“I’m not really in the mood for Dylan tonight.” Daniel unbuttons the shirt of his uniform and takes it off. His T-shirt and body armor follow, leaving him in just his pants. Daniel’s physical attributes rarely capture my attention, but occasionally, like right now, they’re hard to ignore. “I have no idea how long he’ll be here,” he says.
“That’s okay,” I say.
Daniel pauses with his hand on his zipper. “I don’t mind at all if you stay, but I’m going to take off my pants.”
I stand up immediately and he chuckles. “Thanks for the warning,” I say, smiling. “I’ll be in the living room.”
Dylan has helped himself to another beer and he’s slouched in the chair where we left him, looking bored. Daniel, now wearing jeans and a T-shirt, grabs his own beer from the kitchen and joins me on the couch.
“So,” Dylan says. “You and Claire. Is it serious? Mom and Dad didn’t mention her.”
I can’t believe he asked that right in front of me. It’s as if he’s ignoring the fact that I’m sitting right here. Ignoring it or he just doesn’t care.
“You’ve seen them?” Daniel asks.
“I stopped by earlier.”
“Wow, you really are making the rounds,” Daniel says, taking a drink of his beer. He sets down the bottle. “Mom and Dad have never met Claire.”
“Oh, sorry,” Dylan says. He turns toward me. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll introduce you at some point. He’s very proper that way.”
His patronizing tone irks me. “I’m not worried,” I say.
“It’s doubtful that I’ll be introducing Claire,” Daniel says.
“Oh come on, give it time. You’ll get there eventually.”
I can’t be sure if Dylan’s condescending attitude is genuine or just an affectation. It’s like watching someone play the part of the wronged and bitter sibling in a live stage play. Like it’s a game for Dylan. Look what a big asshole I can be.
“Well, I’m pretty sure we won’t, because Claire is married,” Daniel says.
“You’re kidding,” Dylan says. His eyes flick from Daniel and then back to me.
Though it probably shouldn’t, it pleases me a bit that Dylan didn’t see that coming.
He lets out a long, low whistle. “Wow, you’ve got some balls.” Dylan starts laughing, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever said. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What a fascinating juxtaposition. My brother, whose sole mission in life is to catch the wrongdoers, is messing with another man’s wife.”
“Sorry to ruin all your fun, but we’re just friends,” Daniel says, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Then those balls must be blue as hell because I can tell from all the way over here how much you want her.”
He did not just say that.
In a commanding tone, the kind he must reserve for the most hardened and serious offenders, Daniel says, “Get out.”
“Oh come on, Dan. Surely we can have this conversation. I mean, if there’s really nothing going on between the two of you.”
“Claire?” Daniel says. He doesn’t want me present for the epic argument they’re about to have, and I know by the tone of his voice what he’s asking. Looking over at him, I nod and walk down the hallway to his bedroom. I barely get the door shut and sit down cross-legged on Daniel’s bed before the fighting starts.
Their voices carry, but I can’t make out every word. Either they’re cognizant of the fact that I can still hear them or they’re trying hard to keep it civil. It really doesn’t matter because they abandon this censoring almost immediately, and it doesn’t take long before Daniel really lets loose. I will not be surprised if one of them throws a punch.
“You waltz into town, show up uninvited, and make a statement like that in front of a woman you met less than an hour ago? I know you don’t give a shit about anything or anyone, but what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Touched a nerve, did I?”
“I don’t need you to offer your commentary on a situation you know nothing about.”
“Well, you sure seem to want to give me your opinion on how I should live my life. You judge me constantly,” Dylan yells.
“That’s because you make fucking horrible choices!”
“How sanctimonious of you, especially considering the circumstances of your current relationship,” Dylan retaliates. “Call it whatever you want, but a married woman doesn’t let herself in on a Saturday night to wait for you if you’re just friends. And by the way, this shit never ends well.”
“Yes, you’re such an expert. You come and go whenever you feel like it and you’re gone again before anyone can get too comfortable. Don’t talk to me about my relationships, or how I spend my time. I’ve got this.”
“Really? You gonna build a life with her like you had with Jessie? Is she going to leave her husband for you?”
“I didn’t ask her to leave her husband,” Daniel says.
“Well, if she doesn’t, she’s just playing you, man.”
There’s more than a bit of truth to this statement, and hearing it out loud stings a bit. I’m not playing Daniel, but the truth is I have no intention of ripping my family apart. I never have.
“You know what, Dylan? We’re done here. I’m sure you’ve got someplace you need to be.” Daniel sounds more resigned than angry, like the fight’s been drained right out of him.
A door slams and the house goes silent. Moments later, Daniel walks into the bedroom. I swing my legs around so that I’m sitting on the edge of the bed with my feet on the floor. Before I can stand up, Daniel crosses the room and kneels down in front of me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I smile sympathetically, knowing he’s probably worn out. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Daniel leans in a bit so that his upper body is between my legs. He places his hands flat on the bed, alongside my hips. Not quite touching them, but close. “I’m used to it. Dylan and I are never going to see eye to eye on anything. We just won’t.”
It’s so quiet and he’s so near. I fight the urge to run my fingers through his hair. “He’s right,” I say. “I don’t think anyone would understand if they knew how much time we spent together. Our phone calls. The texts . . .” It’s our thing, mine and Daniel’s. I don’t know any other way to explain it.
“Do you want me to stop calling you? Stop texting?” Daniel places his hands on my hips, pressing firmly, pulling me a few inches closer. The feel of his hands on me sends delicate shivers over my skin. My heart pounds and I feel the pressure, the ache, start to build between my legs. My body ignores the panicked signals my conscience is sending in favor of the more pleasurable sensations. Even more alarming, I think Daniel can sense how turned on I am. It’s the way he’s staring at me, observing my breathing and the flush I can feel heating my skin. I’m in way over my head, but I’m momentarily paralyzed and can’t seem to make myself swim to safer waters.
I answer his question with one of my own. “What he said? Is it true?” I already know the answer; I have for months. Just because we’ve never acted on it doesn’t mean I don’t hear the desire in his voice. See it in his eyes. But I want him to say it out loud.
“Of course it’s true,” he says. “But it’s so much more than that.”
When Daniel changed my flat tire he told me that friendship was all he was interested in, but I’m not entirely certain that he was telling the truth that night. Or maybe he was, because he thought he could handle it. Just like me.
My suspicions are confirmed a moment later when he stands and pulls me to my feet. Holding me close, his arms wrapped around me, he looks me in the eye and says, “I have no right to say this, and I’d never ask you to leave him.” Daniel’s voice is barely a whisper, but in the dead-silent room I have no trouble hearing what he says next. “But I wish you were mine.”