Chapter 6: Epic

Dylan Duke was fidgeting with his gold cufflink, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. He tried to shake off his jitters by giving himself a pep talk. Relax! he told himself as wedding guests and waitstaff moved around him. You are a freaking titan of industry! Quit feeling like you’re back in—

“Bruh!” cried Mahalo, interrupting Dylan’s thoughts. “I haven’t seen you this nervous since high school.”

Dylan squinted. “I’m not nervous,” he said, which was a lie. Dylan hadn’t felt this nervous since Mr. Fenmore’s chemistry class. Something about waiting for Jill to walk into class used to make him almost feel like he could jump out of his skin.

Mahalo, who was wearing traditional Indian wedding clothes, a long silk tunic and tight-fitting pants, tented his fingers, pressing them to his chin. “No,” he said, studying his friend. “You look nervous.”

“Well, you look like an extra in a Bollywood movie,” said Dylan, dipping his chin to check the daisy in his lapel. Plucked from the dozens of bouquets that he’d had waiting for Jill when she’d arrived at the hotel, she had sent the solitary flower to his room for him to wear to the cocktail party, and then had chucked the rest. Well, chucked might have been a bit strong. She’d given the flowers to the elderly. Dylan had felt a jolt of surprise when he’d walked into her flowerless suite to say hello, and maybe a twinge of disappointment, but he reminded himself, it was her week to experience the life of a multimillionaire. She could do what she wanted! Still, he was glad she’d saved one flower for him.

“Bollywood’s dope,” said Mahalo, pulling Dylan from his thoughts. “I’m digging these threads. They’re like party pajamas. So roomy, you could hide a Switch in here! You should get some.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Dylan, peering over his friend’s shoulder in search of Jill. When the style crew Jameson had assembled to get her ready for the evening had needed more time, Jill had insisted Dylan not wait for her. Rubio would drop her off at Not Forgotten, night club where the wedding cocktail party was taking place. I’ll just wait for you in the hotel lobby, he had texted her, and she had texted back, No! Go!

His eyes had sparkled with amusement. When was the last time a girl had told him no? Success was cool, but it attracted lots of yes men…and women. He told her that was fine, like he didn’t mind waiting, and he hadn’t been longing to see her all day. But the truth was he’d been barely able to focus during his meetings. As a group of Japanese game designers had pitched their idea to him, he’d doodled pictures of Jill. At the appropriate time, he’d give the interpreter a studied look, but what he was thinking about was how to do the shading around her nostrils.

The group had waited months to speak to him and were convinced their game idea was perfect for Dylan’s highly successful brand. And maybe it was but Dylan couldn’t stop thinking about Jill long enough to truly hear them out. He appeared to be weighing carefully what the interpreter was saying, but really he was thinking about Jill’s nose. Slender with just a tiny bump from her days playing team volleyball, he’d wanted to capture its cuteness, and during the meeting had obsessed over it until Jameson, who at one point came into the conference and stood behind him, coughed/said, “Get it together,” which had helped. It kept him from zoning for the rest of the meeting, but it didn’t stop the hours from dragging.

He'd been so anxious to see Jill he’d decided, during a break, to go to her suite and say hello, which. That had not gone well. She’d had slime on her face and vegetables over her eyes, which he hadn’t minded, but she obviously did. And so he’d returned to his meeting, discreetly working on the shading around her left nostril while listening to profit projections.

When, at last, it was time to see her, he’d gotten the text saying she’d meet him at the party. “Patience, Iago,” he’d whispered to himself after reading it. Then realizing he’d just quoted a Disney villain, followed it up with just, “Just be patient, man.”

As Mahalo continued to try and sell him on party pajamas, Dylan searched for Jill, so it was more than a little surprising when she tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey!” he cried, jumping a little as he took in her wide grin.

She spun. “What do you think!” she cried.

“You look great!” said Dylan, wishing he’d said something clever.

“Great? She looks like the freaking goddess of hotness,” said Mahalo.

Should have said that, thought Dylan.

“Thanks!” gushed Jill, her movement making her pale blue mini dress swish. “I never wear dresses, so at first it felt weird and drafty, but I’m getting used to it. Plus, I totally threw on some running shorts.” Mahalo high fived her. “Smart thinking.”

Dylan wanted to be the one high fiving Jill. In fact, he wanted it to be just him and Jill, somewhere quiet, maybe doing a puzzle or feeding the ducks. He shook his head. Why was he suddenly craving geriatric activities? It probably had to do with how crowded the night club was getting. The Patel/Jones wedding cocktail party was no small event.

“Heyyyy!” cried a woman approaching them in a golden sari holding a champagne glass. “You’re Dylan Duke!” She motioned for a man wearing “party pajamas” to hurry. “Michael! This is Dylan Duke!”

Michael gave Dylan’s hand a vigorous shake, and then did the same to Mahalo and Jill. “We are blown away that you came! Blown away!”

“A friend of mine invited Taylor Swift to her wedding. Taylor couldn’t make it but sent a gift card, which was sweet. So, I thought, why not invite Dylan Duke? And you said yes! We almost fell over when you said yes!”

A squeal from a speaker split the air as tech guys dressed in black worked to prepare the stage. Dylan rubbed his ear. “It’s my pleasure,” he said. “And thanks for including my friends. This is Mahalo.”

“You’re the plus awesome!” said Krisha.

Mahalo, probably inspired by his party pajamas, pressed his palms together and bowed.

Dylan gestured at Jill. “And this is Jill Caruthers, an old friend.”

“I love your shoes!” cried Krisha as the two women hugged. What was with women skipping a handshake and going straight in for a hug? Dylan didn’t know.

“Aren’t they amazing!” cried Jill. “They cost as much as my mortgage!”

“They’re not Kikima!” cried Krisha.

“They are!” said Jill as Krisha slowly put her hand over her mouth. “And I swear they’re the most comfortable stilettos ever. What’s your size?”

“Seven.”

“Get out! Me too!”

“That’s cosmic,” said Mahalo, earning a glare from Dylan.

“Here!” cried Jill, slipping one off.

“You think those are comfortable, you should try what I’m wearing,” said Mahalo, tugging at a sleeve.

“I’m with you!” said Michael. “I love this thing. Totally got room in here for Red Vines!”
Mahalo raised an eyebrow at Dylan, a look that said, I’m telling you, you should get some party pajamas.

“Testing. Testing,” said a guy in black, tapping one of the mics.

“I love this shoe!” announced Krisha, admiring her Kikima-clad foot.

A waiter handed Jill a flute of champagne. “We should switch!” she cried before taking a sip.

“What? No!”

“Krisha’s right,” muttered Dylan. “They’re your shoes.”

Jill either ignored Dylan or didn’t hear him. “I totally don’t mind! You’re the one getting married!”

The back of Dylan’s neck suddenly felt tight. He knew it had to do with the shoes, but why should he care if Jill swapped shoes with Krisha? Shrugging off his annoyance, he said, “Jill’s right. You’re the one getting married,” though without enthusiasm.

Krisha and Michael exchanged a look. “Actually…” said Krisha. She squinted and bit her lip.

“We eloped,” said Michael.

Jill choked a little on her champagne. “What!”

Mahalo rubbed his chin. “There is wisdom in that,” he said. Those pajamas were getting to him.

Krisha put her hand to the side of her mouth. “All of this is for my parents and grandparents. They insisted.”

“Still! You should wear them. They’re not even mine!”

“Now you have my attention. What store is rents Kikima? I’m going to be all over it.”

Jill shook her head of soft curls. “It’s Dylan. Long story, but he’s letting me experience,” she did air quotes, “the life of a multimillionaire.”

“Where do I sign?” asked Krisha.

Jill shoved her playfully. “I know, right? I get to do anything I want,” she said, taking off the other Kikima shoe and nudging toward Krisha with her toes.

“And you’re here at my wedding?” asked Krisha, slipping on the other shoe.

Jill put on Krisha’s strappy wedge sandals that Dylan thought didn’t quite go with her minidress. “It beats the night shift at Ho Ho Hospital.”
“You’re a nurse?” asked Krisha.

Jill nodded. “Peds.”

“Come on!” cried Krisha. “I’m a pediatrician!”

The two women high fived and then Krisha flapped a hand. “We can’t talk shop. Not when Bombay Boi is about to take the stage.”
“Bombay Boi? I haven’t heard of them,” said Jill.
Krisha smiled. “Then you must not be from India. They’re huge. But tell me, what have you done so far as a multimillionaire?”

“I’d buy crypto,” said Michael.

Jill noticed as drums and a sitar, were placed on stage. “So far, I’ve bought a Slurpee.”

Krisha shook her head. “Love me some Slurpee, but don’t tell my patients I said that.”

“And I took a ride downtown to look at a clinic, but it was closed.”
“What clinic?” asked Krisha.

“A free dental clinic on--”

“Fern and Anderson?” said Krisha, jumping a little in her borrowed Kikimas.

“That’s it!”

“That’s my clinic!”

The women held hands and screamed which made one of the band members peek his head out from behind the curtain and flash a smile, and the crowd, most of which knew Bombay Boi, roared.

As the guys in black scurried to finish their work, the emcee, took the stage.

“I can’t believe it! I read about your clinic and wanted to check it out,” shouted Jill as the crowd’s cheering grew louder.

“I would love to show it to you, but we had to close because of lack of funding,” said Krisha as Michael pulled by the hand toward the stage. “We’ll talk later! Thanks for the loan!”

Jill blew her a kiss which Krisha pretended to catch. And then she and Michael were flocked, surrounded by well wishers as they made their way up to the stage.

Dylan wasn’t much of a shoe guy, but he had to admit that there was something to those Kikimas. They made Krisha look…prettier. Could a shoe really do that?

“Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s give it up for Krisha and Michael!” cried the emcee and the place went wild. He gave Krisha and Michael’s guests a suspicious look. “Are you ready to party?” he asked, causing more cheering. “I said are you ready to party!” he cried, and the shouts were so loud even Mahalo covered his ears. “Okay, okay,” he said, patting the air to tell them to settle down. “I believe you. Now before we get down I’ve got a question for the lovely couple. You two excited to get married?” he asked.

“Definitely,” said Krisha.

“I would have married her weeks ago!” said Michael. Smiling, Krisha elbowed him.

“Okay, okay! They’ve made their decision. Now it’s my decision to bring out the band you’ve been waiting for," he said, shouting to be heard over the screaming. “You know who I’m talkin’ bout! Bombay Boi!”

The crowd erupted as the band took the stage. “Hello, Atlanta!” cried the lead singer. “It is time to party!”

As music filled the night club, everyone seemed to rush to the dancefloor. The place was crowded, loud, and the dancing required a lot of booty shaking, which wasn’t Dylan’s scene at all. Misery had just begun to pool around his ankles when he felt a slender hand around his wrist and pull him toward the balcony.

As loud as it was in there, Dylan was surprised to find that no one else had thought to escape the nightclub’s balcony. Overlooking downtown, Dylan felt himself relax as a breeze wandered by cooling his neck.

“Hey there, big shot!” said Jill. She was in a playful mood and spun with such force Dylan caught a glimpse of her running shorts. “Are you ready to dance, Dylan Duke.”
“You know I’m not much of a dancer,” said Dylan.

Jill closed the balcony door, softening the music. It was just the two of them. Even though Dylan had never heard of them, it was obvious Bombay Boi was famous. Everyone crowding toward the stage, wanting to be close to them. Dylan understood what that felt like. People wanted to weasel their way closer to him all the time, but not Jill. He’d waited all day to see her, but she hadn’t tried to see him. He’d hoped she’d interrupt his meeting, even with a trivia question. He would have stopped everything to answer it. Maybe it was his grand gesture. Maybe, for her, there was no getting over it and he was forever friend zoned, and all the fame and money in the world couldn’t change that.

If that were true, why was she placing her arms around him? Goosebumps erupted on his skin as her fingers brushed the back of his neck. “I know you think you’re a terrible dancer,” she said, the candlelight flickering in her eyes. “But I think you never gave dance a chance.”

As if worrying about tripping an explosive’s wire, Dylan carefully placed his hands on her back. His thumb brushed against her exposed skin, and not wanting to appear presumptuous, moved it lower to where there was fabric. “What makes you think I didn’t give dance a fair shot?” he asked, awkwardly beginning to sway with Jill to the music, both of them moving slow though the music was manic fast.

“For starters, you never asked me to dance.”

“I was too shy,” he admitted.
“You weren’t too shy to ask me to marry you…”

Dylan laughed and felt the nervousness in his body ease up. “You got a point there.”

“So, why? Why didn’t you ever ask me to dance?”

“Would you have wanted me to?”

Jill slugged him. Not hard, but enough for him to know his question frustrated her. “Of course, I would have wanted you to!” said Jill, giving him a fiery look.

“High School was a long time ago,” said Dylan, licking his lips as he wondered if he should just do it. Lean forward and kiss the girl of his dreams. He wondered how many multimillionaires would have hesitated. Probably not many. He knew one guy with as much money as he had who assumed any girl would be thrilled to kiss them. Dylan didn’t like that approach. He thought it was a creep move, and he didn’t want to act like a creep. Jill leaned a little closer and he didn’t take what almost felt like an invitation. “You look beautiful.”

“If the style team had had more time, you might have lost your mind,” she joked as they swayed, bodies close.

“I think I already have,” he said, leaning in just enough that Jill pressed a hand to his chest to stop him coming closer.

“So, you do want to kiss me,” she said.

“Absolutely,” he said, his eyes taking on a drugged look.

“Then why didn’t you a moment ago?”

“I didn’t want to be a creep,” he said’

She pulled away and tapped her chin. “Was it seeing me Kikimas that put you over the edge?”

Dylan fingered one of her curls, winding it around his index finger. “I promise you the shoes had nothing to do with it.”

“The dress and the makeover?” she asked.

“Nope. I like you just as much in scrubs with that clippy thing in your hair,” he said, his heart skipping beats when she smiled and leaned in closer.

“We’ve never kissed before,” she said, almost teasing him.

“No, we have not,” he said, eyeing her lips, ready for the moment it felt he’d waited his whole life for—kissing Jill Caruthers. And truly it felt like the perfect moment for a kiss of that magnitude. The muffled music, the lazy breeze, the city lights and candlelight. It was an absolutely perfect moment, until Mahalo flung the door open.

“Malatov!” he cried.

“I think you mean Mazeltov,” said Jill, pulling back and scratching her head.

“Whoo!” cried Mahalo. “You guys should get in there. Bombay Boi is Off. The. Chain!”

“I believe it,” said Jill, taking a step back. There was something about that step that caught Mahalo’s attention. He looked at Dylan then Jill then Dylan then Jill. “Did I just…interrupt something, because,” he drummed his fingers together. “the vibe I’m picking up tells me…” He waggled a finger between them. “You two were going to kiss.”

Dylan pushed a hand through his hair. “We were thinking about it.” Jill toddled her head in agreement. “Until you and your party pajamas came out here.”

“No, no, no,” said Mahalo.

“Literally, Mahalo, go away,” said Dylan, tilting his head upward.

“Hear me out! If this kiss happens, it will be epic!”

“Well, it was going to be until you barged in,” said Dylan.

“Actually, I saved you,” said Mahalo.

“How’s that?” asked Jill as Dylan rolled his eyes.

“There’s been chemistry between you two. I can feel it. And honestly, wearing this, it’s that much easier to pick up on.”

“Get to you point,” groaned Dylan.

“You’ve got this week together! There is going to be a more epic moment than the balcony at Not Forgotten in Atlanta. One might even say that such a location was forgettable, even with Bombay Boi in the house.”

“Ha ha,” said Jill.

“Very funny,” said Dylan, not hiding his annoyance.

Mahalo tented his fingers, and Dylan rolled his eyes. “Take it slow. Very slow, and make sure that first kiss is unforgettable.”

“It would have already happened and already have been epic if”

“I agree,” said Jill, making Dylan do a double take.

“Look,” she said, “I’m not going to lie. I want to kiss you.”

Mahalo raised his hand. “Is there any part of you that wants to kiss me?”

“Dude!” cried Dylan.

“Disregard that,” said Mahalo with a little bow.

“And, if we kiss, I want our first kiss to be epic.”

Mahalo pumped a fist.

“What about a helicopter ride tonight? I could call Jameson and--”

Jill shook her head. “I want to hang out here, talk some more with Krisha, and, you know, get my shoes back.”

Okay, he thought, no to flowers, but yes to expensive shoes. “That’s fine,” he said.
Mahalo brought his friends in for a hug. “You two are going to thank me. An epic first kiss! It doesn’t get any better than that. Can I be there when it happens? Dylan glared at Mahalo. “I’ll circle back to that question later.”

“Nope,” said Dylan.

“Yep,” said Mahalo.

“Nope.”

“Yep!” Mahalo cried and dashed inside.