Chapter Eleven
Dylan
I chose a sleek silver Maserati to pick up Bethany. The subtle color and deceptively simple lines of the sports car reminded me of Bethany: beautiful and surprising the closer I got.
My memories of her hummed back to the forefront of my mind as I drove to her house: Bethany in a white cotton sundress, our stick fort down by the creek, the way her nose crinkled up when she smiled at my silly jokes.
I revved the Maserati up another notch and passed a surprised motorist. It wasn't as easy to get out ahead of the waves of nostalgia. Like a tsunami, it wasn't just a rush of fond memories but a surge of guilt. I'd screwed up as soon as I moved away from Bethany, and I didn't deserve to be able to look back.
What was I doing?
I slipped back below the speed limit and considered making a tight U-turn. Bethany had been a good girl then and she was even better now. What right did I have to trample all over her life and then leave again?
The sedan in front of me came to a sudden halt, and I slammed on the breaks. "Gonna screw this up before I even get there," I muttered.
I flexed my hands on the steering wheel and wondered if they were sweating. Was I nervous?
For the second time, I considered a quick U-turn. I was a screw-up, and Bethany deserved far better. Then I saw her waiting at the curb outside her condominium.
Her simple black dress had a modest hemline that skimmed below her knees but the deep, diving V of the neckline more than made up for it. Bethany waved as I pulled up, the dress clinging tightly to her every curve. I watched, jaw loose, as she ran past my headlights and reached for the passenger side door.
"You're supposed to let me open it for you." I dove across the seat and swung the door open just in time.
"Oh, yeah. I forgot." Bethany paused and then climbed into the passenger seat. "I'm not used to such a nice car."
"Or gentlemen apparently," I joked. "You can make it up to me by letting me open doors for you at the restaurant."
"Deal," Bethany said. Her crooked smile belied the confidence of her words.
"We should get there in just under an hour. The flight is about twenty-five minutes once we're in the air." I pulled away from the curb and headed to a small, private airstrip.
"Wait, what? We're flying somewhere?" Bethany gripped the edge of the Maserati's leather front seat.
"Don't worry, it's just a little ways up the coast. You like fresh seafood, right?" I asked.
Bethany pried her fingers off the leather seat just to tangle them together. "That's crazy. And too expensive. We can just go somewhere nearby."
"If it makes you feel any better, it's a client's plane and he gives me an excellent deal." I reached out and snagged one of Bethany's nervous hands. "I figure you're so busy that I have to make this rare night out worth it."
Bethany chewed on her lip, but her hand finally settled down in mine. "What if I said I was afraid to fly?"
"Then I'd call you a liar. I remember you climbing up that big old tree near the creek to hang our rope swing. You're not scared of heights or much else I can think of," I said.
"That was a long time ago." Bethany slipped her hand out of mine but stopped arguing about our transportation plans.
She didn't say anything as I pulled into the private airstrip and drove straight into a brightly lit hangar. A polite staff whisked her out of the Maserati and up the steps of the private jet before she could protest. Before Bethany knew it, we were both sitting on a curved white leather sofa with flutes of champagne.
"Not what you were expecting?" I asked.
Bethany shook her head and blinked at the champagne as if it continued to surprise her. "Not what I ever would have imagined for a last-minute date."
I chimed my flute against hers. "Here's to your canceled meeting."
"And your well-timed phone call." Bethany took a hesitant first sip and then a longer taste.
My mouth watered as she licked the delicate bubbles from her bottom lip.
I couldn't think of a thing to say until the pilot announced our descent. "It's just a quick drive from here, and we'll have ocean views."
Bethany finished her champagne and looked much more relaxed. "What are you driving? Another Maserati? That was what the silver car was, right?"
I nodded as the captain flipped off the seatbelt sign and the crew opened the jet door. "You know your cars, huh? See if you can spot our next ride."
Bethany paused on the top of the steps and squinted across another bright airplane hangar. "A Porsche, right?"
"Good eye. It's a Porsche 911. Should we drive with the top down?"
Bethany's nose crinkled up as she smiled. "I don't mind a little star-gazing while you drive."
As soon as we got onto the coast highway, she stretched out in the passenger seat. My foot almost slipped off the gas as she leaned back and arched her back so she could look at the sky. Bethany's body was held in tight by her little black dress but her soft curves were accentuated by the clinging material. And the low neckline shifted every now and then as Bethany sighed happily.
I forced myself to keep my eyes on the road and get us to the restaurant safely.
"We're here," I said as I finally allowed myself an adolescent peek at the neckline of her dress.
Bethany sat up and adjusted it demurely. "This is such a beautiful view; it's almost a shame to go inside."
"Don't worry," I said. I leaped out and made it around to open her door for her just in time. "I reserved us a table at the window."
Bethany paused before taking my hand. "We're splitting the check."
I caught her hand and pulled her out of the Porsche. She bumped against my chest and my heart flopped over. "Whatever you want. Tonight is your night off."
"I wish," Bethany mumbled.
"Your boss has you on call?" I looped her arm through mine and led her into the five-star restaurant.
Bethany studied the hand-painted fresco on the ceiling of the restaurant lobby. "Something like that," she said.
I was proud to have Bethany on my arm. Our childhood friendship was so far in the past that it seemed unreal at most times. The face of first kisses, childhood crushes, even those young heartbreaks all fade in time but Bethany was here and now. I pulled her closer, and she blushed.
It was funny how attracted to her I had been the second I saw her. Even though she was far from the kind of girl I usually asked out. I had always been looking for casual, easy, and relaxed. With her arm tense in mine, I knew Bethany was none of those things, but she was so much more.
"Ah, Mr. Wylde. Your table is ready, sir." The maître d', who had met me when I dined with a very popular basketball player, smiled broadly.
I let Bethany walk in front of me and felt a sudden swelling in my chest. A few heads turned as Bethany passed, her little black dress drawing male gazes from all over.
I knew that look. It was the look I gave her that summer before I moved away. Admiration, longing, respect, and desire all mixed into one puppy dog glance. I had been so tongue-tied over her right when I had everything important to tell her.
I never told Bethany how I put her on a pedestal. That spring, my father had announced our move. I raged against him and, for the first time, felt completely powerless in my own life. The pendulum swung far to the other side after that; I took control and got into one head-on crash after another until my parents all but cut ties. Even now, they wanted to hear very little from me.
But I had found the best piece of my childhood, and she was sitting across from me.
"Why are people looking?" Bethany asked.
"Because you're beautiful," I said.
She shook her head. "You really are some kind of celebrity, aren't you? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."
I chuckled as she stopped herself and said no more. "Are you worried I'm going to ruin your reputation?"
"No, no. It's just that, I'm sorry. I'm still distracted by work," Bethany said.
I caught her nervous hand and squeezed it. "How about we start with some wine?"
My knee bumped into hers under the table and I felt her jolt. Then quietly, gently, her knee rested against mine again. A wave of warm possibilities rushed through my body. I rubbed my thumb across the palm of her hand and felt her pause.
"Red wine," she said. "Nothing bubbly."
"Velvety and spicy." I told the sommelier as soon as he arrived. He nodded, noticed our intertwined hands, and quickly left to fetch a suitable Zinfandel.
"I wouldn't say my life was spicy." Bethany gave a small, pleased smile when I caught her other hand and began to massage it slowly with my thumb. "You're the one with the exciting life. Tell me more about all your cars."
I started to tell her about the first car I fell in love with. Bethany leaned against the table, her low neckline peeking open, and gave dreamy little sighs as I rubbed her palms. Every once in a while, she would jolt a little and then ask me an almost practiced question about a fancy sports car. I could have talked about cars and touched her all night, my thoughts already drifting underneath the tablecloth but our wine arrived, and the sommelier ruined the spell.
"Will you do the honor, sir?" he asked.
I inspected the cork, tasted the wine, and gave him a curt nod. "Pair the next bottle to her order, please."
"Yes, sir."
I followed Bethany's polite lead and removed my hands from the table. I laid my linen napkin in my lap, surprised to see how much my body had responded to touching her. I couldn't resist tugging the edge of my napkin and letting my fingertips brush over her bare knee.
Bethany startled and almost spilled her wine.
"Sorry," I said and gently toasted my glass against hers.
"You surprised me," Bethany said. Her knee pressed against mine again.
I swept my fingertips over her bare knee and felt the temperature at our table ratcheted up five degrees. Bethany tasted her wine, nervously licked her lips, and slipped her leg between mine.
I had to fight for breath.
When I could finally think straight, I slugged half of my wine and forced myself to drag my hands up to our table and open my menu.
Bethany's cheeks brightened, and she tucked them behind her menu as we discussed dinner choices.
I was on fire, every nerve ending crying out to touch her close body. The only problem was that Bethany deserved more than that. She was one of my only unsullied childhood memories, and I had a chance now to do things right.
I resolved to court Bethany, take things slow, and focus on romance. Her wine-loosened smile suggested another way was possible, but I escorted her home like a gentleman. Even on the private jet, when she snuggled up close and smiled up at me, even then I made myself pause and told myself the most important truth I still knew.
Bethany was worth it.