My Classified Life

Chapter Seventeen: The Good, The Bad, And The Classified

Dylan. Dylan was here, in Santorini. On the beach. Sitting next to me, always a bit too close. I hadn't seen him in three weeks. I had found no notes, received no texts, or had my missions disrupted. And yet he was there, beside me, smirking in that incredibly confident manor of his.

I would deny it if anybody would ask me, but despite my best efforts, thoughts about Dylan had never left my mind since Paris. Was he okay? Where is he? What is he thinking about right now? Why haven't I seen him? And most often: Will I ever see him again?

I had never stopped thinking about him. How he always appeared out of nowhere, always seemed so reassured, so unexplainably perfect. With his cocky smirk and green eyes I could fall into. And how he always seemed to caught up on me was puzzling. Getting a rise out of me, messing with my head, playing his mind games was just infuriating! He was just so frustrating sometimes and strangely alluring others. I said it myself, he drives me crazy.

He had leaned over and whispered into my ear. “Miss me?”

I immediately recognized his voice at the same time that it sent shivers down my spine despite the warm weather. My breath caught in my throat as I searched through my mind for the right words to say. His hot breath tickled my neck and gave me goosebumps when he spoke again.

“What's wrong? You seem a bit on edge.”

“The bar tender. He can hear us.” I choked out.

“Nah. He's a friend of mine.” He leaned away from me then and I could relax a bit and get my confidence back. “This whole bar is empty. We don't have to pretend to be someone else.” There seemed to be a double meaning behind his words.

“Where have you been?” I asked him and abruptly changed the subject.

“Well, looks like somebody did miss me. Sorry I couldn't come to Tokyo. I wanted to. I heard about that dress you were wearing. I'm sorry I missed it.”

I blushed deep scarlet. Maybe because the dress I had wore had been strapless, or a bit shorter than I would have liked, or maybe in a weird way, Dylan had just complimented me.

He reached out in front of him and took a sip from his glass that looked like soda.

“So, what's your name today?”

“I'm thinking Xavier.”

“Really? I like Dylan better.”

He almost did a spit take with the soda he had just been drinking. I smiled evilly and resisted the urge to jump up and down in a celebratory fashion as I waited for him to regain his composure and stop choking on his drink.

“What did you just say?” he manged to choke out between coughs.

“The name Dylan. It suits you better, seeing as it is your real name.”

“How did you know that?”

“Oh! I'm sorry. That information is classified.” I smiled smugly, using his own line against him.

“Yeah, I'm sure it is.” he said in a manner that suggested he was not sure at all.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, changing the subject once again.

“Why do you always want to know?”

“Because, for how often you have been popping up places in my life, I'm kind of considering the fact that you may be a stalker.”

He looked a little taken back until a let out a small, shaky laugh.

“The secrets out!” he said while raising his arms to his head.