Xavier Rockwell may very well have just had the last laugh.

And I may have just let a couple too many White Claws seal my fate.