Color of Loneliness (34 page)

“Oh, and just so you know, I’m praying to baby Jesus right now that you said yes,” Susie adds.

“I did.”

Susie screams. “Holy shit. What did he do?”

“Trent swung at Dylan and missed. Then Dylan punched him in either his stomach or his ribs, I couldn’t really tell. Trent was down after one punch.”

“You know, I never knew that love could happen this fast. But I am now officially in love with Dylan. Screw you and Jeff. I want Dylan all for myself.” Myra shakes her head as Susie grows more enthusiastic. “I love him and he’s mine. I am truly, deeply in love with that man. I need to send him a thank you card. Or maybe a gift basket…”

Myra snorts.

“So what happened next?” Susie asks.

“I told Trent that if he came back, I’d call the cops. He finally got up and left. Then… Dylan he, well, he apologized for what he said earlier and…”

Susie interrupts, belting out the worst rendition of Marvin Gaye’s
Let’s Get It On
known to mankind.

Myra starts laughing uncontrollably. “Stop,” she yells.

“You are so jealous of my vocal abilities,” Susie says before she busts out cackling, hee-haw donkey-style. They laugh uproariously until Myra has tears sneaking out of the corners of her eyes.

“God, that was hilarious,” Susie says before coughing and clearing her throat. “So did you sex up that delicious fighting piece of man meat?”

“No,” Myra says between her continuing giggles. “We just kissed some more.”

“Ah, he definitely deserved a little lip action after that Trent bashing. I just thought of something,” Susie says excitedly. “Dylan is just like Desmond because that is exactly
something that hottie Desi would do. Beat the shit out of somebody and then sweep the heroine off of her feet with a romantic kiss,” Susie says before sighing dramatically. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to add Dylan to my list of men to fantasize about.”

“Yes, I do mind.”

“Too bad. I’m in love with him now. He’s made it to Desi status. What happened after the hot kissing?”

“Jackie showed up so he went home.”

“You’re joking, right? He beats up that peckerhead for you, and you just send him home? Why didn’t you tell Jackie to buzz off and drag that man upstairs? Are you insane?”

“I told you I’m not going to sleep with him. And besides, Jackie and I had plans for dinner.”

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

Myra shakes her head because she knows who the crazy person is in this conversation, and it most definitely isn’t her. “Yep,” she replies, smiling.

“I have to tell you what happened to me today. Jeff has been all over my ass about going to the gym so I decided to go tonight after work. So I worked out,” Susie says before clearing her throat. “Well, I kind of left off a few important words in that sentence. I should have said, ‘I worked out
a little bit
.’ And I was starving by the time I left that place. I was so hungry I was ready to raid my purse for breath mints. So I caved and stopped by the drive-thru and ordered a Super-Size fry. I asked them if they had a Super-Duper-Size fry, but the guy just laughed at me. And I made sure to get a Diet Coke.”

“Of course.”

“I parked the car and got my ketchup all squirted, and I swear my mouth was watering like a leaky fire hydrant. I loaded up my first fry with a ton of ketchup and went to shove it in my mouth, and dropped the damn thing in the gap between my seat and the center console and it went straight to the floor. My first bite. Before it ever hit my mouth. And I knew I couldn’t leave it there because Jeff would find it. He’s like a diet sleuth when it comes to shit like that. So I had to get out of the car, push the seat back, crawl on the floorboard, grab the fry and scrub the ketchup off. It was awful. And you know my interior is cream-colored.”

“Only you,” Myra says.

“So anyway, I got done eating, and I was very careful not to drop any ketchup on me or anything because I didn’t want Jeff to know that I cheated on my diet, or he’d kick my ass. Then I took all of the trash and dumped it in the trash can. And on the way home, I opened all of the windows and froze my ass off as I tried to get rid of the French fry smell in the car.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Totally. So I walked in the door and Jeff came up and gave me a hug and told me how proud he was that I went to the gym. Then he leaned in and gave me a kiss. He pulled back and said, ‘What the hell? You taste like French fries.’ I forgot about my tattle-tale breath. He was so pissed off at me. I’m in so much trouble.”

Myra giggles. “You should be. I can’t believe you went to the gym and then blew it eating fries.”

“I know. I’m ashamed,” Susie says before yawning loudly. “Hey, I hate to cut this call short, but it’s getting late, and I gotta go to bed. I love ya, and I’ll call ya tomorrow.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

Dylan stares at his phone which sits in front of him on his kitchen table. He stares at it and then stares at it some more. An angry, frustrated growl leaves his lips as he drops his head into his hands, digging his long fingers through his disheveled hair.

Standing, he lights a cigarette, inhaling deeply. He leans up against the kitchen counter and crosses his feet at the ankles, letting the cigarette hang out of the corner of his mouth as his gaze slowly trails back over to his phone again. Shaking his head, he takes another drag on his cigarette. He can’t believe that he actually looked at that fucking thing again considering he’s been staring at the damn piece of shit for the last hour.

He can’t quit thinking about what happened at Myra’s. He’d decided with certainty that he was not going to go over to her house. But before he knew it, he found himself in his truck pulling into her damn driveway. He didn’t know what the hell he’d do or say, but he definitely planned on apologizing to her for his asshole behavior. But beating up her ex and kissing the shit out of her definitely weren’t things he had planned.

He stares at his phone again. “Ah, fuck it,” he yells as he walks over and snatches it off of the table. Looking under his recent calls, he finds Myra’s number and hits send. His heart pounds, making him feel like a pussy as he takes in a long drag of his cigarette.

“Hello?” Myra answers softly as he exhales the smoke quickly out of the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, uh, this is Dylan,” he says before clearing his throat, trying to loosen that shit up so he can talk. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh. I’m good. Thank you. I didn’t get to thank you before. For showing up like you did. And helping me with Trent. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. You think he’s gonna show up again?”

“No. I think he’s in too much pain,” Myra says before giggling.

A giant smile spreads over Dylan’s face. He likes that giggle. “I could come spend the night with ya, if you want.” He slaps a hand against his forehead. “Jesus. I didn’t mean to say that shit like that, I meant to say I’ll stay on the couch, ya know, to be there in case he comes back again or whatever.” He squeezes his eyes shut tight and pounds his fist on the counter.

“Oh. That’s okay. I’ll be fine. But thank you for the offer.”

“You’ll call me if he shows up again?”

“Yes, I promise.”

He clears his throat again. “And, uh, we got everything worked out, right? I mean,” he says before he takes in a deep breath, “with you and me.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay. Good.” He nods his head even though she can’t see it. “That’s good.”

“Dylan?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not going to freak out on me again, are you?”

He looks down at his hands as they grip the edge of counter so hard his knuckles are white. He may be freaking the fuck out right now. He seems to freak out every time he’s around her. But he doubts that’s what Myra wants to hear right now. “I’ll try my best not to.”

She remains silent for a moment. “I’ve been hurt a lot.”

He thinks of that prick Trent. He wants to beat him into a bloody pulp for ever touching Myra. She’s so sweet and beautiful, and she deserves so much better than that fucker. She deserves better than Dylan, too, but he chooses to ignore that thought. “I’d never hurt you. Not intentionally. I’m trying.” Fuck, he hopes he never hurts her. But with his past, he knows he can’t promise.

“I know,” she says quietly. He swears he can hear her smiling. “I really like you, Dylan.”

“I... I like you too.” That feels like a huge fucking understatement, considering he practically mauled her a few hours ago. “I’ll see ya in the morning.”

“Good night,” Myra says before he hangs up.

* * *

Myra can’t wipe the smile off of her face as she stares into the mirror and brushes her teeth. She can’t believe Dylan called her. As she puts away her toothbrush, she breathes in a happy, contented sigh. She pauses and stares at her reflection again. Her eyes practically twinkle back at her in the mirror. The fact that Dylan cared enough to call her makes her feel giddy inside.

She climbs into bed and grabs her pillow, covering her face so that she can happily squeal into it and kick her feet a little. Turning on her side, she hugs it tightly next to her body, thinking thoughts of Dylan and the way his lips felt against hers.

* * *

Dylan glances down at the green glowing numbers on his truck’s stereo clock, checking the time.

He rationalizes to himself that arriving at Myra’s house twenty minutes early shouldn’t
seem too damn stalkerish. The reality being that he wanted to show up an hour or two early but didn’t want to seem like an eager motherfucker. As he steps out of his truck, his heart thrums a rapid pace in his chest.

He wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans as he walks towards the porch. When he knocks and his mouth goes dry, he gets pissed at himself for feeling like a goddamn fourteen-year-old with his first crush.

Myra opens the door and smiles shyly at him wearing a blue hooded sweatshirt and jeans. He finds her so fucking beautiful that he feels like he can’t breathe for a minute.

“Hi,” she says as she reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear.

After gulping, he clears his throat, hoping like hell he can talk. “Hi,” he says, his voice sounding weird.

He smiles and just stares at her for a moment not saying anything. Realizing he’s been gawking at her for an inappropriate amount of time, he drops his gaze to the porch and runs his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t know what the hell to say. “You doing all right this morning?” he asks, feeling stupid.

“I’m doing great,” she answers with a smile.

“Good,” he says, nodding. “That’s good.” Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, he swallows hard. He can’t believe how much he feels like a ridiculous tongue-tied fucking fool. He needs to get his shit together.

The sound of a truck pulling in the drive jars him out of his awkwardness. “Yeah, Ray and I are gonna finish the decking. Then we’ll start on the shingles. It’ll probably be noisy like it was the other day.”

“That’s fine,” she says, still smiling softly at him.

Dylan cringes when he hears Ray’s truck door slam. Just the thought of Ray opening his fucking mouth and saying something disgusting about Myra makes him want to beat the ever-living shit out of him.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Ray says to Myra. “You look lovely as always. Did you miss me?” Ray flirts shamelessly, giving Myra a wink and a cocky grin as he steps up beside Dylan.

Dylan bristles. He can feel the rage beginning to seep into his bloodstream.

“Keep your mouth shut,” Dylan growls.

“Why, good morning, to you, too, Sunshine,” Ray says to Dylan with an eye roll. “I see we got up on the wrong side of the fucking bed as usual. Are we jealous? Are you upset that she might have missed me? Because we know she definitely didn’t miss your sorry ass.”

Dylan’s eyes narrow as he clenches his fists tight, trying to keep them contained so that one of them doesn’t throw a straight jab into Ray’s fuckingly irritating, smart-assed mouth.

He takes in a deep breath and turns to Myra. “We’re gonna get started, all right?” he tells her through gritted teeth. She nods at him as he grabs Ray’s arm and starts dragging him off the porch. He hears Myra’s door shut behind him.

“Let me go, you asshole. I haven’t seen Myra in a whole fucking day,” Ray shouts as he tries to wrench his arm away.

Dylan stops and releases him. “Back the hell off of Myra, or I’m gonna fire your ass. I’m done dealing with your shit.”

“You wouldn’t fire me. How the hell would you get the roof done, huh?”

“Try me,” Dylan challenges him in a deadly tone. “I’ll drag every fucking shingle one by one up on that goddamn roof by myself if I have to.”

Ray flips him the bird and stomps off, muttering under his breath. Dylan ignores him and turns to his truck, getting out his ladder. He takes in several deep breaths, hoping he and Ray can knock this roofing job out fast before he kills that motherfucker.

* * *

Myra’s hands hover over her keyboard as she turns her head slightly, listening. She doesn’t hear the sounds of hammering and movement on the roof anymore so it must be quitting time. A nervous energy starts to buzz through her body. They left her alone all day and worked straight through. The only time she saw Dylan was when she peeped out of the window and caught him smoking a cigarette.