Diary of a Crush: Sealed With a Kiss (13 page)

Dylan rubbed my shoulders as I closed my in-box.

‘Are you tired?’ he wanted to know.

I nodded. ‘Yeah, shall we have extra caffeine-y coffee or a nap?’

‘A nap,’ decided Dylan immediately. ‘And I can’t be bothered to faff about with the subway, let’s get a cab.’

It sounded like a plan. A good plan.

Half an hour later we were fast asleep.

I woke up to find Dylan kissing my ear and stroking my hair. I lay there for five minutes pretending to be asleep because it felt so nice. But then Dylan pressed himself against my back and slid his hand lower.

‘I know you’re not asleep,’ he purred. ‘Your breathing’s got faster.’

I smiled and rolled over so I was lying on top of him.

I brushed the hair out of his eyes. ‘Hey you,’ I whispered.

‘Hey yourself,’ he whispered back before nibbling my bottom lip with his teeth. I rubbed my mouth against his but every time he tried to capture my lips I moved away, kissing his cheeks and eyelids and the tip of his nose. Dylan gave a growl of annoyance and suddenly flipped me so I was lying underneath him while his mouth clung to mine. Our lips met, Dylan’s tongue dipping into my mouth as our legs slowly tangled.

Eventually he paused in his assault of my mouth and I sucked in some much needed oxygen.

‘What time are we meeting Carl and Lisa?’ Dylan mumbled, in between kissing my neck.

I tried to think. ‘Eight.’

Dylan glanced at the travel clock on his bedside table. ‘We’ve got two hours.’

I ran my hands down his back, feeling the tight outline of his muscles beneath the skin.

‘I guess I could have a long soak in the bath,’ I suggested teasingly. ‘That should kill some time.’

Dylan nipped my shoulder. ‘Why don’t you make it a quick shower instead, I’ve got plans for you.’

The evening air was a little fresher as we walked through Soho towards Nolita, stopping every now and then to consult our street map. After a few false turns we found Mulberry Street and the little Italian restaurant where we’d arranged to meet Carl and Lisa. I was a bit nervous about hanging out with them. Lisa hadn’t exactly endeared herself to me and Carl was probably the biggest jerk in the world if his choice in girlfriend was anything to go by. But they seemed pleased to see us, probably ’cause they were getting a free meal. God, I’ve become so cynical in my old age.

We sat outside and watched these little old Italian men greeting each other and sitting down outside a café a few doors down to smoke cigars and drink red wine. Carl swore to God that the whole block was Mafia controlled and that they were retired members of the Cosa Nostra but I think he’d seen too many episodes of
The Sopranos
. I was in love with it all. The waitress with the broad Bronx accent who made me repeat my order for spaghetti and meatballs five times because ‘I love your cute accent’, the smell of garlic and traffic, the thick, heavy air and the fact that every other person I saw was walking a small dog.

Carl and Lisa didn’t talk about the stuff our friends in Manchester talked about: mainly who fancied who, who hated who and music, films and art. They talked about their sinus problems, how expensive living in New York was and gave a really in-depth account of the state of their relationship (which veered dangerously towards over-sharing). After a long, tedious account about Carl’s bad relationship with his stepfather which had started when he’d walked in on him and his mum getting pelvic, I changed the subject to ask how much rent they paid.

Carl squinched his face at me. ‘I think that’s a really personal question and I’m kinda offended that you’d ask me that,’ he said very haughtily.

I apologised and looked at Dylan for a bit of moral support but he was too busy talking to Lisa about her therapist.

I couldn’t wait for the meal to be over and wondered whether Dylan and I would have time for a romantic walk in Central Park but once we’d settled the bill, Carl and Lisa were already making plans to take us bar-hopping.

‘Edie’s underage,’ Dylan pointed out. ‘Don’t you have to be twenty-one to drink here?’

Carl winked at me, which threw me as he hadn’t exactly been Mr New Best Friend up till then and promised we’d go somewhere dark where I wouldn’t get carded.

Then Dylan and Lisa were walking on ahead while Carl slung a slightly too friendly arm round my shoulders and started jawing on about his and Lisa’s sex life. It was too ewwww for words. There was something off, something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on but Carl was following Dylan and Lisa through a little doorway and my feeling of ickiness got distracted.

The Red Bench Bar was so dark that if Carl hadn’t moved his arm from my shoulder to my waist and guided me towards a table I’d have had to ask the barman for some night-vision goggles.

While Dylan and Carl went to the bar Lisa and I sat in silence as we acclimatised to the dark. She twirled a strand of her expensively highlighted hair around one perfectly manicured finger and even though I was wearing my expensive Mango dress that looked a bit like a Marc Jacobs frock, I felt like a raggedy urchin next to her.

‘Dylan’s cute,’ Lisa suddenly announced. ‘Extremely yummy.’

‘He’ll do,’ I said in a non-committal voice that I hoped made it clear that Dylan’s yumminess was not up for discussion.

‘You still mad about the money, huh?’ she asked and although it was dark, I could hear the smirk in her voice. ‘I explained it to Dylan, he’s cool with it.’

‘Well he wasn’t cool about it last night,’ I muttered.

‘You gotta know how to handle men, honey,’ Lisa said with all the added and vast experience of her extra four years on me. ‘Take Carl.’

Yeah, someone, please take Carl.

I sighed. ‘What about Carl?’

‘He’s OK for now, but definitely not a long-term fixture.’ Lisa shifted nearer to me as she warmed to her topic. ‘It’s like you and Dylan.’

‘It’s nothing like me and Dylan,’ I burst out indignantly. ‘We love each other!’

But when I said it, it sounded, well, trite. Lisa seemed to agree.

‘God, you teenagers figure that love is always going to be all puppy dogs and ice cream,’ she snorted dismissively. ‘He’s your first boyfriend, of course you think you love him. But when you go to college all that stuff changes.’

‘It doesn’t have to,’ I argued. ‘If two people love each other then they can make it work.’

Lisa ignored this. ‘Carl and I have an open relationship,’ she continued. ‘It makes everything less complicated. I’m so pleased that I’ve moved on from all that jealousy ’cause, y’know, that negative energy can be so blocking.’

‘Open relationships are just an excuse to cheat on each other,’ I snorted.

‘Don’t you ever think about being with someone who isn’t Dylan?’ Lisa demanded in a low voice. ‘I know Carl really likes you.’

‘Yeah?’

‘No I mean he
really
likes you,’ Lisa giggled. ‘And I know Dylan’s into me.’

My entire brain was on the verge of exploding, when Carl and Dylan came back with our drinks. Carl was already sliding into the booth next to me and Lisa was patting the seat next to her for Dylan, who had no choice but to sit down. He didn’t have to look so bloody happy about it, though.

Then Carl put his hand on my knee under the table and whispered, ‘So. Did Lisa talk to you?’

My withering glance was annoyingly obscured so I took a gulp of my drink, and nearly spat it out again.

The three of them laughed at me, and Lisa made a big show of mopping the table with her napkin. ‘Oh yeah, forgot to mention how large the measures are,’ Dylan grinned.

‘Thanks for the warning,’ I said sourly.

And then Carl was telling me how many bench presses he could do and while I idly wondered what a bench press was and wished that he’d stop trying to look down my dress, I tried to hear what Dylan and Lisa were talking about. I heard my name mentioned a few times, and I didn’t like the way Lisa kept gazing into Dylan’s eyes and licking her lips.

For the next two hours, Carl kept the drinks coming in between trying to touch me in inappropriate places. I attempted to kick Dylan under the table a few times but he was too engrossed in Lisa to notice. He’d occasionally flash me a quick smile and then turn back to her.

I realised eventually that I was really drunk. I had to fight the urge to lay my head down on the table. Carl was now wittering on about how my accent was really horny and rubbing my thigh and it was getting harder and harder to keep hold of his hand to stop it wandering someplace that it really shouldn’t be wandering.

‘Oh look, they’re holding hands. That’s so cute.’

I tried to focus on Lisa who’d just spoken but there was at least three of her.

‘I feel a bit strange,’ I said slowly, my voice coming from a long, long way away.

Dylan stood up. ‘Jesus, Edie, I can’t take you anywhere,’ he snapped.

I tried to stand too but realised I was still clutching Carl’s hand.

‘Are we going?’ I asked the three Dylans who were looking at me with matching expressions of disgust.

Carl gave me an enthusiastic hug. ‘Hey, you can’t go!’ he exclaimed loudly. ‘The party’s just getting started.’

But Carl’s squeezing was having a devastating effect on my insides. ‘I’m going to be sick!’

With an exasperated exhalation, Dylan grabbed me by the arm and dragged me through the bar. Somewhere in my brain, I’d already made the decision that I was going to throw up and didn’t feel all panicky about it like you do when you’re ill. I stumbled to the edge of the kerb and puked. And puked. And puked. When my stomach was empty, I felt a lot better and strangely calm. I turned round; Dylan was staring at me with a look of utter revulsion, his arms folded.

I stepped back, bewildered by the venom in his eyes, and nearly fell off the edge of the sidewalk. In two short strides he was clutching my arm again. ‘You’ve made a complete show of yourself,’ he spat, his green eyes flashing, as he turned me round to face him. ‘You just shouldn’t drink.’

‘Leggo of me,’ I slurred. ‘You’re not the boss of me. I’m going back in and I’m having another drink.’

‘You’ve had enough,’ Dylan said tightly. ‘Of drinking, and all that touchy feely crap with Carl.’

At that moment Carl and Lisa emerged from the bar, took one look at the thunderous expression on Dylan’s face and stopped.

‘I’m taking Edie back to the hotel,’ Dylan stated in an expressionless voice, which I knew meant that I was for it when he got me on my own. However much I was beginning to loathe our new American pals, I decided there was safety in numbers.

‘I want to go with them,’ I whined.

Dylan kept up the death grip on my upper arms.

‘It’s been a great night,’ he said to Carl and Lisa, ignoring my frantic wriggling. ‘We’ll phone you when we get to LA, let you know the car’s in one piece.’

They realised they were being dismissed and turned to go but Dylan hadn’t finished.

‘Oh, and Lisa,’ he said in his scary, quiet voice that always sends shivers down my spine. And not in a good way. ‘Can I have the $600 back?’

Lisa opened and shut her mouth a couple of times.

‘Yeah what was all that about?’ Carl said to her. ‘Why should they pay for doing us a favour?’ He turned to Dylan. ‘It’s like I told you, we’d have had to pay a fortune to get the car shipped back to LA.’

Lisa was digging furiously in her purse. ‘There’s $500,’ she hissed at Dylan, slamming a wodge of bills into his hand. ‘I don’t have the rest.’

Carl threw her a mean look and she raised her eyebrows at him before he drew out a crumpled $100 bill from his jacket pocket. ‘There you go, man, sorry about that.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Chicks, huh?’ And Carl and Lisa exited stage left.

Dylan let go of me and I staggered backwards.

‘I wasn’t doing anything with him, I mean…’

Dylan made a dismissive face. ‘I don’t want to hear it, Edie,’ he said tiredly, shoving his hands into his hip pockets. ‘I just want to go back to the hotel and forget that this last half hour ever happened.’

‘Dylan, I…’ I didn’t finish the sentence. Dylan was already standing in the road, trying to flag down a cab and not paying any attention to me.

I got into the cab which had just pulled up, went back to the hotel and for the second night running, Dylan and I weren’t talking.

Dylan was still mad at me the next day. He didn’t say he was mad (he didn’t say much of anything) but had made an unnecessarily harsh decision to check out early. Eight in the morning, early. All I wanted to do was burrow under the covers and wonder if some small animal had crawled into my mouth during the night and died.

Hangovers are not of the good. Even the merest twitch of an eyelash made my head thump and my stomach lurch but Dylan ignored my muffled protests and went down to breakfast after tersely informing me that he wanted me washed, packed and ready to go in half an hour. The slamming of the door was an added Dylan bonus.

By eight thirty-five I was clutching a triple shot espresso from the nearest Starbucks as I stood meekly watching Dylan load up the car and swearing under his breath. I tried to lift my suitcase and show willing but he snatched it from me and told me to get in the car. Never come between a boy and his bad mood.

The wreck had one long seat up front and I carefully arranged my maps and the itinerary notebook and my bag in the middle so no part of me could touch any part of Dylan. That took all of thirty seconds but Dylan was still faffing about.

I didn’t know what was taking him so long. We had two suitcases plus assorted carrier bags and a whole boot and back seat to put them on.

Eventually he was done packing and slid into the driver’s seat.

Dylan put the key in the ignition, checked the rear-view mirror, adjusted his seat, wound down the window, wound it up again when he realised that it was hotter outside than it was inside the car, then put his hands on the steering wheel and gave a deep sigh.

There wasn’t a lot I could do. He was obviously nervous about driving a clapped out heap of junk and on the wrong side of the road but anything I said was going to sound majorly unsupportive given the foul mood he was in. I contented myself by slowly stretching my facial muscles into a bright smile which I’m sure would have been very encouraging if Dylan could have forced himself to look at me.