Don't Blame Me ➵ Steve Harrington

twenty

"What took you so long?" He asked.

"Shh," she whispered back. "Long line. Licorice?"

Billy reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a couple pieces of candy, seemingly content with her answer as his focus went immediately back to the movie.

After the longest hour and a half of her life, they piled out of the theatre. Billy kept his arm strung over her shoulders as they walked and Dylan halfheartedly listened to him as he droned on about 'what if that actually happened, huh? robots trying to kill us—that'd be fucked.' She just nodded along.

Dustin walked out of the boy's bathroom as they walked past it. He grinned widely but it faltered when he saw who was attached to her.

"Darth Sidious." Dustin coughed.

Dylan's mouth twisted in an effort not to laugh. Billy was already glaring down at the thirteen year old. "What did you say? Scram, kid."

Dylan shoved Billy warningly. "Be nice. Dustin, aren't you missing your movie?"

"Mike picked Starman," Dustin replied in disgust. "I'm fine with missing that wannabe Star Wars."

"Hmm, too bad," she ruffled his hair. She didn't miss Billy's patience wearing thin. "But get back in there. Nancy might worry if you take too long."

Dustin shook his head. "Jonathan showed up after he got off work. They're probably making out by now. She won't notice a thing."

"Gross," Dylan playfully scrunched up her face. "But get back in there!"

"Yes, ma'am." He saluted her and scurried into theatre five.

"I didn't know you were so maternal." Billy said once they were outside. He lit up a smoke and took a puff before handing it to Dylan.

She inhaled deeply. "Maternal? It's called being nice. But you wouldn't know a thing about that."

He smirked and she passed the cigarette back. "I'm nice to you."

Dylan lifted a brow. "Are you?"

He spun her around, pushing her up against the brick wall with his body. "Mhmm," he hummed. "The nicest I've ever been."

He blew his smoke in her face and she swatted it away with a laugh, suddenly know how Steve felt each time she did it to him.

"That's sad." She replied. "Maybe you should try it more often."

"See, I don't think you'd like that," he shook his head, his deep eyes never leaving hers. "I've done my research on you, Holland. I heard you haven't been very nice either."

"Who told you that?" She scoffed, stealing their shared cigarette once again. She laced it between her fingers, bringing it to her lips—making sure to blow it intricately over Billy's face when she exhaled. "Tommy? Carol? Please."

"Maybe, maybe not," he shrugged, "I heard you've had plenty of guys be nice to you—Reed, David. Now, I'm seeing it first hand with Steve. Yet, you're still here—with me."

"Steve and I are just friends," she frowned, shoving his chest but he never budged. "It's not the same."

He leaned in and laughed breathily against her neck, causing her to shiver. He placed a brisk kiss on the nape of her neck and pulled away again.

"Steve doesn't want to be friends with you," Billy said, laughter still hidden in his tone. "No way, doll. He wants you. I can see it each time he sees us together—he wants to be where I am."

"He does not." She said quietly, trying not to remember the almost-kinda moment she shared with Steve the night before.

"He's trying so hard, saying sorry all the time, taking you out to buy a dress for a dance you're going to with a another guy," Billy continued. "But you don't even notice. Guy must be pissed—you've unintentionally been meaner to the guy than I ever have."

"It's not like that!" Dylan protested.

"Yeah?" Billy raised his brows. "Why don't you ask him what it's like?"

"He's in love with Nancy," she whispered, the words tasting sour on her tongue.

"Nancy, Nancy, she's a pretty little thing," Billy nodded. "But she's boring, Dylan. Trust me. He's over Nancy."

Billy slid a hand around her waist, stroking her hip where her midriff was bared. "He wants to be... right here."

"Shut up." She told him through gritted teeth. "Can we, for once, have a conversation that doesn't involve Steve?"

Billy's hand trailed higher up her shirt, baring more skin to the cold, but his touch was hot. "I can think of plenty of conversations we can have that don't involve Steve."

"Good," she said,  grabbing his face and bringing it down on her own. "Then start talking."

Dylan preened her clothes and ignored Billy's smug expression. She reached into the pocket of his denim jacket and grabbed his pack of Camel's, lighting another one up and heading towards his car.

"Don't talk, fine with me," he called out from just behind her. "I already got what I wanted!"

She raised her free arm and flipped him off.

"Don't be like that, doll," he laughed, catching up to her and pinching her waist. "It was a joke."

She stared up at him pointedly. "Oh so you're a comedian now?"

His smirk widened into a sloppy grin and he placed an equally sloppy kiss on her lips. She squealed and pushed him off.

"You think you're so cute, don't you?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I do." He said proudly, crossing the road to where his car was parked. Dylan followed. "And I think you do, too."

"As if," she rolled her eyes, ripping open the passenger door and slamming it behind her. Unlike Steve, Billy never scolded her for being rough with the car—he just laughed at her.

He savagely pulled out of his parking space, with complete disregard for the local traffic—somehow, Dylan had gotten used to being on the brink of death every moment she sat in his car.

"So, tomorrow, I'm thinking I'll pick you up at seven."

"Who says I'm hanging with you again tomorrow?" She pressed. "You're a little much—I need a break."

"The dance, space cadet."

"Oh, right," she said, instantly remembering that tomorrow was the last day of school, therefore, the day of the winter dance. "Seven sounds good. I hate being too early."

"Alright, sounds good to me, doll."