Betting on a Billion Kisses - Chapter Two

Jill Caruthers straightened the sleeve of her Santa-covered scrubs, wishing she were wearing something French and expensive. Not that she owned anything like that, but it was just her luck to run into the one multimillionaire she knew (literally) after working a long shift. Her dark circles had dark circles! So much for looking her best…or acting her best. She shouldn’t have called him a stupid loafer! Maybe he hadn’t heard. It was rush hour after all. All she wanted to do was go home and scream into a pillow for a good five minutes, but plastering a smile on her face, she threw her hands in the air.

“Wow,” she said, baffled, sounding like her dad looking at her brother’s art.

“Wow is right,” said Dylan, smiling and cocking a finger at her.

 “This is insane!” she said, again like her dad looking at her brother’s art.

Dylan put his hands on his head. “I know, right?”

“How long has it been?” asked Jill though she knew exactly how long it had been. Grand gestures have a way of burning their dates into your brain.

Dylan shuffled his feet and scratched the back of his neck. “Six years.”

“Six. Crazy.” Jill’s brain was trying to keep pace with what was happening. Shock and surprise always hit her like a stun gun to the neck. The world hazier and slower, it occurred to her that see should give Dylan a hug, and so, reaching for him with all the grace of a robot from the 50’s, she hugged her old friend.

A taxi made to look like Santa’s sleigh honked. “You gotta be kidding me!” cried the driver dressed like the jolly old elf, except for the ciggie pinched between his fingers. “Exchange insurance info and get off the road!”

 “He’s right,” said Jill, stepping out of the awkward hug. “We’re slowing traffic.”

Dylan flashed Jill his signature crooked grin. “I can’t just give you my insurance info,” he said, raising his voice as a diesel truck drove past

That grin melted her awkwardness a little. This was Dylan! The guy she used to steal French fries from, her old chemistry partner! Sure, now she sometimes saw his pic in the entertainment news with an A list celebrity on his arm, but he was still Dylan. Wasn’t that grin proof? She told herself to relax. “You carry enough cash to cover the occasional fender bender?” she asked.

“Actually, I don’t have any cash on me,” he said.

“And you call yourself a multimillionaire,” she said, aware her heart was easing its pace.

Again, that crooked grin appeared. “What I was trying to say is I can’t just give you my insurance info and leave. Do you have time to go to dinner? It’d be nice to catch up.”

The whoosh of traffic sent her blonde hair flying and she pushed it from her eyes. “It’s a little early for dinner.”

“Sweet! We can grab the early-bird special, just like old times,” he said, waggling his eyebrows the way he used to in high school when trying to convince her to do something like ditch first period to go get doughnuts, or sing Baby It’s Cold Outside together at a karaoke bar.

“You always did love a deal,” she said.

“Is that a, yes? I swear I won’t keep you too long. I know you’re wiped out.”

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I look wiped out,” she said, sounding convinced of it and a little horrified.

“No!” he said as his neck began to splotch. “You look stunning, ravishing, delightful. All the pretty adjectives rolled up in one big giant… burrito.” He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes for second. “Tell you what,” he said, “before I say something else that’s awesome, how about we get out of here?”

 She gestured at Marjorie who was steaming under the hood. “I take it I’m driving, unless you’ve got a spare helicopter somewhere handy,” she said with a little smile. “I’m not exactly sure how this multimillionaire thing works.”

“We’re a mysterious bunch,” he said, smiling too.

She gestured again at the car. “Clearly, you were driving that.”

“Her name is Marjorie, and she’s one of my sweetest rides.”

“Come on,” she said, disbelieving. He crossed his heart. “How is that possible?”

He shrugged, “Easy. She’s a trip down memory lane.”

“Oh,” she said, understanding. “Well, it looks like Marjorie isn’t going anyway.”

“I’ve already texted Jameson.”

“Who’s that?”

“My butler.”

“Most people would just text a tow truck company.”

He flashed his crooked grin. “It’s all part of the mystery.”

“Do we need to stick around?”

“No, Jameson’s got this. Plus, it’s not like anyone is going to try and steal her hubcaps since there aren’t any.”

“In that case,” she said, and she waved at the old car. “Good-bye, Marjorie.”

He blew the car a kiss. “Bye, girl,” he said, then trotted over to the driver’s side of her car and opened the door.

Jill suggested they head to St. Nick’s Grill, a local favorite for burgers and shakes, and on the drive over they got caught up on news from Auburndale, what was happening with their families and friends, particularly Mahalo, Dylan’s best friend since middle school, and, in Jill’s opinon, the laziest person on the planet.

“I saw that you hired Mahalo,” she said, her tone saying, Why the heck did you do that?

“Yep,” he said, rubbing the tops of his jeans, the subject making him a little uncomfortable.

“So, what does he do? she asked, “besides wake up at eleven?”

Dylan cleared his throat. “He’s director of pizazz.”

“Director of what?”

“Pizazz. He came up with the title himself,” mumbled Dylan. “Basically, he lets me know if a game I’ve designed gives him a tingly feeling.”

“A tingly feeling,” she said, her voice flat.

“It lets me know if I’ve got something special.”

“Just curious,” said Jill as they drove down Bethlehem Boulevard, “but how much does the director of pizazz make? Minimum wage?”

Dylan pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“A teacher’s salary?”

Dylan jutted his thumb upward.

“Is he making six figures?” she asked, her voice turning wispy with shock.

“You’re in the right ballpark,” said Dylan, squinting. “I know you think I’m crazy.”

 “Not at all,” she said, “what I think is I should have skipped nursing school and majored in naps like Mahalo.”

 “Wow!” said Dylan, pointing at the waving reindeer on top of Blitzen’s Bowling. “Look at that!”

Jill took the hint and changed the subject. “I hope you’re in the mood for a burger.”

“Always down for a burger,” he said.

“We do have a Michelin rated restaurant. It’s called Miracle. It’s over on 36th Street.”

“This town is killing it with all the Christmas references.”

“We like to think there is no place does Christmas better,” she said.

“Let’s get a burger. We can try Miracle the next time I’m in Christmas,” he said.

Happiness seemed to sprinkle over Jill. She liked the thought of seeing Dylan again, and not just because he was fabulously wealthy. Although, she had to admit, that had its appeal. But it was good to see her old friend.

At St. Nick’s, Dylan held the door for Jill as they walked inside, bringing back a flash of memories. He had always done that for her at Auburndale High, rushing ahead sometimes so that he could grab the door for her. “Very gentlemanly of you,” she said.

“Not really. I just think you have weak arms,” he said, earning a playful shove, and for a sweet moment she felt relaxed, but then she caught sight of his gold Rolex, and a subtle tension returned.

A silver-haired waitress dressed like Mrs. Claus, seated them by a window that appeared sprinkled with frost. After placing their order, Dylan took a moment to take in the cheerful surroundings, and as he did Jill gazed at Dylan. It felt surreal to see him after so long. His brown eyes, smile, and mannerisms were so familiar, but the guy had been hitting the gym. Added to his lean frame was a layer of muscle that made his thin sweater cling to his biceps in a way she thought was delicious. She scolded herself. Delicious? Are you kidding me? You sound like a cougar at Chippendales! Don’t be a weirdo!  Jill let out a breath. “Be cool,” she whispered right as Dylan finished looking around St. Nick’s.

“What was that?” he asked.

Jill pulled at her collar. “Nothing. Just that this place is cool.”

“I love it,” he said, settling in seat. “It’s so Christmassy.”

“It’s definitely that,” said Jill, trying to will her heart from speeding as she gazed at Dylan 2.0.  He is not Dylan 2.0! she told herself. He’s Dylan Duke, your friend, the multimillionaire with delicious muscles. “Argh!” she yelped softly, frustrated by her inability to control her brain.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

Jill rubbed her neck. “Fine,” she said with a tight smile. “Just a little whiplash from the collision.” And when this little lie made a shadow fall across Dylan’s face, she blathered on, trying to fix it. “It’s super minor. Nothing to worry about. Actually, it might just be a kink in my neck from falling asleep on my keyboard during my shift.”

Blessedly, the food arrived, giving Jill a moment to breathe. Relax! She told herself, which of course did nothing. But if she had her mouth stuffed with food she wouldn’t be able to say something stupid, so she took a giant bite of her burger.

“I think it’s pretty cool you became a nurse,” said Dylan.

“Thanks,” she said, covering her mouth full of burger with her hand.

“You’ve done well for yourself.”

Jill toddled her head as she swallowed. “I guess.”

Dylan put down the Christmas stocking shaped French fry he’d just dipped in ketchup. “Are you kidding me? You keep babies alive!”

Jill made a little circle with her hand holding her burger. “I love my job, but compared to you--”

“What do you mean compared to me?” he asked, his tone flattening.

She held up a finger to give herself a moment to chew. “I mean, come on!” she said. “Look, you could argue that what I do is more noble, and you’d probably be right, but in terms of living a cool life, you win that competition.” Dylan shook his head, so she persisted. “I’m up to my neck in student loan debt--”

“Where’d you go to school?” he asked.

“University of Florida, she said before getting back to her rant, “I’m sleep deprived, and when I’m not working, I’m rehabbing my gingerbread, which means I have no social life.”

“Rehabbing your gingerbread?” he asked.

“It’s what we call houses in Christmas.”

“Who’s your lender?”

“Scrooge Bank.” She flapped a hand in the air. “I bought before the market went crazy, but it was built in the seventies so has essentially needed to be gutted.” She shook her head. “Why am I telling you all of this?”

“To make the point that my life is better than yours.”

Jill snapped, remembering. “Maybe not better, but splashier,” she said. “You’re a multimillionaire and I care for preemies, peel off wallpaper, and try to make ends meet. It’s pretty obvious.”

“I disagree.”

“You’re the one with a yacht, so…” she said, and figuring she didn’t need to finish that sentence, took another bite of her burger.

Dylan stirred his shake with his straw. She could sense mentioning his yacht had made him uncomfortable, which surprised her. If she’d owned a yacht, she was certain she’d gloat about it. “You’d get tired of it all,” he said.

She pointed a stocking-shaped French fry at him before saying, “I would never get tired of having a yacht.”

His expression clouded. “It’s not just that. It’s everything.”

“What do you mean everything?”

“It’s houses around the world, the endless list of celebrities wanting to hang out.”

“Sounds terrible,” she said.

“And I have a butler!”

She reached forward and shoved him. “What I would give for a butler!” she said.

“Actually, I don’t mind the butler part. Jameson’s cool. I just hate being the guy with a butler. It feels weird.”

“You’re such a cry baby. Look, I’m just going to say it. Everyone in our graduating class is jealous of your success. There’s even a Facebook page dedicated to it called Jealous of Dylan Duke, and by the way, I’m a member!” She raised her voice enough that the people at the tables near them turned to look.

They sat in silence for a second as tears tried to fight their way into Jill’s eyes, but she refused to give into them.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You don’t have to apologize for being loaded.”

“No, I’m sorry that I’m not better at explaining my viewpoint. I realize in the eyes of most, I’m living the dream. I get it. But what you don’t see is the cost. Everything comes at a cost, like you just pointed out. Getting your degree and gingerbread didn’t come cheap.” She nodded and the tension in her shoulders softened. “All I’m saying is living the life I live comes at a price.”

“I guess I’d have to live your life to know what you’re talking about.”

Dylan snapped. “That’s it!”

“That’s what?”

“Live my life!”

“Excuse me?”

He was so excited he reached forward and grabbed both her hands. “Live my life!”

“Live your life,” she said, sounding like he’d suggested a quick trip to the moon.

He squeezed her hands. “Give it a try,” he said, almost pleading, which was struck her as ridiculous, and she laughed.

“We can’t swap lives!” she cried. “They would throw you in jail if you showed up at Ho Ho Hospital wearing my credentials,” she said, and though she was absolutely loving his hands holding hers, she pulled away.

“Jill,” he said.

“That’s exactly the way you said my name before you suggested we cover Principal Broadstreet’s car in plastic wrap, which, by the way, went down as the only time I got detention.”

Dylan laughed. “We almost got away with it.”

“Which is just another way of saying we didn’t get away with it.”

Dylan rapped the table like his index fingers were drumsticks. “’This is not that!” he said, jumping a little out of his seat he was so excited. “And I’m not suggesting we swap lives. I’m no nurse! This is you seeing if you would get sick of being a multimillionaire.”

Jill rolled her eyes. “No one would get tired of that.”

 “You’d be surprised,” he said, his tone serious.

She bit her lip and thought. “If I did this, which I’m not saying I am, how long are we talking?”

“A month.”

“A month! I cannot be away from my job that long. My supervisor would fire me, and I have house plants.”

“Two weeks.”

“No!”

“Okay, a week. A week living my life, and at the end of it you tell me if you’d take the life of a multimillionaire or keep the one you’ve got.”

“A week living your life. I’m pretty sure that’d be a vacation.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t give it a try. Please, Jill …”

“You’re crazy.”

“I like to call it persistent,” he said, grinning as he felt her resistance wane.

“Okay, fine,” she said as Dylan punched the air in triumph. “When do I start?”

“Now.”

“Now? What’s my first move, buying the restaurant?”

Dylan shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”

“That’s wild, but today I think I’ll just be buying dinner, but on your card, of course.

“Of course! You’re living my life!”

“So where do we head to first?”

“Atlanta. I’m attending a wedding. You’ll be my plus one. Mahalo was going to do it. He’ll probably be glad to be off the hook. But bring a passport. You never know where we’ll end up.”

“Is it a celebrity’s wedding?”

“A pediatrician’s. She and her fiancé love my games. They invited me and I said, yes.”

“Huh,” she said, surprised that Dylan, as busy as he was, would agree to go to a stranger’s wedding. “How will we get there?”

“You choose,” he said.

“I choose plane.”

“Plane it is,” he said, standing as Ethel handed him the bill. “Now let’s get this party started.”