Living With The Player

CAMILLA RENÉE

SATURDAY.

“Good Morning gorgeous.”

Jimmy is outstanding at fooling facial expressions or my dad and Dylan leaving as he enters are of little regard for him.

Still, he sheathes his arms around my neck and clasps his lips against mine.

Extra credits for confidence Jimmy. My dad could return any moment from now.

I part my lips and let his tongue evade mine.

“Morning.”

I momble and he pulls away, invading the seat Dylan vacated minutes ago.

We engage in small talk; I apologise for not telling him about Dylan. He smiles back and waves the topic off. That easily.

****

They toasted breakfast eggs and bacon served from the motel, my mother’s cooking beats this any day, but I don’t have a choice, so I bite it down along with the bile in my throat.

I’ve never been seated at a more uneasy table for seven. Clinging glasses and forks are the only sound for ten minutes and it’s excruciating. Dylan is happy though. For reasons best known to the fucker, he can’t stop grinning.

Thankfully, it ends and we disperse to get ready.

“Jimmy. We’re going to rent suits. You should tag along or you’re intending on sporting boxer briefs?”

Shit. Everyone laughs. My mother. Father. Dylan’s parents. Jimmy and I share the same outraged look but his dies down quickly and he chuckles, it’s soft and washes away, his eyes hinting on the actual emotion-rage.

I glint at Dylan. I can’t stop. That wasn’t funny. He’s embarrassing him in front of my parents. Deliberately.

“I’ll tag along.”

Dylan shakes slowly, and they all agree to meet back in ten minutes.

It’s just the ladies left. Dylan’s mother. Mine. And dear old me.

Yay.

****

“Jimmy is quite charming.”

Mrs Emerton comments, standing beside me, placing the necklace over my neck. It’s not that huge. Medium-sized with an encrusted diamond in the middle. It’s more of a pendant. Pretty.

“He is.”

I react, pulling the tiny sleeve of the gown over my shoulders. It goes on my shoulder, leaving the entire hands bare, so Mrs Emerton suggested I wear gloves that would extend to my ankle. It’s not a bad idea.

“That’s all you have to say about him? He’s nice?”

I recall Dylan’s words-insults. Jimmy being nice makes him boring, but I don’t mind.

If nice is stable. Fun. Con free. Makes me laugh. I do not mind at all.

“I like him, mom. That’s all you should care about out.”

I turn around, smiling fully clothed.

“You look beautiful.”

Mrs Emerton complimented, pulling me into her arms. My breasts aren’t as full as girls my age, so my cleavages don’t pop out as much, but I’ll take the compliment.

“Thank you.”

I roll back to the seat and await her makeup box. We might miss church and go straight to reception.

****

DYLAN EMERTON.

The church program began two hours ago, so we are not making it. Our dressing – the men didn’t take nearly half an hour, but Camilla and the others have been up there for a while.

I lift my head over my dad’s shoulder, prying on him while he converses with Jimmy. The fucker.

Jimmy picked a brown suit. Button-down and all of that. Stupid pretty boy.

I choose black. Buttons popped up with a white T-shirt inside. It’s still a suit don’t judge me.

“Finally.”

Mr Renée sighs in relief, his eyes fixed on something behind me. Someone.

All of us turn towards the hallway and my entire world revs. Oh, lord. Sweet mother fucking Jesus.

My first thought is if Camilla bathed in baby oil. Her legs are on full display courtesy of the knee-length gown and they are glistening. I slid upwards and nearly stumbled. Holy fuck.

From her waist to her upper chest, the gown is fitted. Glued to her skin, so those curves that are usually concealed with baggy shirts, are poking into my eyes.

I won’t look away. I can’t. I don’t.

But then Jimmy struts in front of me, reaching her, taking her hand, then whispering words at the back of her ear. Words that make her giggle. Words that make her blush. Words that spear through my heart.

I flinch then turn away.

For a moment there I ceased to recollect that she belonged to another.

****

“There are two cars. The Emertons in one. Renee’s in the other…”

“Yeah. Jimmy can walk.”

I shrug completing Mr Renée’s sentence. I expect a scowl, but he chuckles deeply.

“Dylan.”

Camilla and my mother caution in unison.

“What? I was kidding. I was joking.”

I repeat, grinning at Jimmy. The fucker’s jaw is throbbing. I bet he wishes he could hit me. Too bad.

“I can take the car. The parents are in each car. Kids in the other.”

I advise instead. Ain’t no way I leave Camilla with him. Even if it’s barely a half an hour’s drive.

“Sounds good.”

“Or you and I could take my bike. For old time’s sake.”

I lean backwards, mombling those words beside Camilla. For her hearing only. Her pulse quickens, but she keeps a straight face, looking at anything else but me.

I pull back and walk over to dad for the keys.

******

CAMILLA RENÉE.

The tension throughout the drive was nerve-racking. Jimmy kept his hands on my thigh, a smirk on his face, and he kept talking especially loud enough for Dylan to listen in. And Dylan-he peeked like he was suffering.

He rather spied at both of us through the rear mirror than drive. When we got down, Jimmy kissed me full on the lips then we all went in.

They arranged the tables for two, so it was me and Jimmy, Dylan and some other guy and our parents seated far off.

*****

“I have to go take the call.”

I nod my head and watch him leave, sighing as music booms in my ear. I do want to dance, but Jimmy didn’t ask. Yet. Maybe when he gets back.

Sigh.

“Dylan!?”

I half yelled, spying the fucker stand up and sprint to my side faster than I could say his name.

“A dance?”

A firm hand stretched forward, offering to take mine. No taunting smile. No crooked lips or frown. No frown. A simple yet charming look across his features. I almost reach for it.

Almost. Jimmy already mistrusts me, he’ll be back any moment and dancing with Dylan will not look great.

“I’ll wait for Jimmy.”

“Jimmy isn’t here. The song’s almost over. Everyone is dancing and you’re not. Come on.”

I survey the room. Almost ninety percent of ladies are on the dance floor.

“No. I don’t want to dance.”

Lies.

“Don’t make me scream at the top of my lungs. I will do it. People are already watching. You’ll honestly turn me down in front of this many people?”

I looked over his shoulder, and truly a few eyes had glued to our exchange.

Fuck my life.

“Fine. I swear I’ll kill you before we return.”

“Darlin, you could do whatever you want with me. I serve at your pleasure and I exist only to satisfy you.”

I ignore the uproar in my tummy. The flutter in my belly. Flip-up and down. How my fingers immediately heat. I even try to tug away the smile threatening to break out in full force. I try so hard.

I smack my brain and remind the other fucker that this is Dylan. This is what he does. He makes me feel good today and then the next day he leaves. On that, we agree and I snort at him while standing up.

His resolve doesn’t break, if only he adds an extra layer of wall and grips my hand so tightly I’m being pulled across from my seat and into his arms.

“Stunning.”

He remarks, tilting the hair away from both sides of my face, pushing them until they’re resting close to my ear.

He was right. The song ends at that moment, every couple stands apart and I think I may have gotten off the hook with this one. No song. No dance. No Dylan.

I thought wrong. A second tune plays out afterwards. An even slower song. I know this one – Dandelion by Ruth B. It’s a couple’s song.

If fate isn’t the biggest fucker.

I’m shoved out of my thoughts as Dylan makes his way toward the centre of the floor. We stand apart for ten seconds as two other couples, then the song plays out in full.

My shoulders glue by my side, Dylan smirks, moving around my body, halting at my back, breathing down my neck.

“You aren’t smiling.”

He rasps. I sip down my throat.

“There’s no reason to.”

I momble back. He chortles and then comes forward. His steps are calculated. Slow. He reaches me, lowering his eyes to sweep the necklace dangling over my neck. Or my cleavages? I can’t tell.

He lifts a hand; I press mine against it reluctantly. We take a moment to exhale, then we move in sync. It’s almost as though it’s just me and him. Every other person is left.

One step forward. Two-step backwards. Repeatedly. Hands clasped together. By the fourth, he spins me a little, tugging me a little further to himself each time. More than necessary.

“I pray to God. Whoever listens up there. I pray every day that one day-you’ll be mine.”

He hums. Slowly. Pressing my back against his chest, his voice too intense as it fans my neck. Then he let’s go. That’s the exact line from the song. Is he serious?

I suck in a harsh breath. The artist is right. It’s getting hard to breathe.

He’s behind me again, enacting his torturous movements, spreading both hands across my shoulder.

“You should smile Camilla. You’re magnificent and everyone should have their fucking eyes on you.”

“They might since I’m terrible at this.”

I answer back, genuinely feeling Stupid.

“You’re not. Even if you are, I don’t give a shit. This is perfect. You’re perfect because of your imperfections, so at this moment I want you to smile. For you.”

He doesn’t rush his words, speaking in the synch of the song, threading the tip of his finger along the curve of my neck then struts forward.

“Divine.”

He breathes, pulling my left hand towards me, huddling our bodies together as well.

I crack open and grin like an idiot. I sure as hell feel like one.

“Perfect.”

He adds, and we’re back to dancing. I plaster a smile on each end of my face and my body just moves. I don’t hold back. I don’t think what’ll happen after this dance. How Dylan would react after this dance. I simply dance. And it feels fucking amazing.

Seconds. Minutes. I don’t want this to end.

I don’t wince when his chest presses into mine. I giggle when his eyes meet mine. Oh I feel alive alright.

The song is almost over; we stand apart again, breathing heavily.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Breathe Camila.

He moves hastily, pressing my head against his chest, his hands encircle my lower back and I breathe. I’m scared I’ll choke if I don’t breathe. His scent. It’s his scent. He rocks both our bodies slowly, matching the beat of the song.

This is too satisfactory. Seconds pass. Half an minute. It’s over.

“I want to kiss you so bad. So badly. It hurts. So painfully that it hurts, baby.”

He whimpers so lowly, that I doubt my ears. I doubt they heard him say that, but when the song comes to a stop and we pull away, every fucking doubt is vindicated.

He’s looking down. His eyes skimmed past every curve of my body. Then he breathes as well. It rakes through his entire body and mine. He shakes so intensely. Bobbing his head sideways. He’s fighting something. Himself maybe? His own will? Who knows?

****

Thoughts!? I just feel bad for Jimmy. Everyone else hates him but the poor guy did nothing to y’all. I’ll try to update sooner tomorrow if my busy schedule permits me.