The Survivor - Cristin Harber Page 0,31
going anywhere.”
“Great.” She still ached though. Mandy wallowed, crushed because she’d thought he’d really been into her like she’d been into him. “I hate boys.”
“You don’t hate me,” he pointed out. “I’m a guy.”
“You’re an adult.”
“Trust me,” Dylan promised. “There’ll always be someone you could hate.”
“Then I’ll wrap myself in a bubble and never come out.”
He laughed. “You’d suffocate.”
Mandy shook her head. “The more I think about it, the better I like the idea.”
“Nah.” He leaned back against the stall wall again. “If you think life will get easier when you turn eighteen, go to college, get a job—”
“It will get better when no one cares about the Hearst family anymore.” No journalists. No political pundits. No classmates hellbent on ruining her life. “It’ll be amazing.”
Dylan whistled long and low. “Wrong. Life never gets easier. You just get stronger.”
She wrapped her arms over her stomach. “I don’t feel any stronger than I did an hour ago.”
“You’ll see, one day. Anyway,” he said, changing the subject, “what’s your plan? Are we going to hang out all night in here?”
“Probably.”
“Damn, I was hoping you’d let your dad send over an Apache to pick you up.” He chuckled. “That’d send one hell of a message to the dickhead.”
“No helicopters! I’d rather sleep in this stall.”
He chuckled. “I’m going to radio McNally and ask her if she can grab me a plate from the buffet bar—” Dylan snorted, then responded to the agents on their communication line, “Hey, kidding, kidding. Ease up, McNally. Unless, for real, you wouldn’t mind—” He laughed again. “Just kidding.”
Talk of food broke through Mandy’s pity party, and on cue, her stomach growled. “If someone’s bringing you a plate, ask them for a fruit kebab for me.”
“You got it,” he said. “Sparkler wants a fruit kebab. Somebody figure out what the fuck that is and grab me a plate of chips and dip, too.”
They waited quietly. Her thoughts drifted, continually coming back to her stupid date. “I thought he really liked me.”
The stall partition shifted when he leaned his weight against it again. “If I had had any idea…” He thumped a fist against the divider. “I would’ve told you and had a conversation with the little prick.”
Dylan was sworn to keep her safe from physical threats, but she trusted him like a big brother. “I know.”
“McNally says the fruit kebabs are gone and that she's not bringing me my chips.”
“Sucks to be you.” Mandy laughed quietly.
He bantered with the other agents for another moment, then knocked on the divider as if he didn’t already have her attention. “What do you say we get out of here?”
“Not yet.”
“We can go do something that’ll drive the press crazy?”
Mandy smiled, not because he would let her run around Georgetown with half-cocked ideas to arouse the suspicion of gossip journalists and politicos alike, but because she appreciated that he’d always be there to help. She moved toward their separating stall partition. “Tell me another story about your boring, normal family.”
“Then we can swing by McDonald’s?” he suggested.
“Oh, good idea.” She could already taste the French fries and nuggets. “But first, tell me a story.”
Dylan hummed. “My mom hit up the grocery store last night and couldn’t find her favorite brand of tater tots. It caused a family riot—”
“I’m serious, tell me something that’ll make me forget about prom.” The trouble hadn’t only started tonight with her date. When she’d picked her prom dress from Target, political talk shows had volleyed talking points about the true meaning of the purchase. Was her father trying to reach out to middle-class Americans? Did her mother want to soften Mandy’s image and make her more relatable?
Had anyone considered that she’d simply liked a dress she’d seen online? That maybe she had clicked on an ad and decided to one-click the black gown for overnight delivery? Not a single, so-called expert considered her purchase to be as benign and boring as it was. “You're not talking yet.”
“Give me a minute.” He laughed. “I’m sifting through an enormous amount of generic, boring chit chat that might enthrall you.” After a minute, he cleared his throat. “All right, here’s a little small-town drama for you.”
Mandy grinned. Small-town was their inside joke. His family lived in Louisville, a large city in Kentucky, but he promised they acted more like a small town than most small towns. Neighborhoods had names. Bakeries had been passed down through families. High school sports were the focus of the family. College sports were like a religion.
She’d