Rory doesn't come over the next night.
Dylan had suspected that might be the case, but when Saturday night comes, and he doesn't hear her cursing her way up his tree...he knows.
He doesn't know what happened after she got home. He doesn't know if she's okay. He doesn't know if he should reach out.
He lays in his bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He thinks about her. Thinks about all the walls she's built around herself. Thinks about why she built them. Wonders if she'll ever tear them down.
His pillow still smells like her. Smells like the coconut shampoo she uses that he loves.
He won't ever tell, but he noticed that after he said he liked it one time...she always used it.
And now his pillow smells exactly like her, and he finds himself taking deep breaths as if wanting to fill his lungs entirely with her.
Around 2 a.m., he reaches for his phone. She gave him her number in case of emergencies, although they rarely ever use it.
Tonight, he wonders if this counts. If asking if she's okay is crossing a line.
He stares at her name for a good five minutes before sighing to himself and turning it off.
Then, he rolls over and falls asleep.
The next day, he decides that their time together has run its course. He knew that would happen eventually and he decides it's better to appreciate it for what it was...and move on.
So, he does.
He and his brother head to the skate park, thoughts of Rory not too far behind, but he pushes them away, nonetheless.
They skate for a few hours, and Dylan has to laugh every time his brother becomes swarmed with beautiful, young ladies (and a few men) all vying for his attention.
His brother has always had a reputation, and Dylan doesn't mind skating a few rounds himself, flipping his board, skating over the railing, and down the edge of the stairs to pass the time.
When golden hour hits, they reckon it's about time to head home. After all, Dylan's got next week's homework to do before it's even assigned, and who would he be if he didn't do it?
Dylan flips his board up into his hand before getting ready to follow his brother when something catches his eye.
A familiar car. A Mustang. Swinging into the parking lot as Dylan slows to a stop.
Rory.
And Ricky.
His eyebrows raise as he watches Ricky pull the top down on his car, moving to sit on the edge of the door as Rory does the same.
She's smiling at him, flipping her hair over her shoulder before she laughs loudly at something he says.
Dylan wants to stare, maybe even wants to be upset, but he can't be. He knew this was likely and he wants her to be happy more than anything.
If Ricky makes her happy, then good for him.
He sighs to himself before taking a step toward his brother as he notices Rory looking his way.
Once their eyes meet...something shifts.
Her face drops, her eyes going wide, and she immediately lowers her head, looking away from him.
He smiles softly, realizing she must be embarrassed, and he wishes he could tell her not to be.
He'll be okay.
He shifts the skateboard in his arm before jogging after his brother, who seems to have been stopped by one of the guys from the football team.
"And it's tonight?" Logan clarifies and Dylan's head tilts.
"Yeah," Mark nods. "Ricky's place, it's gonna be packed."
Logan looks over, and Dylan raises his brows. He assumes they're being invited to some party and while he can't say that's ever really been his thing...he wouldn't mind getting out tonight.
Even if it's at Ricky's house.
"Yeah, we'll be there," his brother finally agrees, and with a new change of plans, they head out.
As promised, the house is packed full of people. Everyone from the football team, the cheer squad, the basketball team, the lacrosse team, and everyone in between. Even a couple of teachers, which Dylan finds rather hysterical.
He considers looking for Rory. At least to make sure she's all right but decides against it. She's not his to look after anymore, and he has a feeling he won't like the position he finds her in.
Literally and figuratively.
He doesn't get the chance to dwell, however, as his brother is quick to pull him into a room where a lively game of cup pong is underway.
They play a few rounds, with Dylan and Logan making the perfect team, forcing the other side to drink until their heads begin to spin.
Dylan himself isn't much of a drinker, but like a good sport, downs each cup he's supposed to with a grin on his face.
He has to admit, there could be worse distractions. And the beer helps him focus on just one thing at a time instead of letting his mind roam about the rest of the party.
It works for the next hour or so, and Dylan finds himself laughing more than he ever thought he would at some mindless college experience he's supposed to have.
But, nevertheless, he decides he's grateful he came. No matter what he had to miss to be here.
He finds himself on the couch, Kenzie on his right, and Kenzie's friend on his left.
The three chat for the next few minutes, with Kenzie's incredibly wasted friend crawling closer and closer to him as the conversation proceeds.
But he doesn't mind. He has no plans to do anything about it, but a few brushes of her hand down his arm is hardly enough to spook him.
In fact, he's so relaxed in their presence that he doesn't even notice Rory and Ricky strutting their way into the tiny space until Kenzie gives him a pointed look.
He smirks, realizing she's still upset over Rory shooing her away after the game the other night.
He tosses his arm over the back of the couch, relaxing back into the cushions as his legs begin to spread a little further.
He doesn't look up. Doesn't meet her eye. Not out of spite, but out of compliance.
Before they started hooking up, they never would have looked each other's way.
Dylan decides that's how it should stay.
So, he continues his conversation with Kenzie, smiling and nodding as she gushes over her new favorite show.
Rory, however, can only fake her interest in Ricky's incessant need for attention and validation for so long.
Her eyes continue to drift over towards the normally quiet and introverted boy on the sofa across the room.
She can't say she isn't a little surprised to see him. Sure, she sees Logan at these sorts of things all the time, but Dylan has never been one to care.
It's one of the things she likes about him.
But now, here he is, that fucking brunette crawling all over him as he eats it up.
Even worse, she has no idea what he's thinking. No idea what could be going through his head.
She imagines he probably hates her. Wants nothing to do with her. Would throw his drink in her face if he had the chance.
He won't even look at her, which Rory decides is the worst part. Won't even acknowledge that she's in the room, except for the smug smile he shot Mackenzie's way.
She wants to explain. She was going to explain, but...now she thinks she's too late. After all, what explanation could she possibly give him that he'd buy? Or even care about?
She begins to pick at her nails as Ricky drones on, biting at her lip subtly as she narrows her eyes.
Dylan is still on the couch, still relaxed, still engaged, and still ignoring her.
She hates the feeling that gives her. The way she feels she's lost her power. The way she's silently wishing he'd come over and drag her away from Ricky before demanding an explanation from her.
She scoffs to herself, forcing her head forward as she decides he's no longer worth her time.
"Right, and so I was, like...whoa, what the fuck," Ricky laughs. "And he, like...couldn't handle it. And so I had to pretty much save his ass. Again."
"Uh-huh," she mumbles under her breath, already zoning out. However, an idea occurs to her then, and she moves closer to him, sliding her hands up his chest. "Tell me more."
Poor Ricky is caught off guard as he blinks down at her, letting his own hands find her waist. "Uh...so, I told the coach that my play is the one that worked, so I wasn't gonna stand for his shit—"
"Yeah?" she nods, biting at her lip as she lets her eyes find his. Her fingers move to his curls, her chest meeting his, her nipples straining against her tank top. "God, bet you really told him off, didn't you?"
She can already feel how turned-on Ricky is by her tricks of seduction, but mostly from the way she's feeding his ego exactly the way he needs.
Poor guy looks like he's about to lose a brain cell trying so hard to focus on a response, but she couldn't care less what he says.
She only cares about the fact that Dylan is now leaning forward on the couch, his eyes on her.
His elbows rest on his knees as he watches, silently commanding himself to look away.
He should. He should look away. He should walk away. Leave the fucking room and leave them behind.
She knows what she's doing. Dylan knows that much. He knows that she's trying to upset him.
But why?
He figured she had moved on. And maybe she has. Maybe she just wants to hurt him one last time.
Or maybe...
His eyes narrow, watching as she coyly tilts her head and brushes her lips over Ricky's.
Nobody else in the room is paying attention. Nobody else in the room even matters.
Just her.
And him.
She wants something from him, but he still can't decide what. His compliance? His attention? His anger?
His claim.
Despite her arrogant façade, he knows that deep down...she wants to be claimed. She wants to know somebody else has power over her. Wants to know that she belongs to someone.
Wants to know that she belongs to him.
He never felt the need to claim her. Never felt like it was his place.
After all, she's never been his.
But maybe tonight...that changes.
He stands from the sofa and Rory's heart leaps into her throat.
She pretends to be oblivious, letting Ricky slip his fingers under her shirt, despite the room full of people.
She lets him feel everything he's missing as Dylan finally takes a step toward them.
Slowly, she pulls back so she can look over and meet his eye.
The world is spinning around them, her head fuzzy from the alcohol and from the way he's looking down at her.
He's got a vengeful look in his eye. He's angry. He's upset. He's gonna grab her arm and take her away from this fucking house and these fucking people.
And then...he's gonna fuck her.
She imagines everything she wants from him. Everything she needs.
And she watches as he moves closer to them...
Before brushing past her and into the next room.
Her heart drops. Her jaw drops.
The fucking nerve, she thinks to herself, turning her head to watch him go.
Her eyes linger on his back, the back she had just scratched her nails down, now covered by the light blue flannel he's wearing.
She can't place the emotion coursing through her veins, but she knows it's not pleasant.
She can't help herself. Despite her better judgment, her own rules, and regulations, she pushes out of Ricky's arms and storms after him.
She hears Ricky calling after her, rather pathetically, but she drowns him out. She's only thinking about one man right now and it's not him.
Her eyes search around the hallway, desperately hoping for a glimpse of his chocolate brown hair, but to her dismay never finds it.
Maybe he left. Maybe he walked out of the party and out of her life for good.
Maybe she went too far.
However, just as she's sighing to herself and getting ready to head towards her own car...a hand is pulling at her arm and tugging her into a linen closet.
She doesn't see him at first.
But she knows.
And she smiles, inhaling that familiar scent of his cologne and shampoo mixed with the laundry detergent he always uses that has her taking a deep breath whenever she's close to him.
It's dark, but she knows he's behind her. Knows the feel of his fingers around her skin. Knows the way his chest feels against her back like it is now.
She knows.
She's still facing the closed door, waiting with bated breath for him to speak. Waiting for him to finally reveal his inner thoughts, something she never knew she needed to hear so badly.
"You fucking proud of yourself?" he mumbles first, the coolness of his tone hitting her ear and traveling right down her spine. "Huh? Feel good, Ror? Making me watch you? Making me watch you with him?"
She pulls at her bottom lip with her teeth, eyes fluttering as she begins to rest her head back against his shoulder.
Instinctually, his hands find her hips, tugging her all the way. His lips brush the shell of her ear, and she has to suppress a satisfied sigh.
He breathes her in, the way she does him, the way he's been wanting to since she got out of his truck two nights ago.
His fingertips brush the exposed skin beneath her shirt, her skin hot under his touch, practically begging him to explore her.
"All this time..." he continues in a hushed but lustful whisper. "Playing with me. Needing me. Tell me...did you get what you wanted?"
She doesn't know how to respond. What to say. After all, she doesn't even know what the answer could be.
After all...what does she want?
She lets her hips grind back into his, feeling the way his cock pushes against her ass. The way he tugs her closer. The way he presses his nose into her cheek, trailing his lips along her jaw.
She feels weightless. Time doesn't exist in this little closet. Nothing exists. Just him. Just them. And what they want from each other.
It's slow and it's beautiful and she's never wanted to cry with need more than in this moment.
And then.. he lets go.
"I'm not playing this game with you," he says, the sensual drip in his tone now nowhere to be found, and she turns around for the first time to meet his eye. "I'll lose every time."
Her lips part, and she takes him in, noticing the almost sad look in his eye.
She wants to tell him she's not playing a game, not anymore. She'll stop. She will, really.
But yet...nothing comes out. She can only look at him as he takes a deep breath.
"Goodbye, Rory," he murmurs, reaching up to gently brush the back of his knuckles over her cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her lashes flutter at the tender touch and when she finally looks back up...he's gone.
~~~
For the rest of the evening, Dylan does nothing else but study.
He left the party after letting Logan know where he'd be going and drove around until he felt he was numb enough to forget.
He returns to his life, to his room, to his oblivious state of mind, and stays there. Nose in his book as he flips through the chapters. Music blares softly in the background as he highlights certain sections of the page before he realizes he's not really paying attention.
With a sigh, he caps his pen and tosses it onto the desk with a clang.
He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head as he looks up at the ceiling.
And for the hundredth time that night alone, he hopes Rory is okay.
He hadn't meant to hurt her if that's what he did. But he knew at that moment that he couldn't keep dragging her into closets anytime he wanted to be with her.
She would be better off without him. With someone like Ricky, who she could fuck right in the middle of the living room and not give a shit about who saw.
He did what he had to.
With that thought, he straightens up, ready to return to his books when he hears a familiar noise not too far from his window.
"Shit. Every fucking time. Every time. Same fucking spot. How the fuck do I always scrape the same fucking spot—"
He'd know that griping anywhere and a smile threatens his expression as he stands from his chair before moving to the window.
He unlocks the latch before hoisting it up, head peeking out as he watches her straddle the tree branch, her cheek pressed into the bark as she clutches on for dear life, hugging it like a koala.
He chuckles softly. "Ror...you gotta let go—"
"No," she immediately replies, shaking her head as she eyes the roof with malice. "Fuck that, I'll stay right here."
The smile grows. "Ror, it's such a tiny jump, you've done it a hundred times—"
"And what if this is the time I finally fall and break my fucking neck?" she retorts. "Shit, okay...okay, here I go. Give me some room. I said gimme some room."
He laughs again as he leans back, even though that does absolutely nothing, and she finally takes a deep breath before letting her foot swing down.
It reaches the top of the roof, and she exhales slowly, letting go of the branch as she finally finds her footing and scurries over to his window.
He stands back, watching curiously as she ducks underneath while holding the curtain back as she brushes herself off.
And once she's all the way in, he closes the window and faces her.
She's flinching at a leaf stuck in her hair, glaring at it as she yanks it out and lets it fall to the floor. "Ew."
He's silent as he looks her over, wondering what could have compelled her to come here.
Wondering if she's as drunk as he suspects she is.
Once she's done dusting off her clothes, she looks up, their eyes meeting for the second time that night.
They're both quiet, and Rory knows it's up to her to explain herself first.
She had rehearsed her speech the entire way to his house, but now that she's standing in front of him...
"Quite a ballsy move you pulled there, O'Brien," she begins, shoving her hands in her pockets as she forces a smirk. "And I didn't think that was really your scene."
He shrugs casually, and her heart sinks. "You don't really know what my scene is."
He has a point, but she hates to admit it, instead shrugging herself. "Fair."
More silence as he begins to sigh, crossing his arms as he waits for her to either tell him off or leave.
"So, did you...I mean, are we gonna, you know...do this shit? Or what?" she asks, albeit awkwardly, clearing her throat and straightening up to appear relaxed. "Cause if not, then I gotta head home."
His eyes narrow slightly as if studying her before he shakes his head once. "I told you, Ror...I can't play this game anymore."
"What game?" she scoffs, beginning to glare. "We're not...it's not a game, it's sex. I don't see...I don't see what the big deal is."
He sighs, fingers rubbing up and down his arm. "We both knew it was coming to an end, it's not like we're really losing anything—"
"Is this cause I didn't show the other night?" she cuts in, her tone hostile. "I was going to, I just...some shit came up, and I—"
"You don't have to explain," he mumbles, taking a step back, his eyes softening. "I get it, I just...I mean, you said it best. It's just sex and we can end it anytime we want."
Her defenses are rising but not out of anger...out of pain. She can feel a white-hot tingle along her skin as if she's been set on fire. Her chest tightens like someone has set something heavy inside her, and she wants to scream.
"And that's what you want?" she asks now. "To end it?"
He hesitates. No, it's not what he wants.
But it's what he should want.
It's what's best.
"Yeah," he confirms, leaning back against his desk. "Don't you?"
She can't think of anything she wants to do less and the anxiety living in her soul increases.
"Yeah," she agrees, already backing up towards the window. "Yeah, just wanted to come back and make sure we were on the same page."
Dylan's heart sinks. That's not why she came by, but he doesn't call her out on it. He just nods.
She returns to the roof, glancing back once more. "Great, so...yeah. This was fun, I guess. Thanks for the lessons and shit."
She wants to roll her eyes at her own floundering, but Dylan only smiles softly. "Anytime."
She wonders if he means it.
But she doesn't ask, instead moving for the tree and returning to the ground where she mounts her bike and heads home.
And for the first time...Dylan doesn't watch her go.