Page 34 of Wild Thing
She’d stopped me in my tracks when I spotted her sitting at the bar yesterday. She was hard to miss; devastatingly beautiful. Her jet black hair was nearly as black as the heart she wantedthe world to think she had. Chestnut eyes fringed with sweeping lashes had locked on me as I tried, and failed miserably, to dry myself. I felt her searing, burning stare. It took everything I had to remain calm when, really, my heart was beating out of my chest. Seeing her again instantly triggered some of the best memories of my life.
And her body… man.
Shaped like an hourglass, she looked better than ever. Her stunningly gorgeous appearance was deceptive because, despite her classic beauty, she was a wild bit of gear, untamed in the very best way.
I wanted to fuck her the second I laid eyes on her.
God, I was screwed.
My thoughts skittered to my girlfriend. I cursed myself for not having the courage to break up with Ally when I should have. The universe has a way of reminding you that you're never in control. And if life has a chance to fuck you, then chances are it will.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through Dylan's social media. I smirked at the fact she'd blocked for the past five years.
Of course she did.My grudge-holding girl.
I continued to scroll through her profile. She didn't post much, which I liked. Dylan was the complete opposite to Ally. Dylan's online presence was restrained and private, whereas Ally would curate every second of her life. All of it filtered, none of it real.
I wasn't even sure how I'd ended up with someone like Ally. She was wealth and image obsessed, coming off vain and entitled. I don't know why I thought she'd change. I'd often wondered if she was with me for my money. When I'd met her, she said I looked like a thug, but it's funny how money can turn hoodlums into heroes.
Being in a relationship for convenience was a pathetic reason to stay, but that was a big part of why I'd settled with Ally. Truthfully, I didn't think that I'd ever see Dylan again. I thought she'd always be the one that got away.
I tossed my phone on the coffee table and thought about how talking to Dylan felt like coming home. The way her mind works had always fascinated me.
She was a high achiever, ambitious as fuck and extremely intelligent. But she thinks herself into a catastrophe, turning what could be a happy life into a complete fucking mess.
I’d always wondered what would have happened if I’d followed her to London. She begged me to go.
But it was never an option for me.
Back then, I was arrogant enough to think she’d stay. I’d always had girlfriends who would do whatever it took to keep me around.
But Dylan was different, always doing whatever the fuck she wanted. I'd always known she'd put herself first in the end. Just like I did.
We'd been dreamers, though.
She said she’d design us a home. I said I’d build her a house with my bare hands. She could never decide if she wanted to live by the beach, or high up on a secluded mountain.
"Let's grow old together, away from all the self-absorbed losers,"she'd say.
She’d sketch pictures of us and leave them for me to find. Sometimes, I'd find one stuck to my windscreen or jammed into my toolbox… even attached to my surfboard leash. I'd kept them all. They served as little reminders of what could have been.
But one thing we never did discuss were the logistics or whether any of it was even possible.
We were dreamers, yes, but we were also deluded.
Because we never spoke about London.
It was a looming dark cloud that we ignored, because she knew I wasn't going, and I knew she wasn’t staying.
The day Dylan begged me to go with her, I came home to find her sitting on my porch. She told me this was it. She'd landed an internship and was leaving for London the following week. It all happened so fast.
I tried to make her stay, I always did.
But this time was different. She meant it. She accused me of not fighting for her or for our relationship. As much as I wanted to be with her, there was no way I could have joined her. She was asking me to do something that she herself wasn't willing to do: Put my career on hold.
And I was just like her; always putting myself first.
I watched her walk away, get in her car and drive off. I didn’t try to stop her. I let her go.
