More Than Enough
Page 15

“Sorry!” I shut the door quickly.
“Oh, yeah,” Eric shouts. “Cindy’s using the bathroom.”
“Sydney!” the girl yells.
Jesus.
Eric approaches, his junk on full display. He pushes me to the side and starts to open the bathroom door. “How the fuck is this your life, man?” I ask him.
He chuckles and closes the door again. “How the fuck is it not yours is the real question.”
“Dad!” I shout, smirking at Eric. “Eric’s hiding a girl in the bathroom!”
Dad laughs. “Morning, Sydney!”
“Morning, Mal!” she yells back.
I shake my head. “What the hell?”
Eric scoffs. “Maybe you’d know what goes on in here if you weren’t out all day on The Drug.”
Dad walks over to us. “Dylan, are you on drugs?” He cups my chin and looks in my eyes just like Eric did.
I swat his hands away the same way I did with my brother. “No, I’m not on drugs. What the hell?”
“I found weed in his footlocker, Pops!”
I shove his chest. “You did not.”
“Dylan?” Dad asks.
“Swear it, Dad. Eric’s talking shit.”
“Am not!” He stands behind Dad, smirking while giving me the finger. “Go check it, Dad.”
The bathroom door opens and we all freeze, our words left hanging in the air.
“What’s going on?” Sydney asks.
“Nothing, babe,” Eric answers.
I lift my chin and look at Eric. “You know Dad and I will support you no matter what, E. You’re making it a bigger deal than it is,” I tell him, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Besides, the pamphlet said there was a high chance it could be sexually transmitted from dogs. Not that it definitely was. And that case against you when you were seventeen was dropped because you were a minor, right? Plus, the zoo had no real evidence.”
The windows of the house rattle and the familiar song filters through, saving me from Eric’s response. I pat his arm twice, basking in the glory of his completely shocked face. He shakes his head slowly, as if accepting defeat.
“I’ll see you later, bro.” Then I look over at Sydney and point to her neck. “You got a little rash…”
Riley
I don’t know why Dylan’s standing at my door, his hands in the pockets of his sweats, his shoulders square, and his ridiculously gorgeous smile beaming down at me. Even in my drunken haze, I’ve concluded that he gets better looking every time I see him. Not that it matters.
“What’s up,” I mumble.
He steps back slightly and looks down on me. “Regret does not look good on you.”
Regret doesn’t feel good, either. “What?” I squeak, then shake my head to clear my thoughts but it just makes the pounding worse. “Were you as drunk as I was when you fucked me in my kitchen that you’ve somehow forgotten about it? Because now you’re standing here ignoring the fact that we did, actually, fuck in my kitchen.”
“Riley, come on.”
“And now you think it’s okay to show up, looking like you do and smiling like you are after leaving me hanging the day after your so-called ‘regret’ and—”
“Riley, I don’t regret it,” he interrupts.
“Bullshit, Banks. It was the first word you said when I opened the door. And it’s cool if that’s how you feel because I regret it too.” I take a moment to catch my breath. “It’s probably a good idea if you don’t come around anymore.” Maybe my anger is unjustified. Actually, I’m sure it is because regardless of how I try to spin the events of two days ago, I didn’t push him away. I did absolutely nothing to stop it from happening. In fact, I encouraged it. And even though I know all this, it didn’t stop me from drinking enough alcohol to cause me to puke in the bathtub. Twice. Then pass out in it while I tried to clean it… and that’s exactly how Mom found me. So while my hurt might be uncalled for, Mom’s reaction to Dylan at the door yesterday wasn’t. She knew he had something to do with my actions. He had to have.
“Is that what you want?” he asks, dropping his gaze and pulling me from my thoughts.
It takes a few seconds for me to remember what we were talking about and when I do, I nod.
His eyes narrow. “I’m sorry if what we did hurt you. I regret you were drunk. I regret that I may have unintentionally taken advantage of that. But I don’t regret it.” He starts to turn away, but stops suddenly. “I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for in life…” He points at the wine gripped tightly in my hand. “I just don’t think you’re going to find it at the bottom of a bottle. And just so you know, I do like you, Riley. A lot.” He steps forward, but I push him away.
I have to.
Because the butterflies are already starting. But, after the butterflies come the emptiness, and then the guilt. And the guilt is what has me closing the door on him and whatever feelings I might have had for him.

I go back to my room, my solitude, and I play the song—the song that brings me closer to him. Then I grab my wine, sit in the corner with the pen and paper in my hand, and I remember him. It was sophomore year. You knew I was a nervous wreck. You knew I hated the attention. So it made absolutely no sense to me why you showed up at my swim meet with half the JV basketball team holding up signs and chanting my name in the stands. I paced the side of the pool glaring at all of you. Every time you started to chant I’d tell you to shut up. You kept going, your big goofy smile getting wider every time. Then they announced my name and I removed my towel, slowly walking to my block as your cheers just got louder.
I was so angry.
So livid.
I stood there and tried to ignore your chants and cheers and shouts but it was so deafening. Everyone was looking at you. Everyone was looking at me. I swore to myself I’d fly through the freestyle as fast as I could just so I could get out and kick your ass.
I came in first and before they could even announce it, I stormed up to the bleachers, my wet feet thumping against the floor. You were three rows up. I remember because I could see all the eyes of the crowd move from me to you, and back again. You were smiling. “Why would you do this!” I shouted, stomping my foot. I was so, so mad. And when your grin got wider I wanted nothing more than to climb the three rows—people and all—and smack you on the back of the head.
But then you said, “Because I know you, Riley Hudson. You swim best on adrenaline. And nothing gets your blood pumping like being mad.”
I was confused. “What?”
“I did it for you!” you shouted.
I wanted to smile, but I wanted more to keep being mad at you. “You didn’t do it for me!”
You nodded. “I did so!” And I don’t know if it actually happened, or if it was just like that in my head, but everything went quiet. Everything went still. You smiled wider. “And I did it because I’m in love with you, stupid!”
We were sixteen, me in my swim gear, dripping wet, surrounded by your friends and two hundred strangers… and you told me you loved me for the very first time.
I stopped being angry. I stopped caring about the stupid signs and the stupid chants and everyone around us. I ran up to you, through the people in those front three rows and wrapped my wet arms around you. And then I kissed you. And you kissed me back. And the world stopped and my heart grew and when my coach called out and said I had to prepare for the next round, you told me I sucked and that my suit made my ass look fat.