Not much. Reading in the tub. Wbu?
The text bubbles start and stop as Dean types. Did I make it weird by telling him I was in the tub?
Dean
Already naked then? Wish I could be in that tub with you
Playing some video games if you want to come over and hang
Me
So is this your version of a booty call Dixon?
Dean
Could be. Depends if you can beat me at Mario Kart or not
Damn him. Of course I can kick his ass at Mario Kart. The competitive part of me takes over, and I’m climbing out of the tub and wrapping myself in a towel before answering.
Me
Be there in 30. Prepare to lose
I finish drying off and pull on some leggings and a baggy shirt out of my dresser to wear. If this is only a booty call, then I don’t need to dress to impress, just dress to be easilyundressed.
When I arrive at Dean’s apartment, nerves start to course through me. I look down at my outfit, and now I’m thinking I should have worn something a bit sexier. I walk up the stairs and I’m about to knock on his door when he opens it, my fist raised. He’s wearing grey sweats and a tight black t-shirt. Damn, why does he have to look so…hot? I take him in, appreciating how good he looks, especially in those sweats. Why are grey sweatpants so hot on any guy? It’s like girl kryptonite.
I cross the threshold, and the sound of the door closing makes me jump a little bit. I need to calm down. It’s not like we haven’t hooked up before. Something feels like it’s shifted since the gala. Shifted in what way is yet to be seen.
Dean crosses the room, his confidence oozing from him. He knows I checked him out at the door when he opened it, and likes that I did. It’s his turn to do the same to me, his eyes raking over my body, his tongue darting across his bottom lip.Okay, maybe this was the right outfit to wear.
Taking my hand, he leads me to his bed in the small space. My memory flashes back to when Dean brought me up here for the first time—when he tended to my injured hand whenwe worked on his truck together. It was the first time I saw how caring and tender he could be. Something I don’t ever see while we are at the track. I rub my thumb over the small scar that sits across my knuckles.
I’m so in my thoughts that I don’t notice Dean has stopped walking short of the bed, and I almost run straight into his chest. I blink up at him. He pushes a strand of hair that has fallen out of my loose braid.
“What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours? You seem like you’re somewhere else.”
I try to smile, I’m just so nervous that it comes off as strained, and Dean can tell. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
He sits on the bed and pats the spot next to him, and I sit. “Talk to me,” he says, his voice gentle, head ducking to meet my eyes.
I sigh and relax a little. “I was just remembering the day I cut my hand and you took care of me after.” I do my best to be nonchalant about it. But that really meant something. It meant that even before anything physical happened between us, he cared.
“I think about that day, too,” he admits.
My head whips up to meet his gaze, surprised by his admission. “You do?”
“Mmhmm.” The sound reverberates off the walls of the small room. “I was so scared that you really hurt yourself and I wouldn’t be able to help.” It’s his turn to look away, sadness filling his features, like he failed me somehow, when he did the complete opposite that day.
“But you did help. You were so calm and knew exactly what to do.”
He lets out a small chuckle. “Yeah, I’m good at masking all that when I need to. And I needed to. You were hurt.”
I take a moment before I say, “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Most people aren’t,” he says with a shrug like it means nothing. He’s wrong, it means everything. “Did you still wantto do this? We don’t have to. I’ll kick your ass all night in Mario Kart.”
I lean in and kiss him gently on the lips. The lips that have been in all of my fantasies since the first time I kissed them all those months ago. That’s all the answer he needs before Dean takes over the kiss, getting needier and more frantic.
