Me: I need a phone number for Dean Mercer.
Because Alice is a literal superhero, she sends me a phone number less than five minutes later, no questions asked.
Dialing it, I listen to it ring several times before it goes to voicemail. Hanging up, I move to put my phone down, only to have it buzz in my hand. Turning it over, I see that it’s a Facetime request from the number I just dialed.
Heart pounding in my chest, I hit the accept icon, a second before Dean’s infuriatingly gorgeous face fills the screen.
“What’s up, Mortimore?”
Staring at him for a second, I watch while he shifts the phone in his hand, giving me a glimpse of his broad, muscular, tattooed chest. He’s lying in bed. I can see rumpled, dark blue sheets and a pillow behind his head. Fighting the urge to angle my head in an effort to see if he’s in bed alone, I give him an indignant huff.
“The shortened version ofMortimoreis Morty—which is nowhere close to Millie,” I tell him, doing my best to keep my eyes on his face. “It’s like you’re not even trying anymore.”
Dean laughs, the sound of it scratchy and hoarse in my ear. “Cut me some slack, Princess—I had a rough night.”
“Is that why you’re still in bed at three o’clock in the afternoon?” As soon as I say it, I want to cut my tongue out. What he’s doing in bed in the middle of the afternoon is none of my business. “Nevermind—don’t answer that. I don’t care. How’d you know it was me calling you?”
He yawns, giving his bare chest a lazy scratch. “I didn’t.”
“So, you’re in the habit of Facetiming random strangers?” I ask with an arched brow.
“I gave my number to a few women last night,” he tells me, swiping his hand over his face on an insolent grin. “I was hoping you were one of them.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I say, stung for some stupid reason.
He laughs again. “No worries… you win some, you lose some.” I watch as his hand moves lower, disappearing from view while the bicep attached to it flexes, letting me know where it went and exactly what it’s doing. “How’s your hand?”
“Fine. No swelling.” Holding it up in front of my phone, I show it to him. “I iced it and took my ring off before bed, like you told me to.”
“Good girl...” The corner of his mouth twitches. “So, what do you want, Mills?”
“I want…” His bicep flexes again and I lose my train of thought.He’s messing with you, Millie. Calling you good girl? Touching himself off camera? He’s just trying to get a rise out of you, same as always. Stay focused.“Paige texted me—she said Allister was worried that the two of us were together last night.”
“That’s funny.” Dean barks out another laugh. “She textedmeearlier and basically asked me the same thing.”
“She did?” I feel my brow crumple in confusion. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her I bent you over in the back of your dad’s limo and ruined that ridiculous excuse of a dress you were wearing.” His bicep flexes again and I feel my mouth go dry. He’s lying. I know he’s lying. Just trying to get under my skin. Making fun of me, same as always. “And then I told her we?—”
“Can you stop doing that,” I blurt out, my cheeks instantly stung with embarrassment because I can never seem to keep my composure around him.
Dean aims a knowing smirk at the camera, his bicep flexing again. “Stop doing what?”
Refusing to look away because that would somehow mean he’s won, I shake my head. “I should’ve known better than to hope you’d be anything more than what you actually are.”
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, narrowed blue gaze dropping to my mouth with another flex of his bicep. “And what am I, exactly?”
Mean.
Childish.
Perverted.
Hateful.
Instead of saying any of it, I just shake my head. “Nevermind.” Angry that I let him get the best of me, yet again, I finally look away while moving to disconnect the call. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
“Wait.”
