19. Dylan

Chapter 19

Dylan

Roommate Group Chat

Dylan : I need some advice.

Bret : I’m listening.

Gage : Never drive the wrong way on a one-way street.

Bret : …

Gage : It’s the best advice I have.

Dylan : Noted.

Dylan : I’m helping out a new friend.

Bret : Female or male.

Dylan : Does it matter?

Bret : I don’t know. Does it?

Dylan : *eye roll emoji* SHE needs my help getting a guy to notice her. We’re going to pretend to date, but I don’t know what else to do to make this guy take notice.

Gage : “Pretend” to date, eh?

Bret : Why does he not notice her already?

Dylan : He’s a moron.

Bret : Give me a few things to go off of. What’s she like?

Dylan : Funny. A talented artist. Witty. Unpredictable.

Gage : Is she pretty?

Dylan : Not relevant.

Dylan : But yes.

Bret : Hmmm. I’ll make a list. But start with letting her see you shirtless.

Dylan : And that will make the other guy notice her?

Bret : Sure.

I awoke to a loud crash followed by a string of muffled swearing.

A surge of protectiveness welled up in me as I propelled myself out of bed and to the door. Crime didn’t happen all that often in Winterhaven, but it did happen, or else my dad wouldn’t have a job.

The apartment door creaked as I opened it, but the sound was drowned out by something dragging at the bottom of the stairs. The sun hadn’t gone down completely, so though the lights were off, I could see a petite figure in the shadows with a huge, rectangle box at least twice her size.

My heart slowed when I realized Rosie was trying to single-handedly carry the huge box up the stairs. I folded my arms and leaned against the hallway wall, watching as she attempted to push the box up from the bottom, but then lost her footing and sprawled out on the floor as the entire box crashed down again, hitting one of her empty easels and knocking it to the ground. She kicked at the box with a frustrated huff.

“Need some help?”

She shrieked and flailed until her gaze landed on me. Was it my imagination that her eyes flickered to my bare chest? It happened so quickly, and the light was so dim, I couldn’t be sure.

“You scared me to death!” She held a hand over her heart as if trying to physically slow it down.

“How do you think I felt, waking up to crashing and cursing?” I walked down the stairs and reached out my hand to help her up. It seemed like she was debating whether or not to accept my help, but in the end, she slipped her soft hand into mine, and heat radiated out from her touch.

“I was not cursing,” she grumbled.

I merely turned to the box. “So what is this?”

Did her cheeks turn pink? “A rolled-up mattress. I would only let my worst enemy sleep on a futon.” She paused, then said very casually, “Is your sister in need of a bed?”

I snorted out a laugh, surprising both of us. Rather than meeting her gaze, I picked up the box and carried it up the stairs. It was heavy, even for me. How in the world did Rosie think she was going to get this up the stairs? Yet, somehow, I knew she would have figured it out.

Admiration rose in me once again—an experience I was having more often than not when it came to Rosie Forrester. I appreciated how she took charge, didn’t let things hold her back, got ideas and ran with them, made life feel fun again, embraced her quirkiness in a way I rarely saw in my social circle.

In some ways, she reminded me of Shiloh. He’d been patently unselfconscious even when we were kids, and he’d had a quiet wit. One that most people didn’t get, but if you did, you realized just how funny he was.

In our crash-and-bang world of hockey, most of our fans only wanted to see the sides of us that were tough and manly and competitive, yet Shiloh confronted that expectation head on, like one might face down a coming storm, and did things like getting a tattoo of a daisy on his forearm, because they were his wife, Amelia’s favorite flower. And writing terrible, truly awful, lines of poetry for the team as we traveled on the bus to games.

“Are you okay?” Rosie’s hand rested on my forearm, a life preserver against the memories of Shiloh rising around me like the tide. We stood at the top of the stairs, squeezed into the small space with the mattress box.

“Yeah.”

She didn’t look convinced, and when she dropped her hand from my arm, I wondered if I shouldn’t have said something different. Admitted that missing my best friend felt like my lungs had been punctured, and it wasn’t long before all my oxygen ran out.

“Did the mattress just get delivered?” I asked her. It was nearly midnight.

She looked abashed. “No. It got here earlier today, but I was too busy to deal with it until now. I figured I’d drag it up tomorrow, but about five minutes on the futon pad changed my mind.”

Guilt raged through me that I was still sleeping in her apartment. “I’ll sleep in here tonight, and you can have your apartment back.”

“No, that’s okay,” she said, too quickly. “I like this apartment. It’s big. And airy.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Rosie,” I groaned. “I feel like a jerk. I never should have taken your apartment.”

“Little did you know, this spare apartment is actually superior, and I won’t give it up.”

I peered into the dimly-lit living room, empty save for the futon mattress, a stack of waterlogged boxes, and mousetraps in the corners. “Nurturing again?”

Her eyes narrowed as if I’d insulted her. “Never. But I’m not leaving. And you can’t outstubborn me.”

“I’m a hockey player. I was born stubborn.”

“I’m the youngest child. And I have three older brothers. Stubborn is my literal middle name.”

I folded my arms in challenge. “Really?”

She met my challenge with her hands on her hips. “Rose Stubborn Forrester. Old Stubs for short.”

My mouth twitched.

“So don’t even try. I’ve grown attached to this apartment. I even named the mice. Lydia and Kitty.”

“A mouse named Kitty?”

“From Pride and Prejudice . Have you seen it?”

I shook my head.

“Pity,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll add it to the list.”

I stood between her and the door, my grip on the mattress box tightening as she moved closer to me. “I’m going to squeeze past you and get the light.” She held onto my waist as she slid behind me. Except for my heart, which thought we’d just finished the fastest race of our lives, I held completely still as every part of her brushed against my back.

Light flooded the entryway. “Can you take it back to the bedroom?”

“Sure. It’s unlocked?”

“Wait,” she said, sounding panicked.

I paused immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re going to need to close your eyes.”

There was no way I heard her right. “Why?”

“Because …” Her words trailed off. She straightened her shoulders, as though her request was perfectly normal. “If you turn and come into the room backward, I’ll stand behind you and make sure you don’t hit anything.”

I blinked at her and waited for her to laugh or change her mind, but she stared back at me as if asking what I was waiting for. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and backed into the bedroom. What didn’t she want me to see? Was it messy? Was she hiding someone in it? The scent of paint hit my nose. Did she have an illegal side business, painting replicas? I saw a movie about that once, people who painted fakes and tried to pass them off as real.

“Okay, turn carefully.”

“It would have been easier to walk straight into the room—”

“But not nearly as fun.”

“For you, maybe,” I grumbled, as I tripped over something on the floor and nearly fell. Her hand caught on my side to steady me.

“You can set it down right here. No, not against the wall!” She sounded panicked, and out of instinct, I opened my eyes.

Her hands flew over my eyes, bringing her close enough to nearly distract me from the colorful mural on her wall. She smelled like peppermint and something light and airy. Her loose nightshirt brushed against my exposed skin, making me more aware of every muscle group in my chest and stomach than ever before.

“What did you see?” she demanded.

“The ocean.”

She groaned. “What else?”

“A mermaid … cat? I’m not quite sure.”

Her heavy sigh blew against my clavicle. “It’s a cat,” she confirmed. “Okay, what you’re about to see might change your perception of me … in a bad way.”

“I doubt that.” But I didn’t mind letting her linger close for another minute, or much, much longer. As long as I could get. Breathing her in, feeling her so casually pressed against me.

“Trust me.” She lowered her hands, revealing a wall filled with whimsy. There was no other word for it. The flow of the ocean waves, the bubbles rising up to mingle with foam, the dimension of the different blues, the way it felt like I’d entered a different world. A world with mermaid cats and octopuses dressed in fancy attire, a different type of dress shoe for every tentacle.

It entranced me. I knew nothing about art. But I was struck by the realism of the ocean, blended with the fantastical nature of the sea creatures, which appeared more cartoony in style, especially with their smiles and costumes and knowing eyes.

“Now I really want to trade back,” I breathed out. I could spend hours looking at all the intricate details of this mural.

She laughed nervously. “Too late. No take-backs.” Rosie wrung her hands in front of her, but I sensed she had no idea she was even doing it. “But if you could do me a favor and never tell a soul about this, that would be great.”

“Why don’t you want anyone to know?” I knelt down to open the mattress box. Sure enough, a shrink- wrapped mattress was rolled inside of it like a tube.

“It’s not my usual, serious style. It took me a long time to get people to take my art seriously. This is the kind of artwork they expect Rosie Forrester to do. And it’s kind of deflating that they’re right.”

“To be so predictable?” In some ways, I could get that. There was a sweet spot on the ice, where I needed to be predictable enough that my teammates could anticipate my next move and where they’d need to be, but I also needed to keep the other team on their toes, guessing what I might do next.

She retrieved a small pair of scissors from a paint-splattered nightstand, and I cut the thick plastic open. It was like opening a can of biscuits at first, but the mattress then unfurled anti-climatically.

“It’s supposed to fluff up over the next couple of days,” She poked at it. Her right eye was watery, and she was doing something weird where she was winking it closed for a few seconds at a time. “And yes, I don’t want to be predictable. I don’t want to be Rosie, who always screws up and is constantly getting sent to the station and doesn’t take anything seriously, even her art.”

“This is why the door was locked!”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t question it while you lived here.” Her eyelashes fluttered, and she looked upward as she placed her fingers near the corner of her eye, then yanked her hand back.

“What’s going on with your eye?”

“I think I have an eyelash in it,” she said. “And I hate touching my eye. I keep hoping I can blink it out.”

“Let me see.”

She shook her head, but I motioned her close to me, not lifting my stare until she took a reluctant step forward. “It’s fine.”

“I happen to be an expert eyelash remover. Tip your head back and look up.”

She held her breath but did as I asked. I could see the dark eyelash right away, near the corner of her eye. As gently as I could, I used my pinkie finger to slide it away from her eye and onto the very top of her cheeks. I plucked it away and held it in front of her mouth.

“Make a wish.” It was something my mom had said to me when I was a kid. I didn’t even remember how that had started.

She blew on my fingers, and I released the eyelash. For a moment, time stopped. The world around us disappeared, and all of me was focused on Rosie watching me.

This time, there was no mistaking the moment her gaze swept over me, landing on my tattooed shoulder. Her fingers rose to graze the puck with Shiloh’s birthday written in it, but then she ripped her hand away just as quickly. We could both see how hard my heart was beating in the rise and fall of my left pec. I wanted to kiss Rosie Forrester more than I’d ever wanted to kiss anyone in my life.

She met my gaze again and caught her breath at what she saw there. I waited a beat, waited for her to pull away, and when she didn’t, I lowered my mouth.

And caught her ear.

She’d backed away so quickly, I felt the breeze of her movement on my skin.

She giggled nervously behind the hand she’d thrown over her mouth, so cutely, I couldn’t even feel rejected. Until she pulled her hand down and spoke, that is.

“I’m so lucky you’re here to help me. Like one of my brothers, you know. Just like a brother,” she repeated, as if I hadn’t heard her the first time.

In no world was this pull between us sibling-like. I leaned a little closer to her and watched her eyes flare with heat, then kept reaching past her to grab the corner of the mattress. “Where did you want the bed?” I asked casually.

“Just against this bare wall,” she said, her tone chipper and breezy. “Thank you.”

Once I finished she all but pushed me from the room and down the hall. Her hands didn’t actually touch my back, but they might as well have, for as effectively as she ushered me out of the doorway and into the hall. “I’ve got to lock the downstairs door,” she said, shutting the door behind her.

I turned quickly to tell her that I’d do it, not realizing how close she was to me and that I was boxing her between me and the closed door.

Before she could bank it, a spark of desire flashed across her face, hot and immediate. That was not the look of a person thinking sisterly thoughts.

I listened to the devilish voice in my head urging me to lean forward, to test how far these non-sisterly thoughts went. “For the record,” I whispered, my words stirring the tiny hairs around her ears, “I like all the sides of Rosie and don’t find a single one of them predictable.”

Her breath caught, and I smiled in satisfaction as I turned and went back into my apartment, feeling her gaze on me the entire time.