“What—why?”
“Dylan,” Mal states.
And they all lower their heads for a moment of silence. Until Lucy laughs. “I couldn’t hold it in,” she says. Then claps at everyone’s skilled synchronization.
Sydney smacks my ass. “Go get changed into your new clothes,” she orders, and suddenly it all makes sense.
“Have you heard from him?” Sydney asks, patting her stomach.
I lean back in my chair, my belly full from all the food Mal prepared on the grill. “I’m sure he would’ve contacted me if it were possible.”
She grins. “Oh, I’m sure. He’d hate to be missing out on your twenty-first birthday.”
“And our one-year anniversary,” I tell her, my smile wider than hers.
“Oh yeah?”
“I mean, technically, probably not. But it was the beginning of it all.”
Lucy approaches, phone to her ear. She hangs up when she gets to me. “That was Cameron. He wanted to apologize. He got held up at work but he’s on his way.”
There’s that awkward moment at every party when everyone circles the cake while they sing Happy Birthday, all eyes on you, and you kind of just sit there waiting for the song to be over and the focus to switch to anything else so you’re no longer embarrassed.
The first song seems to go on forever.
Then mom states that she hadn’t recorded it properly and we need to do it again. So everyone laughs and they repeat the song, a little less enthused than the first time. When it’s over we all look at mom, making sure she’s not so Dylan with technology and when she gives a thumbs up and says, “Make your wish, Riley,” I lower my gaze and take a calming breath.
I wonder for a second if I should blow out the candles individually. Would twenty-one wishes for Dylan have the same effect as one big one?
I lean down, feeling the warmth of the candles against my cheek. Then I close my eyes, suck in a breath, and I think about the boy I love. The boy I miss more than anything. My lips part—his name on repeat in my head. Then I make my wish, and I blow.
“Happy Birthday, baby.”
My eyes snap open. There’s a figure to my right—one I swore wasn’t there a minute ago but I’m too afraid to look because as much as I believe in wishes, they don’t happen this fast.
I struggle to swallow as I look up at everyone watching me, their eyes on mine, their smiles in place.
Nothing has changed.
It’s in my head. It’s gotta be.
I close my eyes again, letting the disappointment set in.
“What did you wish for, babe?” Same voice. Only louder.
I open my eyes and look for Jake. “Jake,” I whisper, my body shaking. I’m too afraid to turn to the imaginary sound. To the imaginary Dylan. Tears fight their way out of me. As do the butterflies. “Jake,” I say again. “I can hear him.”
Next to him, Mikayla’s crying. Jake doesn’t seem to hear me though. Or at least he pretends like he doesn’t because he won’t respond. I stand quickly and march over to him, still refusing to let my hopes control my senses. I stand in front of Jake, my eyes locked on his. “Jake. Is he real?”
Jake nods. “Yes, Riley. He’s real.”
I push on his chest because I’m angry he’s saying such a thing, even in my dreams. Because I’m sure that’s what this is. A dream. A big, fat, stupid, heartbreaking dream. “Don’t lie to me, Jake. Is. He. Real?”
I don’t know why people are laughing when I’m crying and it’s my damn dream.
Jake grasps my shoulders and bends so we’re eye to eye. “Riley,” he says, his voice calm and soothing. “Dylan’s home.” Then he spins me around until I’m face to face with a boy I’ve missed more than words could describe. He’s standing in front of me; head to toe in camo and he’s so much more than I remember him to be. So much. He takes a step forward, his hand already raised, his deep blue eyes locked on mine. Then he smiles. And everyone and everything else disappears and it’s just me and him and the power of wishes. “Hi,” he says, and I jump forward, my arms and legs around him. I kiss him. Every single inch of his beautiful face. His lips—lips I’d missed so much and the second he comes to, his arms go around me, holding me to him, returning every one of my kisses with his own. I pull back, just long enough to ask, “What are you doing here?” But he doesn’t get a chance to respond before my mouth covers his and I can hear people laughing, hear Eric call out for us to get a room but I don’t care because he’s home. Dylan’s home. Why is he home?
I release him quickly, my feet finding the ground. “Why are you home? Are you hurt? What happened?” I check his body for any sign of injury, running my hands over his shoulders and stomach and God, I missed him.
“I’m on R&R,” he tells me. “And I came home for you.”
“For me?”
He shakes his head, his teeth clamping down on his bottom lip as he eyes me up and down. “God, baby. I didn’t realize how much I missed you until now.”
I throw my arms around his waist and squeeze and squeeze until all air’s left both our lungs. Everyone’s still laughing and I still don’t care. “I’m never letting you go again,” I tell him.
He chuckles. I missed his chuckle the most. “You’re going to have to in twelve days.”
My eyes widen as I look back up at him. “Twelve days?”
A frown pulls on his lips. “Yeah. I couldn’t get any more—” My grin must cut him off. “You’re not disappointed?”
“Dylan! I have you for twelve whole days!”
Eric chimes in. “Can I say hello to my baby bro now?”
I let Dylan say hello to everyone and I introduce him to my friends from work he doesn’t know. The entire time I hold onto his arm, afraid he’ll fly away if I let him go.
He looks at me mid-conversation with our friends before bending down to my ear and whispering, “I’m going to take a shower. Bedroom. Five minutes.”
I watch him walk through the back door, nudging Eric as he does. Whatever Dylan must say to him has him looking over at me and nodding. I pull my phone out from my bra and check the time. And I continue to do so—watching the minutes tick away.
It’s not until my hand’s covering the handle of the bedroom door that the nerves kick in. Along with the same butterflies from earlier. I take a breath. Or ten. And check the time again.
Six minutes.
With all the courage I can possible muster, I press down on the handle and peek inside.
He’s just gotten out of the shower, his shoulders still wet as he goes through his drawers, his back turned. He’s wearing a towel around his waist and nothing else. Then he does the worst (or best) thing he can possibly do. He drops the towel, giving me a perfect view of his beautifully toned ass.
I moan.
I don’t mean to, but holy shit I’ve missed him.
Every square inch of him.
His shoulders tense when he hears the sound that can only be described as pure lust. Slowly, he turns to me, not bothering to cover himself. Then he smirks. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry.” I can’t stop looking at his—
He clears his throat.
I lift my gaze, pausing for a moment at the perfect V just below his perfect abs and perfect chest and FYI, Naked Dylan = Hot As Fuck Dylan.
He stalks toward me, his body on show, and when he’s close enough he reaches for my hand and pulls me into the room, shutting the door behind me.
“Hi,” he says, pushing me gently until my back is pressed to the door.
The nerves and the butterflies return and I drop my gaze, too afraid to look at him.
He moves forward again, his warm body pressed against mine as he dips his head, his mouth to my ear. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
I inhale deeply, feeling his chest press harder into mine. “I’m nervous,” I admit.
His lips curve against my neck as he kisses me softly. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” My body melts into his when
his hands find my waist, his thumb stroking my bare stomach between my shorts and my shirt.
Then, slowly, one of his hands move from my waist and up my sides until he’s cupping my face. His mouth moves from my neck, up my jaw, and across my cheek, his kisses relentless. Then he pulls away, just enough to run his tongue along my lips, begging for entrance.
If it wasn’t for him pressing me against the door, I’d be on the floor in a puddle of my own need and desire.
Literally.
He kisses me. Softly at first, then all at once we lose control. Of the need. Of the lust. Of the longing. Of ourselves.
One of his hands is in my hair, pulling gently, making my head tilt back to make my mouth more accessible to him. The other’s on my shorts, making fast work of the button and the zipper. And me? I have no idea what to do with my hands so I grasp his hardness, upright between us, and I stroke gently, smiling against his lips when he curses into my mouth. Now my shorts are on the floor, his fingers inside me and his mouth around my nipple. I don’t even remember him pulling up my shirt. “Riley,” he murmurs, moving up from my breast and to my mouth again. “Promise. Tonight I’ll worship your body. But right now, I need inside you. I need to fuck you, Riley.”
He removes his fingers from inside me and uses both hands to cup my ass as I kick off my shorts and without effort, he lifts me, pinning my body against the door with him between my legs while I guide him to where I need him the most.
My cry of pleasure is stifled by his shoulder when he fills me—my eyes rolling to the back of my head—my head that just hit the door behind me. He pauses inside—letting our bodies get used to the sensation—our foreheads touching as his eyes search mine. “You’re so beautiful,” he says.
And then he moves. Pulling out slowly just to thrust into me again. And again. And again. With so much force the door bangs against the frame. Over and over. And over again.
My fingers curl, gripping his shoulders as immeasurable pleasure washes through me. He pulls back from the kiss, replacing his tongue with his thumb and I suck on it, making it wet, knowing that he’s about to do something he’s done so many times before. Leaning back, my body still pinned to the door, he uses his thumb to circle my clit, all while he pumps into me, his other arm around my back to keep me in place.
My breaths are heavy, my body on fire from the onslaught of pleasure he’s creating.
My fingers dig deeper.
“So fucking wet,” he murmurs. “So fucking beautiful.”
Bodies covered in sweat, we move as one until I come, a loud moan escaping before I can stop it. A second later, he follows, his muscles tensing beneath my touch. I collapse into his arms while he lowers me gently back to earth—to reality. A reality so perfect I don’t want to be anywhere else. Then he laughs, hugging me in his arms. “You were so fucking loud, Riley. Neighbors three streets down would’ve heard you.”
I look up at him, shock clear on my face. “Shut up.”
He smirks, his eyebrow quirked. Then he smacks my bare ass. “I don’t know how you’re going to face everyone now.”
“But… it wasn’t just me,” I whine.
He laughs again. “Riley, I’m a guy. That makes me a fucking boss. You on the other hand…”
I kiss him quickly. “I’m a girl who’s missed her man. Besides…” I shrug. “It’s my party and I’ll fuck if I want to.”
Thirty-Seven
Riley
Most of the guests clear out soon after. I’m not sure if it’s because Dylan’s here or because… well… let’s put it this way: Mom refused to make eye contact and Mal blushed fifty shades of red whenever I was near him.
The only ones who hang around are our friends. We have a few quiet drinks (sans me) around the fire pit while the afternoon sun begins to dip. They talk a lot, mainly about Jake and Kayla’s travels around the states and their overseas ones coming up. I sit with Dylan, his hand on my leg as we listen to them speak, neither of us really talking. Then when Jake chuckles and points to Dylan, I realize why.
Next to me—my boyfriend’s sound asleep—his mouth parted and his chest rising and falling peacefully.
“He must be so tired.” Lucy pouts.
I look from Dylan to her. “Did y’all know he was coming?”
Jake answers, “Yep. Cam picked him up from the airport.”
My gaze moves to Cameron. “So you weren’t held up at work?”
He shakes his head.
Logan says, “That’s why your mom got us to sing Happy Birthday twice. They didn’t show up the first time.”
I smile, remembering my initial embarrassment. “I can’t believe you guys kept it a secret for so long.”
“He really wanted to surprise you, Ry. It was important to him,” Jake tells me.
Dylan’s hand on my leg shifts as he lets out a single snore.
Amanda says, “Let’s clean up so Riley can get Grandpa Banks to bed.”
We all stifle our laughs, hoping not to wake him, and we continue to do so while we clean up. With all of us working on it, it doesn’t take long. I say goodbye at the front door, telling them that we’ll be in touch when Dylan’s up to it and then I go back out to the yard, my smile growing with each step closer to him. “Come on, Grandpa Banks,” I whisper, squeezing his hand.
Slowly, his eyes open, his attention on me before looking around us. “I fell asleep?”
I nod with my smile.
“Where is everyone?”
“They left.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I ruined your party,” he says, his disappointment evident.
“Shut up.” I pull on his hand until he’s on his feet. “Let’s go to bed.”
He looks at his watch. “It’s only five.”
I lead him toward the house. “I said bed, Dylan. Not sleep.”
We don’t even make it to the bedroom before Bacon’s running circles around Dylan’s leg trying to get his attention. “It’s like he can sense another man’s about to take his place in the bed,” I tell him.
“He sleeps in our bed?” Dylan asks, bending down to pick him up.
“I got lonely,” I tell him.
“So where the hell is he going to sleep now?” He lifts him higher until their noses almost touch. To Bacon, he says, “So you’re the man who’s been keeping my girl warm at night? I have some choice words for you.” Bacon licks Dylan’s cheek. He scrunches his nose and places the dog back on the floor before looking at me. “Seriously, though. Where is he going to sleep?”
“Watch,” I tell him, and then point to Bacon’s bed in the kitchen. “Bed,” I order. Bacon moves to the bed. “Sit.” Bacon sits. “Stay.” Bacon stays.
“Holy shit,” Dylan mumbles, grabbing my hand and dragging me to the bedroom. He slams the door shut behind us. “Order me around like that.”
I laugh and point to the bed. “Bed!” He moves to the bed, containing his smile. “Strip!” He removes his shirt. I quirk an eyebrow. “All of it.” He drops his shorts and boxers in one move. “Sit!” He sits. “Stay.” He laughs, loud and free.
I watch his eyes widen and his beautiful smile spread when I drop to my knees between his legs, preparing to show him just how much I missed him.
We lay naked, on our sides, our bodies clean and fresh from the shower and finally satisfied. He runs a finger down the middle of my forehead, between my eyebrows and past my nose. I kiss it when it passes my lips. He laughs quietly and runs the back of his fingers across my cheek. “I didn’t plan on coming home and doing… you know… what we just did… five times…” He presses his lips to mine and pulls away slowly. “I really missed you, Riley. Not just the physical side, but you. I missed this, lying with you and just looking at you and talking to you and everything about you.”
“Me too,” I whisper, moving closer until my forehead’s on his chest. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”
He starts to stroke my hair, resting his chin on top of my head. “Riley?”
I loo
k up at him. “Yeah?”
“My dad told me about what happened the day after I called you and he said—”
“It’s nothing, Dylan. I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was going to tell you about it.” I sit up quickly, covering my breasts with the blanket as the panic sets in. “It was just a moment of weakness. That’s all.”
He leans up on his elbow and rests his head on his hand. “How many moments of weaknesses did you have?”
“What?” I ask, tears pricking in the back of my eyes. I can already hear the disappointment in his voice. “If you want to ask something just come out and ask, Dylan.”
“Did you drink while I was gone?”
“No.”
“Not even—”
“Nothing, Dylan. Not a drop. And to be honest I’m a little pissed—”
“I’m sorry,” he cuts in, sitting all the way up and bringing me to him. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I just worry. It has to be hard for you and I just don’t want anything to set you back, that’s all.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, my shoulders tense. “You have enough to worry about over there, you don’t need to worry about me.”
“I’m always going to worry about you, Ry.”
“What if I said that I had been drinking, or that I couldn’t handle it? What would it change?”
“I’d leave.”
“Leave what? Afghanistan? You don’t have a choice!”
“The military.”
“Don’t be dumb.”
“Wow, Ry.”
“You can’t leave the military, Dylan. It means too much to you. And I wouldn’t let you.”
“You won’t let me?” he asks incredulously. “I hate to break it to you, babe, but if I had to make the choice between you and the Marines, I’d choose you. Every time.”
“That’s not what I want, though!” I shake my head, my gaze lowered when he finally releases me. “Dylan, that’s not what I want this relationship to be—you always watching out for me, worrying about me, giving up your life for me. I’m so much stronger than I was when you met me. And you helped me become that. I don’t want to go through the rest of my life knowing you’re watching my every move and me walking on eggshells always afraid I’m going to disappoint you.”