The Two Week Stand by Samantha Towle

twenty-one

Dillon

“Cheers.” I chink my beer bottle against West’s before taking a drink.

It’s our second to last night here, and we’re sitting out on the jetty, watching the sun descend below the horizon. The sky is a gorgeous hue of pinks and blues.

I move my feet around in the warm water, watching it swirl around my legs.

I’m trying not to get sad that my time with West is fast coming to an end. I don’t want to waste the couple of days that I have left with him feeling sad, so I’m trying my best to remain upbeat.

“Can you believe our time here is almost over? It’s flown by.”

“I know. I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun fucking.”

“Pretty sure that’s not the saying.”

“No? It should be though.”

“Tomorrow is our last full day before we fly home.”

West leaves just before me. His flight is in the morning. Mine in the afternoon.

“What should we do?”

“Fuck.” He grins at me, lifting his brows.

“I never would’ve guessed you’d say that.”

“I like to mix things up. Stay unpredictable.”

Laughing softly, I stare at his profile. “If I forget to say this tomorrow, thanks for making my honeymoon memorable.”

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, a grin touching his lips. “You’re welcome.”

A fish swims toward us. I lift my feet out of the water, and West chuckles.

“It won’t eat you, you know.”

“I know. I just don’t want it touching my feet. Fish feel weird.” I lower my feet back into the water when the coast is clear. “I wonder if fish think that we feel weird,” I muse, putting my bottle to my lips.

“I don’t think fish think at all.”

“They have brains, right?”

“Yeah. But animals are programmed to think about two things—food and sex.”

“Just like you.” I laugh. “And also me. Actually, you’re more of the sex thinker, and I’m the food thinker.”

“And that’s why we make the perfect team.”

My heart swoops and dives. He doesn’t mean it that way. Stop getting carried away.

West has a swig of his beer, and I stare down at his feet in the water next to mine. So much bigger than my size fives.

“What shoe size do you take? Your feet are massive.”

“And you’re just realizing this now?”

“Yep. So, what size are you?”

“I’m a fourteen.”

“Are your sizes the same as my sizes?”

“What? Are we just making sizes up now?”

“No, your country and my country have different sizes. Well, I think they do. I’ve seen it on labels when I bought clothes before. UK and US sizing—also European, but that’s not relevant here.”

“Is any of it relevant?”

“Ooh, I should look it up.” I pull my phone from the back pocket of my shorts and open Google. I tap in the search bar and type US and UK shoe sizes.

A bunch of websites come up. I click on the first one.

“Oh, hey, so this is weird. So, men’s shoe sizes have a difference of a half-size, and for women, it’s two sizes. So, you’re a fourteen, which is a thirteen and a half in the UK. I’m a five in the UK, and I’d be a seven in the US.”

“Huh. Yeah. That is weird. And boring as fuck.”

“Piss off.” I playfully nudge his arm with mine, and he chuckles.

“So, what’re your plans when you get home?” he asks me, taking another drink of beer. “Aside from Googling useless facts and boring people with them.”

Cry over never seeing you again. Hate my life a little bit. Get a job I don’t want, so I can pay the bills. Find an apartment to rent.

I give him a look. “Well, I’ll keep doing that, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know … look for a job, I guess.” I blow out a breath. “I just really wish I didn’t have to go back home. At least, not yet anyway. I’m nowhere near ready to have to breathe the same air as my mother and the prick.”

“So, don’t go home.”

I laugh. “Did you hit your head? It’s not like I have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice. You could extend your vacation.”

“This place is expensive. And I don’t think I’d be able to just stay. You have to prebook and shit. I mean, I could afford another week. I do have money in savings. But it’s the money my grandparents left me. I figured I’d use it to buy a house one day. I don’t want to waste it.”

Also, being here without you would be boring. I’d be sad as fuck that you weren’t here, and I’d probably just spend my time moping. But of course, I don’t say that.

“What about going somewhere else?” he says.

“Like where?”

“The US.”

My heart sputters to a stop. I turn my head, and he’s staring at me.

“Baltimore, to be more specific,” he adds.

My mouth starts to feel dry. I have trouble swallowing.

“You can speak anytime now, if you want.” He’s smiling, but his voice sounds different.

“I, um … um … you mean, go there … with … you?”

He glances down to the water before looking back at me. “I can’t offer you more than I already have. I don’t do relationships, and that won’t ever change. But I do know that I’m not quite ready to stop what we’ve been doing either. You could come to the States with me. Stay at my place for a while. And when you’re ready to go back home, you can.”

Go with him to America? Is he really saying this right now, or am I hallucinating? I did have seafood at dinner. Maybe it was a dodgy prawn that did it.

“You could even spend time writing. I know it’s what you really want to do with your life. Maybe the change of scenery would even inspire a best seller for you.”

He’s got a point. I could write a book while I’m there. I’d have all the time to write. And going there wouldn’t be a waste of money; it’d be like an investment in my career.

And then there’s him. I’d get more time with him.

Yes, I have feelings for him. A crush. And going with him would just prolong things. Meaning it would hurt more when I eventually left.

But either way, it’s going to hurt when I part from him.

So, why not go to America with him, enjoy myself, and then deal with the aftermath later?

Oh my God. Am I really going to do this?

I think I am.

“So, you’re suggesting I go with you to Baltimore, stay at your place, and we keep …” I point my finger between us.

“Fucking.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Double D. We’d keep fucking. Nothing would change, except our location. Which would happen to be my apartment. I’d go to training during the day. You could write. I’d come home, and we’d fuck.”

Well … hells bells.I didn’t want to go home, but I sure as heck wasn’t expecting this. For him to say this.

Maybe he likes me. I mean, I know he likes me. But maybe he likes me, likes me.

Stop.

And there I am, getting carried away with myself. See, this is why it wouldn’t be a good idea.

“So, hypothetically, if I did come to Baltimore and I stayed with you, then I’d expect to pay my way. Like rent or something.”

“Hypothetically, that would be a no.”

“Then, I won’t go.” I’m an independent woman who pays her way in life.

“So, you’re considering it?” He rests his chin on his shoulder, and his eyes are dancing.

I bite my lip and shrug. “Maybe.”

“Okay, what if I changed the hypothetical no to a yes? Would your maybe change to a yes?”

Would it?

Am I really, seriously considering this?

Holy shit, I really am. I’m gonna say yes.

Just like I did the night he put the first offer to me. I tell myself I’m gonna say no, but it’s always a yes when it comes down to it.

“I don’t know. Change it and find out.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “It’s done. I accept your terms to paying rent or whatever. So, will you come?”

I feel a flutter of happiness float through my chest. That can only be a good thing. Right?

“Yes.” I smile. “I’ll come.”

His smile widens. “Good.” Then, his smile disappears, and his eyes turn a little serious. “Now, there’s something I need to tell you.”

That flutter of happiness I was feeling? Yeah, it’s dropped into the pit of my stomach.

“Like?”

“Well, it’s just that …”

“Oh my God! You’re married, aren’t you?”

I knew he was too good to be true. Hot guys like him do not fall into my lap that easily.

“I’ve already told you that I’m not married. And really, if I were, would I have asked you to come stay at my place?”

“You might be one of those Pygmies!”

“Not sure what a short African tribesperson has to do with this, but no.”

“Not Pygmy! I meant, polygamist! You’ve got a bunch of wives back home, haven’t you?”

He coughs out a laugh. “No, definitely not. I couldn’t handle one fucking wife, let alone two.”

“So, what is it?”

“Well, if you’d let me tell—”

“Are you in a cult? I saw this documentary about this actress who was a part of this cult! I think she’s in jail now though. But is that it? Are you in a cult?”

“Dillon.”

“What?”

“I’m not in a cult or a Pygmy, and I haven’t married multiple times.”

“Then, what is it?” My heart is almost beating out of my chest. I’m so nervous about what he’s about to tell me. I can’t take any more disappointment in my life.

He glances away from me, out over the water. “Well, it’s not about me as such. It’s more about my dad. Who he is.” He takes a breath and looks back at me. “My dad is the president.”