I looked up again. I waited, urging him to finish the sentence. What did I hope he’d say, though? I was going to get Trey back—I knew I could do it. So why did it matter what Dean thought?
“Anyway,” he said. “Maybe dinner’s not such a good idea after all. I’ve already hit my mistake quota for the day.”
My face fell. “Earlier…you thought that was a mistake?”
“I’ve tasted something I shouldn’t have, and now I’ll suffer for it. You’re just so damn beautiful.”
I wilted back against my chair. “Me?”
“Doesn’t he tell you that? Don’t all the boys tell you that?”
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t think he ever did.”
He shook his head. “Shame.” He reached out and sifted strands of my blonde hair through his fingers.
“I want to,” I said.
“Want to what?”
“Dinner.”
He sighed heavily and dropped his hand, his eyes wandering around the room as he thought. He looked back at me. “Forget I said it. If I thought I could resist you, I would. But no, Alex. We can’t have dinner. I never make the same mistake twice.”
CHAPTER 8
It was like getting dumped all over again. Saturday I made the forty-minute drive to my parents’ house in Calabasas because I needed a break. From the dorms, which held constant reminders of Trey. From the pristine office building I’d spent the last five days in. From Dean and the feeling of him buried inside me. He’d called it a mistake, but for me, it was just the opposite. I felt different from having known him intimately—and I now wanted things I didn’t know existed before him.
My parents tried to get me to stay downstairs and talk, but all I wanted was to sleep in my own bed and forget the past month had ever happened. My nap lasted until after sundown, and when the smells of homemade cooking wafted upstairs to my bedroom, I changed into a plain sundress. I would’ve worn my pajama pants to dinner except that my mother always commented when I did.
Frank Sinatra crooned from the kitchen as I made my way downstairs, barefoot with my hair in a sloppy ponytail. Two glasses of wine and a tumbler of amber liquid came into view on the counter. My feet stopped. At the picturesque dining table sat Dean, handsome in a dress shirt, his normally rigid posture relaxed in his high-backed chair. He looked like he was posing for a magazine shoot.
My mother whirled around when she heard me enter. The clap of her hands was muted by oven mitts. “There’s our girl,” she said with a large smile.
My eyes were big as they fixed on Dean. “What are you doing here?”
“We’ve been inviting him by for years, and finally he agreed to come over for dinner. I really just can’t recall the last time he was here.”
Dean smiled slowly, a gleam in his eyes. “I figure it’s the least they can do after sticking me with you for a week.”
My mother giggled and shook her head. “Oh, Dean. You’re awful.”
“Of course I’m kidding,” he said. “Working with your daughter was nothing but a pleasure.”
My body was hot, even in my sundress. I wanted to melt onto the floor. I jumped when my dad touched my shoulder from behind.
“Looks like dinner’s almost ready,” he said. “Should we sit?”
My place setting was next to Dean and across from my parents. I sat down, still mildly in shock. Dean grinned at me like a schoolboy with a secret. When Dad stood to get their drinks, I snapped my head to Dean. “What are you doing here?”
“They invited me.”
“But they invite you all the time.”
“Mmm.” He smiled, unruffled by my panic. “This time I had more reason to say yes than no.”
“Me?” I couldn’t even hide the desperation in my voice that I wanted to be the reason.
“I missed you, Alex. More than I thought possible in a twenty-four hour period.”
