The Bad Boys of Summer Anthology(48)

I then spent some time tuning my guitar and looking up new music on iTunes. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly time flew by when I was searching and sampling music. The buzzing of my cell phone broke my spell. I quickly snatched it off of my desk, nervous to see who the message was from.



Dylan (7:55 PM): How was your day? Good I hope



I breathed a sigh of relief. As much as my heart yearned for it to be Ash, I knew it was best if he didn’t contact me again. I didn’t respond to his text this morning hoping it would discourage him from any future messages or calls. I didn’t understand why he sent the message in the first place, it seemed quite contradictory to what he had said he wanted.



Me (8:01 PM): It was good- nothing too crazy. A day of syllabi and introductions… and a lot of walking! How about you?

Dylan (8:08 PM): Pretty much the same. I had to work this afternoon, just getting home.

Me (8:12 PM): Work?

Dylan(8:12PM): Yeah, you know that thing that most people have to do to make money to pay their bills?

Me (8:13 PM): Ha, ha funny guy. I’m familiar with the concept. Where do you work?

Dylan (8:15 PM): I work at a publishing outfit a few afternoons a week, trying to get my foot in the door for after graduation.

Me (8:16 PM): So with school and work when are you going to have time to spend with me?

I wondered if the text was too bold but before I had time to regret it, my phone vibrated again.

Dylan (8:17 PM): I will always make sure there’s time for you.

Me (8:18 PM): Good answer

Dylan (8:20 PM): It’s the truth. You gonna be at J&N’s this Saturday?”

Me (8:21 PM): ? not sure?

Dylan (8:23 PM): They have ppl over almost every Sat, would love to see you there again

Me (8:26 PM): I’ll let you know, will talk to Evie. Going to shower now and do some reading before bed, have a good night

Dylan (8:30 PM): Cool, you too. No more texts about you showering though, sweet dreams



Unable to withhold my excitement over mine and Dylan’s back and forth texts, I squealed as I ran across the living area to Evie’s bedroom. “Evie,” I yelled. “Guess who I just talked to, or texted with, or whatever you call it.”

“Who?” she asked, looking up from her e-reader. She had already showered, as was evident by her wet black hair pulled into a tight bun, and she was propped up in her bed by the extra twenty pillows she had brought from home. Okay, maybe it wasn’t twenty, but it was at least like eight or nine king-sized pillows. When we were younger, I had always thought she looked like a porcelain Asian doll sitting in a cloud when she would surround herself with the white downy-soft pillows on her bed, but now she looked more like the angel that she truly was. Evie had always been my guardian angel. I couldn’t help but smile brightly when I saw her.

I let her read the conversation on the phone and then she handed it back to me with a silly grin on her face. In her sing-song, little girl’s voice she started, “Scarlett and Dylan sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love…” She was unable to finish the song because I began to pummel her across the head with one of her pillows.

“Okay, I surrender, I surrender! No more songs, I promise.” Evie could hardly contain her laughter enough to get the words out.

“So do you want to go back there this Saturday?” I asked trying to figure out when I was going to see Dylan again.

“Sure, and this time I plan to have much more fun, especially now that I know you’ll be there with Dylan to watch over you. I’ll text Jess tomorrow to make sure it’s cool if we stay at her place again.”

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to think about staying at Jess’ house last Saturday and the memory of sleeping in Ash’s bed ~ of how his hands felt on my skin and how his lips melted against mine, but I quickly replaced it with the anticipation of seeing Dylan again. As difficult as it was, I could not torture myself with false hopes and mixed signals; I needed to focus my energy on actual possibilities. And Dylan Stephens had definitely become an actual possibility.

Evie and I hugged each other goodnight and I took a quick shower before hopping into bed. I opted for a hot, smutty book with as little angst as possible to join me and B.O.B. for a much-needed therapy session before going to sleep. Dylan had been right, my dreams were sweet indeed.





Chapter 7

Evie and my daily schedules kept the same blueprint as the first day for the rest of the school week. We attended class in the morning and did our homework and studied in the early afternoons. After a light dinner of either a salad or a sandwich (we were desperately trying not to gain the freshman fifteen everyone had warned us about), we spent the evenings either reading or playing around online. I loved that we had quickly established a routine; Evie knew I was a little OCD about schedules, calendars, and time tables and I was much less stressed as long as I knew what to expect each day. My obsession with scheduling and planning was a direct result of my parents scheduling every waking hour of my life. Living a life that was basically pre-planned was all I had ever known and it was going to take a little while before I felt comfortable enough to deviate from that.

Our classes were pretty much what we expected - the professors were demanding and the material was challenging. We had quite a bit of required reading and outside class assignments, which unfortunately put a damper on our personal reading. I had read so much during the summer with the combination of the explosion of chick lit indie authors and my lack of a social life, and I was rather sad to replace my happily-ever-afters with quadratic formula equations and stories of the Spanish Inquisition. Evie and I had Biology and Algebra together. Both classes were your run-of-the-mill freshman college class. The professors were dull and the material was even worse. I hated math and science which is why I specifically chose to take these with her, I hoped her tutoring could get me through with at least a B. My other academic classes, History and English, I enjoyed quite a bit and really didn’t mind the excessive reading and writing. All of my professors were women; however, Evie had two male teachers, one of which she had deemed a BB possibility. She was working on finding out more information about his personal life because all she knew thus far was that he didn’t wear a wedding ring. I have to admit, I was a tad bit jealous, but at the moment I would just have to live out that fantasy vicariously through her.

Dylan texted me a brief good morning each day before class, but after our Wednesday evening text exchange grew outrageously long, he called on Thursday claiming his fingers were still sore from the night before and unable to perform. I preferred the phone call to the texts anyways, I loved hearing his voice and his warm, hearty laugh always brought a huge smile to my face. I couldn’t help but asking him teasingly if there were other parts of his body incapable of performing on consecutive days, which he assured me there weren’t. I was glad he couldn’t see the bright shade of red I turned the moment the words left my mouth. My brashness probably shocked me more than it did him, and I was a tiny bit proud of myself for being able to conjure up a witty comeback.

Our conversations were easy and comfortable, never forced or awkward. We talked a lot about our childhoods and families. I learned that he was born and raised in Chicago and that he was the oldest of three kids, he had a sister four years younger than him and a brother two years behind her. All of his immediate family still lived in the Chicago area even though his parents were divorced. He had come to Houston because of the scholarships he had been offered by the University of St. Thomas, and he had an older cousin that lived here that virtually allowed him to live rent free. He also said he had been ready for milder winters; as the oldest male in the family, especially after his dad left, he was always the one in his house in charge of shoveling snow or de-icing doors and windows. With each revelation about himself, Dylan became more and more attractive. He seemed to be someone who truly valued his family and he most definitely had a successful future ahead of him with his work ethic and drive.

I told him the little there was to tell about the events of my life leading up to college- ballet, music, soccer, and school. That about summed it up; I always knew I wouldn’t be a good character to base a book about unless it was one of those children’s book that had one word on each page describing the action depicted above it. In that case, I would have a four page book ~ awesome. Maybe it could be lengthened to six pages if we added ‘sleeping’ and ‘eating’- even more awesome. I was honest with him about my lack of experience, socially and sexually, but downplayed my parent’s controlling, irrational method of child-rearing. I just left it at “They are different” and “We aren’t really close,” which proved to be more accurate than I ever imagined.

By Saturday morning I was more than concerned that my parents had not attempted to contact me one time since I had left their house after our big fight - not a call, a text, an email… nothing. I toyed back and forth with the idea of contacting them, but I wasn’t quite sure if they were still that mad at me or if they were disappointed in me or what exactly their problem was. It pissed me off actually. For eighteen years, they controlled nearly everything I did or said and when I stood up for myself to them just one time, they let it all go? Let me go? They didn’t even care enough to make sure that I had arrived safely. Were they happy that I was finally gone so that they were free of my burden? That’s exactly how I had felt many times over the years, like a burden had been placed upon them to raise the most perfect child ever. When I didn’t win first place at a music competition, or when I graduated salutatorian instead of valedictorian, or any other time that I didn’t excel in something immediately, they made me feel as if I failed them on their mission. Well, screw a bunch of that. I was tired of carrying their burden of being sucky ass parents to my older brother, Matt, by letting him run around with no supervision whatsoever. Truth be told, they were sucky ass parents with me too, they had just jumped from one end of the spectrum to the other. I decided calling them would only upset me in some way and for now, it was probably best if I waited for them to reach out to me.