Denying Dylan | ✔️

(18) "I might have a problem."

Vanilla scented soap wasn't a favourite of mine. I preferred a more colourful aroma when it came to body wash. Vanilla was sort of plain and overrated, just in my personal opinion. So when Dylan and I had both showered, deciding that we'd better get ourselves clean and dressed before we further investigated our apparent union, I sat on the bed beside him and frowned over the fact that he didn't smell like him.

He had been using hotel soaps all week, but this particular morning, I was having a hard time accepting that his usual mint and masculine musk had changed. Unsurprisingly, I too smelled like vanilla. It was a miracle that I'd been able to wash up at all to be honest. I spent most of the shower inspecting my vagina for signs of the sex that I must have had last night but couldn't remember.

It couldn't be possible. It couldn't. I refused to accept that I'd had sex with my best friend, the love of my life, and retained no memory of it. There also seemed to be no sign of fornication and if there had been fornication, it wasn't vigorous. Which wouldn't have been surprising considering we had no recollection of our night so we'd have been too drunk for a proper bang.

"We should look for clues," I nodded, the bed spring squeaking under the movement. I'd dressed for the part of solving a mystery. Black jeans, boots and a fitted hoodie that I never paired with my black jeans because that was too much black— aside from the last mission I'd been on— but the morning called for it. "Split up? Retrace our tracks."

Dylan slowly looked me over, his still damp hair falling over his forehead. "I should have known that was the reason for this get up."

"What get up?"

"The Kim Possible get up."

"Kim Possible wears a black tank and cargo green parachute pants."

"Don't pretend that you wouldn't have worn those if you had some."

"I totally would have worn them if I had some. But that's not the point."

He laughed and stood up, running his hand over his face. "I don't think splitting up and looking for clues is the go here. I mean, I get the feeling whatever we did last night, we did together."

There was a double meaning in that sentence but I chose to ignore it and stood up. "Sometimes I just say things for the sake of saying them. We definitely shouldn't split up."

There was a double meaning in that too and I wondered if he caught on.

"But the clues thing might not be a bad idea," he said. "Maybe we can find a receipt or something?"

For the first time this morning, I'd started thinking about this from another perspective. A miracle for me really. "Why do we need to know what happened last night?" I folded my arms. "There's nothing broken or missing from our room. There's no tiger in the bathroom and neither of us are hurt. I've had a ton of black outs before, Dyl. I usually just move on and live with the fact that I can't remember what I did while I was drinking."

Leaving out the fact that I prefer not to remember now, after hearing about the fact that I stole a pigeon from the park and ran around with a condom on my back.

"Yeah, I mean, I get that," he said, soft as he shifted his weight and shrugged. "But I mean, somehow we ended up married and I dunno, I kind of want to know how the rest of our night went after that. Ya know?"

"So you don't know if we slept together or not? Not that anyone would be able to help us solve that one unless we had an audience," I shuddered.

"I don't remember a damn thing after—"

"After we bought those uppers from the suit bro."

Dylan rested his clasped hands behind his head, looking as exasperated as I felt with his brows furrowed. "Suit bro?"