More Than Enough
Page 10

I take another sip. Write another sentence.
I hate that he’s here.
I like that he’s here.
He continues, “None of my friends know I’m home. I haven’t told them. So, I guess you’re the only person I have right now—which is dumb—because up until a week ago, I didn’t even really know you. So I’m sorry if I’m asking the wrong questions. Pushing the wrong buttons. Because I completely get why you’re pissed—”
“I’m not pissed,” I cut in, my voice barely a whisper. His words hit me hard—right in the feels—I totally get it. “I’m not used to having anyone around,” I continue. “And it’s been a while since I’ve had to talk to anyone besides my mom so—”
“Does your mom know you drink?” he interrupts.
I scoff and bring the bottle to my lips. “Who do you think supplies me with it?”
“You do realize how fucked up that is, right?”
“Says the guy sleeping in his neighbor’s bed because he can’t deal with reality.”
“We’re such a fucking mess,” he says, and I can hear the humor in his voice.
“That’s because you’re pushing the wrong buttons,” I joke.
“It’s like the worst form of slow dance.”
“A horrible act of foreplay,” I add. Then choke on my own breath.
He laughs. “Foreplay, Hudson? Really? Are you planning on this leading to sex? Because it’s been a while and I’m down for whatever.”
“Shut up.” I throw a cushion at him. I was going to throw the bottle of wine but I like it too much.
“Quit throwing shit at me.”
“Quit making me want to.”
“So what do we do now? Make out?”
“Shut up!” I tell him, but I’m laughing.
I add another note to my stream of thoughts.
He makes me laugh.
He chuckles with me, low and deep.
“Dylan?”
“Yeah, Riley?”
“The lunch thing…”
“Mm?”
“I’m not really up for leaving the house…” I admit.
“I can bring us something back?”
“And the cake…”
“How many candles?”
Butterflies.

For the next ten minutes, he tosses and turns in bed while I try to concentrate on anything but him. Then he huffs out a breath and says, “I skipped breakfast. I could eat now. You?” “Okay.”
He rushes to his feet and opens the blinds fully. “You got a preference?” he asks, turning to me with a smile on his face—a smile that matches mine.
“Bacon.”
“Just bacon?”
I laugh. “Anything with bacon.”
“And the cake?” he asks, grabbing his phone, keys and wallet from my nightstand.
“Anything. Just don’t forget the candles.”
He nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”
I stay in my spot and watch him slip on his shoes, trying to hide my excitement.
His eyes stay on mine as he starts to leave. Stopping at my doorway, he says, “Riley?”
My grin gets wider.
“Please don’t pass out while I’m gone.” He eyes the bottle in my hand.
I shake my head. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
With a chuckle, he mumbles, “Wow. You must really like bacon.”
And then he’s gone.
“It’s not the bacon,” I whisper to myself, my smile wiped as I write:
He’s giving me a wish.
I like wishes, Jeremy.
That’s all it is.
Please don’t be mad.
 
 
Seven
 

Dylan
I rush to three different places before I find the one I need. Then I speed back home, park in my garage and carefully bring the bags with me. I place them against the wall of her house, hidden from her view and then I knock on her door. My eyes widen when she answers. She’d changed while I was gone. Maybe even showered going by the dampness of her hair. Her eyes are still a little faded but besides that, she looks completely different. She’s wearing a plain white dress—a dress that shows off the curves she’d been hiding behind the oversized T-shirts she normally wears.
“That was quick,” she says, the same time I say, “You look nice.”
We both laugh, but the kind of nervous laugh I hadn’t felt since I was fifteen and Heidi started talking to me.
I clear my throat and pull my eyes away from her. “I need you to hide out in your room.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Surprise.” I try to smile but my lack of breath makes it a struggle.
She purses her lips. “I don’t like surprises.”
I shrug. “Suck it up. It’s only your birthday once a year.”
She smiles at that, before walking backward and into her room, closing the door behind her.
When I know she can’t see me, I take a calming breath. And then another. And another, wondering the entire time why it is she has my heart racing and my palms sweating when we can’t even hold a decent conversation.
“Can I come out now?” she yells.
How the hell long have I been standing here? “No!” I grab the bags and bring them inside and toward where I assume is her kitchen. “I’ll tell you when you can! Just don’t come out and don’t peek.”
“Dylan!” she yells, and I picture her nose scrunched in annoyance like I’d seen so many times before. She’s fucking cute when she gets like that. Cuter than she is when she’s passed out drunk or throwing shit at me.
“I’ll be two minutes!”
I empty the contents of the bag, set it all out on her kitchen counter, light the candles and rush over to her room before they begin to melt. “Okay,” I say, opening the door.
She’s standing in front of her dresser with her hands on her boobs. She drops her arms to her side and turns to me, her face fifty different shades of red. “Heard of knocking?” she snaps, raising her hands.
I cower beneath my arms.
“What the hell are you doing, Banks?”
I chance a peek at her and when I see her walking toward me, her hands free of anything she could possibly throw, I relax my arms and tell her, “I thought you were going to throw something at me. Again.”
She rolls her eyes and gives me that same annoyed look I’ve just deemed cute. Cute doesn’t do it justice. Hot. Definitely hot.
“I told you I’d be quick.”
“You said you were going to call out, not barge into my room!”
“I didn’t know you were going to be fondling yourself,” I tell her, waiting until she’s walked past me before covering her eyes. She stops in her tracks causing me to bump into the back of her. “It’s a surprise, remember? Just go with it, Riley.”
“Fine.” She starts to walk forward, her hands out in front of her.
I bend down, my lips to her ear. “I’m not going to crash you into a wall, Hudson. Relax.”
She brings her arms in and grasps my wrists. “I’m also a little tipsy,” she reminds me. Then she mumbles something about not being able to smell anything, but I don’t really know what she’s saying because all my other senses have been drowned out by her touch on my arm. Her back on my chest. Her breath on my cheek as she turns to me. “Are we there?” she whispers, her lips an inch away from mine. I realize we’ve stopped moving, though I don’t know when. I blink twice, forcing my eyes away from her lips—her wet, slightly parted lips and her mint/wine breath brushing against mine. “Dylan?”