The Good Widow(49)
“Sometimes,” Dylan said. But what she was thinking was, All the time. “What we’re doing is wrong. Don’t you think at some point this will catch up with us?” Dylan motioned toward the bedsheets.
James sighed. “Dyl, people make questionable choices all the time, but it doesn’t mean bad things happen to them as a result.”
Dylan had thought about those words a lot after he said them. Was that how he saw her? As a questionable choice? But, like so many times before, she was too timid to push him to elaborate. So scared of saying the wrong thing and causing him to leave her. Wanting to be his refuge, not more of what he had at home.
James had continued. “Look at all the greedy politicians and executives. They do terrible things every day and only get richer and more powerful.” He pulled her in for a kiss, and Dylan tasted his coffee on her lips before he said, “You worry too much.”
“I guess the universe makes exceptions for true love.” Dylan laughed but studied James’s face intently. It had been four months, and he hadn’t told her that he loved her yet. There were days she was sure that he did, like when he sent her soup when she was sick or when she told him that she was cutting costs and had to stop buying her favorite soy milk latte at Starbucks, and he’d loaded one hundred dollars into the account on her phone while she was in the bathroom. Those things meant love, didn’t they?
But James’s eyes betrayed nothing. “Maybe it does,” he’d said, and pushed their breakfast tray aside, pulling her body toward his.
Dylan got up from the toilet and splashed water on her face. She knew she’d been in the bathroom too long, that James would come looking for her if she didn’t hurry up. She struggled to remember when she’d had her last period, finally recalling Easter brunch—how the new hostess had slammed her with too many tables, and Dylan had bitten her head off, then run to the restroom shortly after and realized why she was being such a bitch. That was over two months ago. But she was always careful when she had sex.
Except.
That night she’d met James in Ventura. It had taken her hours to get there in traffic, the cars on the 405 and 101 freeways an endless parade of lights. Dylan had pulled down the rearview mirror every few minutes to check her makeup. To brush her hair. The minutes before she saw James were always the best and the worst. The anticipation. The anxiety. It melded together until she laid eyes on him—then it fell away.
They’d found a little Spanish tapas bar near the beach and sat outside. It was spring, but the weather hadn’t quite caught up with the season, and it was chilly even with the heater. They’d feasted on small plates of stuffed olives, croquetas, and prawns in olive oil. Dylan had never tasted food so good and loved how he took the time to explain each dish to her. They’d walked next door where an eighties cover band was playing, James making a joke that she hadn’t even been born when those songs were on the radio. They’d danced until they could hardly stand, then stumbled back to James’s hotel room, him sliding his hand up her skirt in the elevator, kissing her so deeply they missed their floor. Once they got to the room, he’d thrown her down on the bed and hiked her skirt over her hips. She turned to face him, but he twirled her back around hard and pulled her panties aside. Dylan had been shocked—James had never been this dominant with her before. It felt dangerous and selfish, but also exhilarating. She found herself wanting him to tell her what to do, who to be—wanting him to own her. And in his rush, James hadn’t put on a condom.
After, as they lay in bed, James was back to the James she knew, sweetly cuddling her, blanketing her bare shoulder with soft kisses. “Sorry, I got a little carried away there.”
Dylan laughed. “You think?”
“Did it scare you?”
“No,” Dylan said quietly. “I was surprised, but I liked it.”
“I was just watching you dancing in the bar, your skirt swinging up and giving little hints as to what might be under there, seeing the way the other guys were looking at you. It was so hot, I couldn’t control myself when I got you alone. I wanted you to know you belonged to me.”
Dylan took a deep breath. “I do.”
Dylan startled at the sound of the knock at the door. “Dylan, are you in there?”
“Yes, sorry, I’ll be out in a minute!” she said as she frantically wrapped the test in toilet paper and stuffed it in the bottom of her straw purse.
“Sorry,” she said as she swung the door open.
“Still having stomach problems?” James asked.
“Yes, but not too bad.”
“You sure?” he said, and took her hand. “You gonna be okay?”
Dylan searched James’s face. “I’m going to be just fine.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
DYLAN—BEFORE
“You got us a Jeep?” Dylan leaned against the cherry-red door and raised an eyebrow at James.
“I did. You like it?” James twirled the key around his finger proudly.
Dylan tried to smile, but all she could think about was how bumpy the ride was going to be. How the sharp twists and turns of the road to Hana were going to make her more nauseated than she already was. She’d hauled herself out of bed this morning, running the water and quietly gagging over the toilet so James wouldn’t hear. All she’d wanted to do was sleep all day. But she also understood that this time with James was precious, and she wanted to savor every minute.