“I wasn’t,” I repeat quietly. “I just… needed air.”
Something flickers behind his eyes. Recognition. Or maybe guilt.
“What happened out there-” I start to ask tentatively, a hard reply cutting me off almost instantly.
“Isn’t your business.” His response isn’t cruel. I think it’s guarded, maybe even scared.
I nod. “Okay. Then I won’t ask.”
His gaze snaps to me, eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to pry?”
“Not today.” Silence stretches between us. It’s not tense, but it’s taut enough that it feels like a string tuned just shy of breaking.
“You’re different this morning,” he observes finally.
“Not hungover anymore,” I offer as a way of explanation.
He shakes his head. “I know hungover. It isn’t that.”
I tap my mug. “Maybe I’m saving my snark.”
“For when?”
“For whenever you say something stupid.”
He huffs out a laugh he tries to smother. “You talk too much.”
“You glower too much.”
“You take pictures of things you shouldn’t.”
“You’re kind to complete strangers even though you pretend you’re made of stone,” I volley back without thinking, regretting it the moment it leaves my lips.
His head snaps up. Dean stares at me. Really stares. Then looks away, tension vibrating off him. “You need to stop watching me so close.” He sneers.
“Maybe stop being so interesting.” My brow arching on my retort.
His eyes darken in heat issuing a warning. “You can’t say shit like that.”
“Why? Because it’s true?” I persist in pushing him, even though my gut is telling me to shut the hell up.
“No,” he says, voice low and rough. “Because you don’t mean it.”
I lean in just a little. Enough for him to feel it. “Dean, I don’t say things I don’t mean. It’s one of my many flaws.”
His breath catches. Barely. But I see it. “You hungry?” he asks abruptly, shifting like he needs to break eye contact before something dangerous happens.
“Starving.”
“Then order something.” He slides the menu from its stand on the table, dropping it in front of me. It’s the closest thing to an apology I’ve ever heard from him, and suddenly I’m extremely uncomfortable. This can’t happen between us.
I slide out of the booth, but he stops me with a quiet, unexpected plea. “Sadie.”
I look back. His hood’s half-off, hair messy, eyes tired but soft. Unarmored. Just a man, not the legend. “You don’t have to sit somewhere else.” His voice almost a whisper.
My chest does something traitorous and warm, which sounds an alarm in my head that blares like a fog horn. Don’t get involved. Don’t let yourself feel anything. Don’t get too personal. It messes with the story.
“I’m not hungry anymore,” I lie. “I’ll see you later.” I turn without waiting for a reply, passing Hayden, Luc, and Mikey in a booth just a few down from where Dean and I were sitting. Hayden’s gaze tracks me as I go, giving his chin a slight tilt, the look in his eye all knowing.
