Dylan in Trouble

Head Pats and Backpack T-shirts

Embarrassed by her reddened cheeks, Halle excused herself and sped to the restroom. The light flicked on and Halle leaned over the sink to get a better look at herself in the mirror. In a hurry to see her brother this morning she'd hardly allowed herself any time to put makeup on; she was regretting that decision now.

She scolded herself. She shouldn't care what this man thinks of her! But as she remembered his gaze, she saw herself turn red in the mirror. For a moment she almost splashed water onto her face, but then she'd be wiping away the makeup she did happen to have on. So instead she fluffed her hair, smoothed her t-shirt with her palms, and left the restroom.

Halle's eyes were trained on the floor till she saw a pair of shoes. She lifted her head to find Dylan staring down at her. God, he was tall. She was a tall woman herself, but he still had a good eight inches on her. She wondered if he'd ever played basketball, but from the look of his gangly limbs she guessed not.

"Freshening up?" He gave her a knowing smile. Confidence oozed off of him. It drastically contrasted with how he looked, because honestly he looked like a complete nerd (it must have been the glasses), but he sure wasn't acting like one.

As the silence prolonged Dylan's eyebrows crept farther up his forehead. His eyes roamed around the hallway for a moment before looking back at her with an exhale.

In a failed attempt to ease the awkwardness Halle said, "Your shirt makes it look like you're wearing a backpack."

A pause.

God! Was she stupid? Of all the possible things to say, she had said that! For what felt like the tenth time, she blushed. Her fingers flexed against her thighs as she stared ahead—at Dylan's chest.

For a moment, Dylan looked taken aback. Then his mouth opened and he laughed.

Laughed?

Now, Halle was the one taken aback. Her eyes were wide as she watched Dylan continue to laugh. She was staring. She was staring because of the way his glasses slid down his nose with every move of his head. And how his mustache lifted with his lips as he laughed. How his shoulders shook.

For a moment she stood and watched the handsome man laugh, at something she'd said too! Then she was laughing too. (At what? She hardly knew. All she knew was that with a laugh that contagious, who wouldn't laugh?) Halle was laughing until she opened her eyes and saw that Dylan wasn't anymore. He was watching her with an admiring expression. Limbs locking, Halle's eyes widened.

"You know you're not the first person to tell me that," Dylan huffed.

"Tell you what?" Halle asked stupidly.

Dylan's lips lightened in an effort to keep his smile from spreading across his face. It was a failed effort; it was a nice view.

Dazed and thoroughly embarrassed, Halle felt the weight of a rock in her stomach when Dylan lifted his hand and dropped it to her head with a pat. He lowered his hand awkwardly and as she stared he turned to leave.

And had she heard correctly? Because as he walked away, Halle could have sworn Dylan mumbled beneath his breath something along the lines of: "Stupid idiot. Why would you act like that?"

It made her smile.