Dean redirected his gaze to the table, tongue in his cheek as he smiled to himself, and then lifted his eyes to me again. “Who’s jealous?”
I poked out my tongue.
I wasn’t about to admit out loud that he was right, though I figured he knew that already based on the little smile that still pulled the corner of his mouth up. Jealousy in a relationship was a whole new concept for me. Catching someone else looking at him that way made me want to hold him closer and tell them off for staring too long.
But I also knew it would be impossible to go anywhere without people staring. Dean had a presence about him that drew attention. Not in a take-over-the-room kind of way, but in a quiet, unassuming way. He stood out without trying and was attractive and mysterious, and people liked mystery.
But so did I so they could all go away.
I lifted the roll from the plate, careful not to have the contents slip through the other side as I curled my fingers around it. But before I took a bite, I noticed Dean subtly watching. Almost in anticipation.
I paused. “What?”
“I wanna see how you handle that mouthful,” he said, casually jerking his chin to the oversized serving. His brow twitched in amusement as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips. There was no indication on his face that he meant it as an innuendo, but I couldn’t help myself. It was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up, especially after that one foggy night in the backseat of his car. So, I shrugged and brought the roll to my lips.
Right before I took a bite, I said, “I handled you, didn’t I?”
Dean inhaled his coffee and sputtered quietly into the cup, his eyes widening with a shocked smile as he thumped himself on the chest.
“I walked right into that,” he croaked.
I hummed in agreement, acting a little coy as I chewed my mouthful.
He was just as shocked that night in his car when I asked if I could go down on him, but he consented. It was all very new, and I definitely needed more practice, but seeing the pleasure it brought him made me feel empowered. Every aspect of this new sex life did. It just felt right with him.
I managed to eat the entire egg and bacon roll, to Dean's impressed delight, and then we headed across the street to the bookstore. When we arrived at its doors, Dean fell into step behind me as I led us into the large space. My heart was already leaping with excitement at the sight of the many aisles and tall shelves, packed to the brim with new and old books as far as the eye could see.
“I love that smell,” I sighed.
“Where to now?” Dean asked, bumping gently into the back of me when I stopped to take it all in. He slid his hand into mine.
“Well, considering this is solely a shopping experience for your educational purposes,” I said with a knowing smile back to him. “The fantasy and romance sections seem like a good place to start.”
He leaned in a little closer. “Lead the way.”
The loft was the first place we looked and was conveniently where the two genres we were looking for were, which made finding all my favorite authors much easier as I skimmed my finger along the shelves. Dean followed loosely behind while I rattled on about the books and picked out several to find my favorite quotes, or to show him the artistic covers beneath the dust jackets.
He took each one patiently and thoughtfully, genuinely admiring the cover art or prying the pages open with his middle fingers and spreading the books flat in his hand to read them.
Eventually, he asked, “So, are we gonna buy these?”
My eyes flicked up from his fingers holding open the most recent book I handed. “I already have them on my TBR at home.”
He looked up from the book, brows pulled together in confusion. “Your what?”
“My to-be-read pile,” I laughed.
Dean huffed in disbelief and closed the book with a muffled thud. “Who knew being a bookworm was such a serious business,” he said, returning the books to the shelf.
“Oh. It’s a very serious business.”
He half smiled, drawing his attention to me as he rested his arm on the top shelf. His eyes went to the three books in my hands — ones I did plan on buying — while his hand, hanging beside my head, brushed my hair behind my ear.
“Why do you like them so much?” he asked softly.
“They’re an escape,” I shrugged.
“And the drawing?”
