He was only supposed to scare Oliver away, not act like a complete gentleman, and look out for me all evening.
I froze as Dean stirred in his sleep, shifting his hips lower as he stretched out one leg, bumping his knee against the back of the front seat. The stretch caused the hem of his white shirt to lift slightly, revealing the smooth, golden-brown plains of his lower abdomen; revealing the small bird tattooed above his right hip; revealing the V-lines peeking out from beneath his jeans.
My throat bobbed before I dragged my attention back to his face.
He had dropped his head back against the headrest, exposing his sharp jawline and tattooed throat as he slept soundly, his face completely at ease, brows softened, and lips parted slightly.
I shifted my weight onto my hands again, keeping my eyes on him as I slowly pushed myself up onto my knees. My face came level with his — close to his.
I gingerly moved his arm from my back, lifting it over my head and placing it on the seat before I scooted backward.
This was a car with only two doors. The front passenger seat was folded forward after last night (the part of the night I couldn’t remember), and I managed to squeeze through without a sound as I carefully opened the car door.
My sneaker crunched on tiny pieces of glass, scattered across the packed gravel pavement, as I squinted into the morning sunlight. Warmth radiated off the graffiti-painted, brick wall in front of me, causing the throbbing in my temples to grow worse.
Naturally, it wasn’t until I straightened that my stomach swirled with nausea. Thankfully not enough to puke, but still enough to make me feel terrible. A hot and sweaty kind of terrible that left a bitter taste on my tongue.
I groaned, pulling my fingers through my shoulder-length hair. My nails scratched at my scalp as the guilt I should’ve felt yesterday began to sink in. I began walking towards the back of the car.
I had fucked up gigantically. It would be a miracle if I still had my job tomorrow.
Would it be so bad if I didn’t? It’d mean no more James...
“Morning.” The deep, husky baritone of his morning voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I pivoted on the spot, dropped my hands, and found Dean sitting on the edge of the driver’s seat, door open and boots on the gravel, rubbing his palm against his eye sleepily. Then he stood and stretched his arms behind his head. And up went his shirt again.
I turned away, pulling my arms around myself as I stepped out from behind the car, keeping my eyes on my shoes. “Morning...”
Think of something to say. Anything!
“Where’s Seb?” It was a safe topic.
Dean ruffled his hair as he glanced across the parking lot. His brows pinched as he winced in the morning sun shining on his face. “Sleeping off a hangover...somewhere.”
The last thing I remember doing with Seb was the macarena. Sometime after that, I vaguely recalled leaving the warehouse with a pair of guiding hands on my hips as I stumbled across the parking lot.
“Nothing happened.”
My attention snapped to Dean as he leaned against the car, resting his elbows on the roof. His head tilted to one side as he watched me with one eye shut. Even glaring into the sun he managed to read my expression. My mood.
“I can’t really remember much,” I cringed.
He huffed a laugh as he dropped his eyes to the ground. “You had a lot to drink.”
“And then?”
A pause as he rubbed his fingers across his mouth in thought. “And then you danced with Seb.”
“Oh...”
“You tried to kiss me.”
My stomach felt like it dropped out of me.
A strangled noise escaped my lips — I think it was meant to be a laugh — before I turned slowly away from him and sat down on the gravel. Ignoring how the stones bit into my thighs, I wished to sink into the earth and never resurface.
I was unable to look in his direction as I stared blankly ahead. “I’m sorry.”
