Seb must’ve said something to Xavier and Jen that night when he came back inside to grab my things.
“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I should’ve been paying more attention to our drinks anyway,” I said as I hugged her back.
“We shouldn’t even have to worry about that bullshit,” she shook her head as she pulled away from the hug. “I’m so glad you got out of here okay though.”
“I’d say more than okay,” Xavier chimed in from nearby, raising his brow suggestively. “You should have seen the look on Roxy’s face. She thinks you’re Dean’s new plaything.”
I stammered, mouth dropping open. “Plaything? He was just helping.”
“Are you sure about that? Dean never takes his lady friends back to his house,” Xavier smirked knowingly. “Apparently, none of them have been good enough to meet his mother. Again, according to Roxy. I didn’t know he still lived at home.”
“He has his reasons,” I said, a tad firmly, and shook my head in denial. “I accidentally left my swipe key inside the apartment, which meant when he brought me home, he couldn’t get me inside. I’m not one of his lady friends or playthings— How did you know about me staying at his house anyway?”
“Seb,” Jen and Xavier said in unison.
Jen half smiled. “Dean clearly feels differently about you if you’re the exception.”
“Maybe because I’m not one of his lady friends,” I said pointedly. I couldn’t believe I was even having this conversation. “Besides, I’m sure he has invited Roxy home before. Maybe she just never mentioned it…” I trailed off as Jen and Xavier’s eyes went wide, not at me but at someone standing behind me.
My heart stopped.
“No, actually, he really hasn’t.” Her voice was laced with venom.
I slowly turned around as mortification gurgled deep in my stomach and found Roxy standing behind me. Her arms crossed as she looked at me with her cat-like, brown eyes.
“Lucky girl,” she hissed through a fake smile, tapping her nails on her arm.
“Nothing happened, I swear.”
Roxy shrugged. “It’s not any of my business what you and Dean get up to in your spare time. Just don’t get too attached. He gets bored easily.”
She didn’t give me a chance to respond before she walked away, strutting confidently toward the door to the basement, leaving me feeling utterly pathetic and a little irritated by the accusations. I couldn’t have been the only one dealing with this. Dean must’ve been getting the same amount of attention for what happened on Tuesday night, and hopefully, he was denying the assumptions too. But knowing any girl acquainted with him was considered a plaything, I wondered if he had just added me to the list, allowing his friends to assume as much as they liked.
“I guarantee she is off to try and crawl back into his pants,” Jen said.
The corridor was deserted as I shuffled my sneakers along the dirty concrete floor, dragging a large trash bag behind me. It was usually Jen’s job to take out the trash, but tonight Roxy had insisted I do it. Instead of taking it out in separate bags, to make the trip easier, she stuffed it into one big bag and told me to start hauling, smirking as she watched me struggle to pull it out of the staff room. Jen and Xavier (Xavier a little more reluctant as he hated dealing with the trash) had offered to help, but Roxy ordered them to stay at the bar. It wasn't hard to guess why she was making me do it the hard way.
After several minutes of grunting and heaving, the door off the corridor to the alleyway was finally within reach. I pushed down on the door handle and went through backward, bum first. Carefully pulling the bag outside and praying it didn’t split as it dragged along the ground.
The dumpster was on the right of the door, in the same direction as the parking lot behind The Den. I took a moment to stand before it, catching my breath while I calculated my ability to lift the bag above my head and over the lip of the dumpster. There was a strong possibility it could burst before I got it in, leaving me covered in food scraps and any beer stewing in the bottom.
I found a milk crate nearby, placed it up against the dumpster, and carefully pressed my foot against the top, testing it would take my weight before I stepped up. It wobbled slightly, and I froze, half hunched forward with my elbows out and fingers splayed in the air. Then, I reached for the bag.
“Need a hand?”
I squealed and shot up straight, heart in my throat. The milk crate teetered slightly, but I regained my balance quickly and peered into the shadows of the alleyway.
I spotted the amber glow of his cigarette first before Dean stepped away from the wall. The corner of his lips turned up a little as he lowered the cigarette from his mouth. His knuckles were wrapped and bloody, and the sleeves of his hoodie were bunched to his elbows with the front left unzipped. He pushed back his hood as he came closer, revealing damp hair and a small cut and bruising on his cheekbone.
Without a word, pressing his lips around the cigarette, he lifted the garbage bag into the dumpster. His unzipped hoodie shifted to reveal a torso slick with sweat. A muscle in his lower abdomen feathered a little with the motion of his body. It took the bag crashing to the bottom of the dumpster and emitting a pop for me to snap my eyes back to his face. At eye level with me as I remained atop the milk crate.
“Thank you—” The milk crate waned under my weight, bending in at the side. In the few seconds I tried to balance and step down, the crate shot out in the other direction and I fell forward, chin-first, into Dean’s chest.
“Jesus,” he grunted, taking hold of my upper arms before I could fall lower. Meanwhile, I gripped the front of his hoodie for balance before I glanced up.
We were equally bewildered.
I straightened quickly and he dropped his hands from my arms, allowing me to back away just as fast. Careful not to trip over the discarded crate as I did.
