Under the Orange Moon (10 page)

“Really?” Ben began to the four guys that outnumbered his group by one. “Let me explain how this works. Clearly you don’t know, so I’ll help you out a bit. Your girl here was just telling my friend here about how she remembered a night not too long ago that he gave her the best fuck of her life. This makes her sloppy seconds and you a piece of shit in bed,” he shrugged his shoulders, and added, “
dude.”

Without another word escaping from his mouth, a hard, closed fist was barreling into Ben’s face. This would begin the bar brawl that he so desperately wanted in order to take his mind off Dylan and her date.

Dylan and Michael walked through downtown Phoenix and admired the Christmas lights that decorated the city. Dylan didn’t want to take this evening stroll, but the guilt plaguing her mind refused to stop punishing her for using Michael to get Ben’s attention.

Every so often, Michael’s hand would skim along the side of hers, causing her to pull it away, preventing him from anymore handholding.

“Did you enjoy dinner?” he asked quietly. “You barely ate.”

Dylan held up her tinfoil swan stuffed full of leftovers. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t as hungry as I thought. I would say I’ll eat it later but, with my brothers all home, nothing stays in the fridge for long.”

Michael laughed. “I don’t know how you do it, Dylan.”

“Do what?” she asked. Dylan never understood why people felt sorry for her for having four brothers. Dylan thought of herself as the luckiest girl for those boys. They would do anything for her. As long as she’s been alive, they’ve been wrapped around her fingers.

“They sure do hover, don’t they?” Michael stopped. “All I ever remember is them swarming around you.”

Dylan shook her head. “No, they didn’t. I just followed them around everywhere.”

Michael stopped in his tracks. He turned to face her and grabbed onto her hand, movements Dylan hardly expected in the middle of a conversation about her brothers.

“Dylan,” he began. “I’m really into you and I just need to know if I have a chance.”

Dylan sighed and tried not to feel guilty for looking into his eyes.

“I get mixed signals from you, though, so what is it?”

“Michael, I think you’re great,” she whispered. “I’m just having a really hard time making decisions like this. I’ve never dated anyone before.”

Michael smiled. He seemed to take that as a good response. “We’ll go as slow as you like,” he promised. “No pressure.”

Dylan nodded, not at all satisfied with her cowardly answer. She wanted to say,
I think Ben is interested in me, so I’m using you while I wait for him to make up his mind.
  But, she didn’t.

The drive home was quiet, but Michael seemed more relaxed. Dylan knew that he was under the impression that she would eventually come around. She liked that he granted her a slow courtship, buying her a bit more time with Ben.

They pulled into the Mathews’ driveway and Michael parked his car.

Dylan put her hand on the door, ready to bolt into her dark house. She turned her head just in time for Michael’s lips to be on hers. She froze in shock when his tongue slid into her mouth.

Michael seemed oblivious to her alarm, despite the fact that her mouth, especially her tongue, did not participate as eagerly as his did during that kiss. She sat dumfounded and quite possibly appalled if she could think clearly enough.

“Goodnight,” he said, smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

This wasn’t her first kiss, but it weirded her out as if it were. Her first kiss was with Carter Miller in high school, during a game of spin the bottle at Lucy Reynold’s house. Her second, and last, kiss was with some guy she would never see again. He was cute and she was drunk. It seemed like a good idea as they danced at a club, but terrible when she remembered it the following morning.

Dylan nodded her head. “Night,” she said, and practically sprinted to her front door.

She climbed the dark stairs and wondered to herself if Ben would be gracing her with his presence, but froze when she opened her door and saw her bed.  Ben lay fully-clothed, flat on his back, battered, drunk and passed out cold on top of her comforter.

Dylan sighed as she made her way to him, sitting just on the edge of the mattress and staring down at his bashed in face. “Oh, Ben,” she whispered, half giggling.

She left to get a wet washcloth from her bathroom and returned to his side. She ran the cloth along the gash above his eye and then down to his fat lip. She frowned at the thought of his beautiful lips being damaged. She lifted his right hand and cleaned up his cut knuckles, quietly cheering him on for giving a few punches in return. She kissed over the open gashes and placed his hands back down on his chest.

Ben’s heavy, bloodshot eyes only slightly opened as he tried to look up at her. “I hate how much I love you,” he slurred.

“Me too,” she whispered with a smile.

Dylan got ready for bed, brushing her teeth and getting undressed rather quickly. She turned off her light and slid into her sheets next to his drunken body. She placed her head down on his chest and felt the joy of his breathing beneath her cheek.

She allowed her fingers to unbutton his shirt so that her hands could rest on his warm skin. She smiled as she pressed her body to his and felt the control that she always allowed him to have.

This was her vulnerable Ben, her open book Ben. In this state, he would tell her anything, releasing it without any recollection tomorrow. That drunken admission was enough for her tonight, though. It wasn’t the words she wanted, but the feeling of him in her bed that she cherished the most.  

“I love only you,” she whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear. She closed her eyes and happily drifted off to sleep.

Ben watched Dylan’s fluttery eyes as they struggled to open. She was waking up, but he wanted to allow her to do it in her own peaceful way. So many times he had watched her sleep, her eyes rolling under her lids, her pink lips puckering every now and then. It was beautiful, really.

He noticed the wet cloth that hung over the bedpost and was well aware that she used it to clean him up, despite his blurred memory. His hands and jaw throbbed, but he knew that it could have been a lot worse had Jonah and Hugh not been there.

“The sun is up,” Dylan whispered.

Ben laughed. “Yes.”

“You’re still here?” Dylan asked with wide eyes.

“Yes.”

“How are you going to leave?” She seemed worried, which Ben only found adorable.

Ben sighed as he flipped onto his back and pulled her down to his chest. He stroked her hair with his fingers, and teased, “I suppose I’ll just have to surrender.”

“You got beat up last night?”

“No,” he answered quickly. “Jonah and Hugh helped me out.”

“I’m sure they did,” Dylan joked. “Camaraderie rule?”

“The very one.”

Ben squeezed onto Dylan. He caught himself contemplating kissing the top of her head, but his brain screamed until he decided against it. He smelled her hair and felt the sensations run through his entire body, consuming his heart as well, causing it to thump relentlessly in his chest, a sound she was sure to hear.

“Do you remember coming in here last night?” Dylan asked. “Do you remember me finding you?”

“I don’t even remember how we got here last night. Matter of fact, I don’t even know if your brothers came here with me.” Ben chuckled. “I remember someone’s fist going into my face.”

“Oh,” Dylan answered, disappointed.

“How was your date?” Ben asked with a sneer.

“Awful,” Dylan groaned. “He kissed me.”

Ben wanted to vomit. “Don’t tell me that.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” was all he could say. Asking him to elaborate was just something she wanted him to do for her own satisfaction.

“Maybe I need to hear it,” she confessed quietly.

“You don’t.” Ben stretched his arms out over his head.  “I gotta get out of here,” he announced through a yawn.

Dylan sighed loudly.

“What is it?” he forced himself to ask.

“I hate when we’re not in this room,” she admitted. “It all becomes different.”

Ben said nothing. She was right. He sat up, sliding her from his chest. He turned and looked down at her as she looked up at him. He stared for a few moments, wondering if he could ever really be with her. Even now, with her messy hair standing up in every which way it could find, and her eyes full of sleep, he thought of her as perfect. It was hard for him to dismiss her with so much of her exposed. If she welcomed any kind of physical interaction, if she made that kind of move, she would surely see his weak side.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked quietly.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head and pretending to be annoyed. He was really in a state of anxious panic to get away from her half dressed body. “Please just go see if anyone’s out there,” he practically pleaded, motioning toward the door.

Dylan stood to her feet and all but growled at the same time. She turned and stared at Ben as she pulled up her oversized pajama bottoms, covering her gray and pink striped underwear that she wore to bed. She pulled a sweatshirt over her head and yanked the hood over her long hair.

Ben watched in amusement as Dylan childishly stomped to her door and opened it just a crack. She looked around as much as she could and gently closed the door.

“You’re good,” she announced, and walked back over to the bed. She crawled into the covers again and lay against her pillow behind him.

Ben turned and looked down at her again. He let his fingers push back a piece of her hair that had fallen over her cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me last night.”

Dylan sat up quickly. “Ben?”

Ben sighed. “Yes?” he answered, this time genuinely annoyed.

She looked nervous. “I’m ready whenever you are, just so you know.”

Ben nodded. “Okay,” he answered simply, not wanting her to elaborate.

“I mean it, even if we never see each other again.”

Ben’s stomach sank deeper with fear. “You’re serious?” he asked, trying to find the line between what she said and what he thought. There had to be an in between.

“Yes. Very,” she confirmed with a convincing stare. 

Scared, but unable to admit, Ben stood to his feet and headed for the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle and his eyes down. “This is a terrible idea, Dylan.”

“I know.”

Ben opened the door and snuck his way out of her room without saying another word.

Dylan wiped the already clean bar down at Oilies, a way to avoid Michael’s stares. She hoped he didn’t think of last night’s kiss as a step forward in a relationship between them—although she was sure he had it in his head that it was.

She found herself wishing the day would go by quickly. Maybe she could sleep it away and stay awake all night to savor every minute that he spent in her bed. She thought of ways to seduce him into kissing her. What could she wear that would really get him going? She noticed the night before that when she touched the nape of his neck, he seemed to shiver. Maybe she would try that again. Oh, she really was losing her mind, but she didn’t care.

“Last night was fun,” Michael finally spoke those inevitable words. “We’ll have to do that again.”

Dylan froze mid-wipe with her bar towel stuck under her palm. She sighed and closed her eyes when she felt the feeling of guilt transitioning into upchuck.  She fidgeted and took in a deep breath.

“You do want to, right?” Michael asked softly.

Dylan turned and leaned against the bar. “Michael
—”

“Ben?” he asked with a defeated look on his face. “I should have known.”

“It’s not just Ben.” She paused wondering how much could be said without him going straight to Charlie or, God forbid, Brandon. “It’s a lot of things, Michael.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” she stammered. “You’re my boss, for one.”

“I don’t have to be. We both know you don’t work here for the money.” Michael leaned against the bar like they were going to argue about this. “You make enough at the school.”

Dylan laughed. “I don’t work here for fun, Michael.”

“Okay but, you have to know, I wouldn’t fire you if it didn’t work out.”

Dylan sighed and looked down to the floor. “Please don’t,” she whispered.

“He’ll hurt you, Dylan,” he warned.

Frustrated, Dylan snapped her head up to glare at him. “I didn’t say this was about Ben. You’re the one that assumes it is.”

“Well, you haven’t corrected me.”

“Do I need to?”